He waved his wand, and she studied the results carefully. When Topsy reappeared, Hermione asked for several restoratives.
She watched him carefully as he took the potions and the colour slowly return to his features. She pressed her hand again his cheek and felt the warmth seep back into his skin as she pressed her lips against his forehead. “I won't go out of my room without you. You don't need to worry.”
His shoulders slumped with exhaustion and he gave a slow nod.
Draco arrived after lunch for her daily walk. As they stood at the doorway of her room, she looked at his hand. “I suppose we shouldn't touch anymore. Just walk, like we used to last winter.”
He nodded, his expression tense.
They walked through the rose garden. The buds were just starting to bloom.
As they came around the side of the manor, they both froze. There was a wide trail of blood leading from iron gates of the estate; the white gravel was soaked in it.
Lucius stood at the front doors of the manor with a centaur at his feet.
The centaur had been struck in the torso with the necrosis curse; the rot was slowly spreading across the stomach. The tendons in every leg had been brutally severed. The centaur was moaning quietly and kept struggling to stand, his skin grey from blood loss. The centaur tried to push himself up from his knees and collapsed heavily to the ground with an agonised groan.
Lucius was dressed in leather and dripping blood. His pale hair was stained red. “Ah, Draco… I had hoped you were here. Put your Mudblood away. If you could change the wards to allow me to take captives directly to my wing, that would be useful. Then I won't be obliged to drag them across the estate.”
“Setting up a zoo, father?” Draco stood surveying the scene with a carefully closed expression.
Lucius snorted. “This beast came from the Forbidden Forest. I'm sure it knows something about where that arrow came from, or if it doesn't, it can tell me who does.”
Hermione chest contracted painfully as Lucius continued “Unfortunately they're such uncooperative creatures, I expect the process will require — persuasion.”
Draco sighed and raised an eyebrow. “There are prisons you could interrogate in. It keeps the blood off the gravel.”
“Ah yes,” Lucius said, waving his wand around in lazy circles. His voice became vaguely singsong. “The prisons. The prisons full of guards and ambitious Death Eaters eager to see our family toppled. Those prisons. Perhaps if you were more careful, you would have apprehended our quarry by now. Why should I use a prison when I have my very own redecorated wing of the manor? No. The manor will do very well. It's been so long since I've been home. Now, Draco, perhaps you could be so good as to transport my project the rest of the way. Unless you prefer I drag it through the halls as well.”
There was a pause as Draco stood between Hermione and his father.
“Topsy,” Draco called, his voice hard.
Topsy appeared before Draco with a pop. Her bruises had faded to yellow and green.
“Take the Mudblood back to her room and see that she stays there.” Draco unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them up. “I have more important matters to attend to.”
Topsy bobbed and took Hermione's hand, leading her quickly away. Hermione glanced over her shoulder and watched Draco walk towards his father, his wand dangling from his fingertips.
Hermione has been in her room only half an hour when the screaming started.
Even from the other end of the manor, the sound was audible. Inhuman agony reverberated through the house as though it were emerging from the walls.
Narcissa started violently, jumping to her feet, her face turning grey as she gave a choked gasp of horror.
It was the first sound Hermione had ever heard from the portrait.
“It's — it's a centaur,” Hermione said. “Lucius caught it.”
Narcissa stared at Hermione for a moment and then dropped back into her chair, her hands falling to her lap.
The screaming kept going on and on.
Hermione looked away and tried to swallow, but her saliva was sour. Her hands were shaking as she tried to turn the page in her book. The words swam before her eyes.
She wondered if it was the flaying curse. The way the screaming continued on and on reminded her of Colin.
The book slipped from her fingers and onto the floor. She barely noticed.
She wished she had her occlumency. Or a least the ability to put her mind back together so that all the deaths didn't stay so forefront.
She pressed her hands over her eyes and tried to clear her mind.
All the blood. There would be so much blood. And skin. And muscle. Eventually organs. Layer after layer. To the bones.
She wanted to go huddle in the corner of her room. To hide from the sound and the knowledge that it was happening and she had no ability to do anything about it.
If she tried to do anything, tried to go and beg Draco to stop it, it would endanger him, her, their daughter, Severus, Ginny, James.
She started across the room towards the corner, trying not to listen to the screaming that wouldn't stop.
As she went, she glanced towards the portrait. Narcissa's expression kept flinching, as though she were trying not to cry as she sat stoically in her chair.
Hermione stopped and hesitated for a moment before stepping towards the portrait.
Hermione extended her hand. Her fingers spasmed as she rested them against the canvas. Narcissa looked up at Hermione, and her expression was stiff. Her nose scrunched up, and her lip curled defensively as she drew back in her chair.
Hermione waited.
Then Narcissa's blue eyes flickered, and her mouth twisted as her jaw trembled. She moved to the edge of her chair and extended her hand until her painted fingers rested on the canvas beneath Hermione's.
Hermione stood at the portrait until the screaming stopped.
Once the manor fell silent, Hermione's hand slipped away from the frame, and she turned away. Her stomach felt so twisted it was as though she were being strangled from the inside. She made her way dazedly over to her bed and stood beside it for several minutes. She could still hear the screams, as though they were tattooed into her eardrums.
She curled up tightly in the corner between the bed and the wall and stared blankly at the floor.
She blinked and found Draco kneeling in front of her. His expression was hesitant and worried, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied her, his mouth set in a thin, flat line.
He was wearing different clothes, and she could tell he'd showered. His hair was combed back and still damp.
She stared at him in silence. She didn't know what to say.
His expression grew more and more drawn as he met her eyes.
He didn't reach towards her. He didn't speak. They simply looked at each other and felt the weight of it all.
He seemed to be waiting for her to initiate something, to reach for him or look away.
“Did it say anything that could incriminate you?” Hermione finally asked.
Draco's eyes flickered, and she saw his knuckles whiten. “No. I covered my tracks already.”
Hermione's mouth twitched, and she gave a small nod.
“Everything you do is on my head too. Every spell.”
“It's late. Will you eat tonight?” Draco asked, studying her.
Hermione looked over at the clock. It had been early afternoon when Draco had taken her outside, now it was seven o'clock.
She'd lost the whole day. She hadn't made any progress researching. She hadn't even brainstormed. She'd just stood in cold horror in front of a portrait and listened as a centaur was tortured to death.
She never managed to do anything. Not before her memory returned. Not after. She was a shadow of the person she'd been before. Like the portrait of Narcissa that hung on the wall, she was just a scarred shadow of someone Draco loved.