Her teeth started chattering as she continued down the lane toward the hedges. She was too tired to run again and try to warm herself.
She hugged herself and continued on.
It hadn't occurred to her that Voldemort would publicise the repopulation efforts. In retrospect, it was obvious. It wasn't a secret that could be easily kept when surrogates were being distributed to seventy-two of the most preeminent wizarding families in Britain. Better to put it out entirely in the open.
She wondered idly how Malfoy felt about being publicly associated with her. The Mudblood he had hated so much back in school, now intended to be the mother of his children. All the world would know.
He was so slavishly obedient to whatever his Master wanted, he probably rationalised it somehow. She sneered to herself in derision.
The number of ways in which Hermione could hate him were almost mind-boggling. Every time she saw him, it was as though she found a whole new aspect of him that only added to the number of reasons why he deserved a slow, cruel death.
The sharp rocks of the gravel lane eventually cut entirely through her shoes. Her feet started to bleed as she was reaching the hedges. She pulled the useless shoes off and flung them up into the yew where they caught. The muddy red stood out starkly.
She continued on. Shivering.
When she finally made it back to the manor and walked around the corner, she found Malfoy was still there, reading a book. His newspaper tossed aside.
She stopped. Hesitating. She didn't want to interact with him, but she was agonisingly cold. She didn't know how else to get inside.
Her movement or colour caught Malfoy's attention. He glanced up sharply and stared, looking faintly aghast as he took in her bedraggled appearance. Then he quirked an eyebrow and smirked.
“Taking your status seriously, I see. Blood red and mud.” He chuckled faintly for a moment before his expression grew hard. “You shouldn't have lost your cloak. You've still got,” he glanced at his watch, “ten minutes before you're allowed inside.”
Hermione shrank back in misery and went back around the side of the manor. She found a spot that was somewhat out of the wind and curled up against the building in a tight ball. Trying to conserve her body heat.
She was so cold.
Her shivering had stopped, and she was growing just terribly sleepy.
Which — she vaguely realised — indicated hypothermia.
Hermione had never treated real hypothermia during the war. Only the variety brought on by dementors.
Hypothermia was not something wizarding folk tended to suffer from. Warming charms were so easy, most first years could perform them. Wizarding outerwear usually had the charms woven in.
She should go tell Malfoy that her body temperature was becoming dangerously low.
But — if she waited… maybe she'd die from it.
That would solve all her problems.
She scrunched up more closely to the side of the manor and closed her eyes. Breathing shallowly.
Things slowly became comfortingly vague.
“Creative.” Malfoy's harsh voice invaded the fog in her mind.
Something uncomfortably hot struck her entire body. Startled, Hermione yelped. She realised after a moment he'd cast a warming charm on her. The dramatic contrast in temperature had been physically painful when the magic of the charm collided with her skin.
Malfoy was already stalking away when she looked up.
Horrid bastard. He'd warmed her just enough to counteract the hypothermia but not enough to relieve how bitterly cold she felt.
She huddled against the manor and tried to guess when ten minutes had passed. Her feet and hands were aching into the bones from the chill.
She was feeling very regretful about wherever her cloak had ended up. Apparently she did still have a little bit of Gryffindor impetuousness left. Just enough to allow herself to occasionally do very stupid things. Now that her rage and horror had eased slightly, she was able to appreciate her impulsive idiocy more.
Trying to stick it to Malfoy by refusing the care he was mandated to provide was not hurting anyone but herself. It was like refusing to eat. Weakening herself to show him she could still be obstinate was the exact opposite of what she should be doing. Malfoy wasn't going to become careless if he thought she still had fight in her.
She was cutting off her nose to spite her face.
She groaned and smacked her head against the wall of the manor.
A minute later the sound of crunching gravel caught her attention. She looked up to find Malfoy approaching once more.
His expression was cold as the wind.
He reached out and dropped her cloak at her feet.
“You found it,” she said, looking down.
“Magic. The Accio spell is quite useful for those of us who can still use it,” he said with a cruel smirk. “Are you going to get up, or shall I drag you? I do have more to life than merely monitoring you. There are so many Muggles still alive. There are also several house-elves I haven't kicked lately.”
He smiled thinly at her.
Hermione bit her tongue. Picking up the cloak, she stood and wrapped it around herself. He turned sharply on his heel and strode back to the veranda. He stopped by the door and waited for her to catch up.
When she reached him, she realised he had paled slightly and was staring at the ground behind her. She turned and saw that she had left bloody footprints across the white marble. He grew faintly contemplative as he studied them.
“Surprised to realise our blood looks the same?” she asked in a mild voice.
He sneered.
“All blood looks the same. My hounds bleed the same colour. So do my house-elves. The question of superiority is answered by power. Given that I am the master of the hounds, and the elves, and you, I do believe the answer to that question is sufficiently clear.”
“Yet I'm the one intended to give you heirs,” Hermione said, meeting his eye with her own cold expression.
“ That is due to Astoria's failing, not mine,” he said, his lip curling faintly. He drew his wand and banished the blood from the marble. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes.
“I suppose I can't have you ruining the rugs, regardless of how amusing it would be to leave you bleeding.”
He flicked his wand at her feet and scourgified them before casting a series of careless healing charms. Then he banished the mud caking the hem of her robes.
“I trust your brain still functions enough to find your own way back to your room. If not, you can sleep on the floor somewhere.” He vanished with a crack.
Hermione stood alone before the door for several seconds. She was freezing but—
She darted over and snatched up the copy of the The Daily Prophet that had been left lying on the ground. Slipping through the door, she moved just far enough into the hallways to get away from the biting cold before she hurriedly opened it and began devouring every bit of information it contained.
Chapter End Notes
Illustrations by Avendell, follow her on tumblr and instagram.
"I forgot-what wind feels like" by _knar.m_.
"If you get lost in the hedge maze" by _knar.m_.
She needed her mind off by bookloverdream.
Stark against the monochrome by wvx_pic.
Hermione by abrilas.