Astoria's blood was seeping across the ground towards Draco's shoes. He flicked his wand and vanished it.
Lucius twirled his wand lazily in his fingers. “I doubt the Dark Lord will mourn the loss of an infertile witch, regardless of her pedigree. Your value and mine remain considerably greater than hers. Once he hears how incessantly she talked, I expect I shall get off quite lightly.”
Lucius knelt down easily and plucked Astoria's head up off the ground before snagging the arm of her corpse.
“Worry not. I shall assure the Dark Lord that you are deeply grieved by my impulsiveness. You may hope otherwise, but I would advise you to expect my return within the hour. If you are still my obedient son, perhaps you will be so good as to have a pain relief potion ready for me.”
Without another word, Lucius apparated away, taking Astoria with him.
Draco stood staring at the bloodstained gravel for several seconds before he turned to look at Hermione. His expression was masked.
Hermione stared up at him for several seconds, studying his eyes. Her chest was starting to ache. She drew a deep breath before she spoke. “You planned that.”
He didn't react for a moment, then the corner of his mouth curled up. “Clever.”
Hermione didn't smile back.
After a moment, his eyes flashed, his expression hardening as he looked away. “What did you expect, Granger? You can't possibly be surprised.” He scoffed, and his nostrils flared. “She attacked you. She tried to gouge out your eyes.”
Her throat hurt, and she flinched as she remembered the sensation of Astoria's wand digging into her eyeball and her utter terror when she thought she'd be blinded. “I haven't forgotten.”
Draco gave a short laugh. “I would have killed her sooner, but it diverted suspicion to have a pretty wife in the manor. Living here alone with you for so many months could have attracted attention. That was the only reason I let her live.”
“I hate it when you kill people because of me,” she said, turning sharply in the gravel so that it ground beneath her feet. She stared down at the bloodstained ground, her mouth twisting. “I hate it. I've always hated it. There's so much more to you, but sometimes I feel like all I do is bring out the worst in you. You would never go so far if it weren't for me. You wouldn't be like this. I did this to you.”
Draco was silent for several seconds, and he sighed. “You're right. I don't imagine I would.”
Hermione pressed her hand against her sternum. Her head felt light and hollow, and her chest ached as though she'd been struck, as though the bones were shattered and the shards were slowly cutting her to death.
“I used to have so many dreams for us,” she said, her voice thick. “When I'd worry about you, when I'd do things that I didn't want to do, when the war felt so heavy I thought I'd finally break under it, I'd tell myself: someday you're going to run away with him. You'll go somewhere quiet. You won't ask for very much, just you and him and that will be enough. That's what I used to tell myself. I wanted to see what you'd be like away from the war. I thought — maybe we'd find out together. Who we could be without the war.”
She smiled bitterly. “I suppose in the end, I'm just like Harry and Ron. I expect the universe to eventually give in a bit. I thought we'd earned each other. I thought we'd both suffered enough that we'd get to have each other.”
Draco was silent.
She looked towards the manor. “I want to go back to my room now. I barely have any time left, I don't want to spend it in this rose garden standing in your wife's blood.”
She started walking towards the house and froze, her throat closing when she realised she couldn't see Draco anymore. She turned sharply back and stood, staring at him for several seconds while her chest jerked.
She felt hollow. She'd poured herself out and now all she had left was a shell.
“How am I supposed to do this without you?” Her voice was shaking. She raised her hands and then let them drop limply at her sides. “I can't even go outside by myself. What's even the point in having me escape? I might have a seizure if I have to go without you.”
Draco's expression was guarded, but his eyes flickered and the line of his mouth tensed. “You'll have your occlumency back, that should help.”
Hermione stared at him.
He glanced away. “I'll have Dreamless Sleep you can take, if necessary. Severus is aware of your agoraphobia, and he's planned accordingly. You'll share a horse. He's someone you trusted.”
Hermione released a sharp, angry breath. “Why are you so resigned to dying? Even at the beginning, when you made your offer to the Order, you were always planning to die like it wouldn't matter to anyone. Why are you still like that? Now—” her voice broke, “—when it does?”
Draco sighed, and his mouth twisted briefly as he met her eyes. He set his jaw and glanced away, his lips twitching. “I didn't have anyone, Granger. After my mother died, I didn't have anyone. My life was blown apart when I returned home after fifth year. Everything I did after that was trying not to lose the remaining pieces that I had. Once she died — it didn't matter. Revenge was all I could do to make up for it, and it didn't matter to anyone—”
He looked down.
“Not until you came along.” He sounded almost bitter. He met her eyes and walked across the bloodstained gravel towards her. “I didn't make plans past the war. Potter was never going to win, I always knew that. Falling for you didn't change that — it just — it just—” he released a sharp breath and looked down, his voice growing quieter. “It just made knowing it worse.”
His throat dipped as he swallowed and stared at her, and his mouth curved into a wistful smile. “I — loved how you believed in the future, even when you didn't expect you'd get to be a part of it. How you insisted we'd somehow defy the inevitable. You Gryffindors are such idealists — I never understood the appeal of it until you.” He reached out and caught a curl with his fingers. “The way you thought we'd always be together, and talked about running away almost until the end. I would have done anything to give you what you wanted, but—” he gave a short laugh and shook his head as his hand dropped away from her. “I don't know how to do it. It's not for a lack of trying, Granger. I've run out of ideas.”
Hermione drew a low breath. The summer heat had mixed the coppery scent of blood with the honey-sweet scent of blooming roses. When the smell struck her, her tongue curdled and a wave of nauseous despair crawled up her throat. She pressed the back of her hand against her nose and turned away.
“I want to go back inside,” she said after she'd forced away the urge to vomit.
Draco took her hand, and she dully let him lead her back to the manor.
Shortly after they arrived in her room, Draco was summoned. He conjured his Death Eater robes and vanished without a word. He didn't return for hours.
Something was wrong.
Hermione called Topsy, who appeared and informed her that Lucius had not returned either. Hermione paced in her room reviewing possibilities: Voldemort was upset over Astoria's death, Voldemort had used legilimency on Lucius and noticed something that had betrayed Draco, something else had gone wrong that Hermione was too oblivious to guess.
She hovered at the door, but there was no point in going out.
There was nothing she could do. She kept waiting.
She was standing by the window when the back of her neck prickled. She turned.
Draco was standing in the middle of the room, pulling his mask off.
He had an unreadable expression on his face, as though he were shocked and devastated.