There was no place to run to. There would be few Wizarding countries powerful enough to deter Voldemort's pursuit that wouldn't immediately arrest Draco themselves. Draco might be collared, but he was one of the most dangerous Dark Wizards in history, and that fact had heavily emphasized in recent months.
It was as Lucius had said. Draco was Voldemort's hunting dog. He could utilise Draco better if he weren't so afraid of Draco usurping him.
“Why can't you travel alone now? Why are you restricted but not anyone else?” she'd asked Draco during one of the days before Severus had been killed.
He'd sighed and glanced away. “The Dark Lord began receiving reports that I was privately visiting the homes of Death Eaters and powerful allies. He assumed I was attempting to garner support in order to depose him. Leaving Britain again without express permission will be open treason, without exception.”
“I travelled all over Europe. Death Eaters and allies with certain — reputations…”
Her throat had tightened. “It was because you were looking for me.”
He'd just nodded.
Their attempts to hold onto each other had carved their hope for escape into a shard so narrow she sometimes wondered if she was imagining its existence.
No. She could save him, she was certain there was some way to do it, she just needed to figure out what it was. She'd never been a very good chess player. Even when she'd had occlumency, she'd never been able to stay detached about using people. That was where she and Draco diverged.
If she wanted to save Draco, she needed to be more ruthless. As ruthless as he was.
She sank back into thought, pacing in slow circles and geometric patterns around her room, until she felt an almost indescribable sensation occur in her lower abdomen. In some ways, it was not an actual sensation but a feeling that something had occurred.
Fluttering.
She froze and stared down at her stomach. There was the beginning of a small swell between the jut of her hip bones.
She almost forgot sometimes that she was pregnant. The fact felt too overwhelming to process in light of all the more immediate concerns she had. When focused on the immediate future, a pregnancy felt more like a medical diagnosis that she had to account for than a baby.
She had never planned to have children. When she'd been in school, motherhood had been an eventual goal so far removed from the present she'd barely contemplated it. Children, someday; after she'd graduated, and had a job, and found someone she'd consider a partner.
Then the war came, and having children then had felt almost criminal to Hermione.
Ginny had seen James as a promise and a beacon of hope, but to Hermione a child in a war was someone vulnerable; someone entirely helpless to protect themselves from the incalculable pain that existed. Selfish. Not worth the danger.
Get married. Have children.
She'd stopped expecting to ever have those things years ago when she'd kept secretively using more and more dark magic. She'd coldly smothered the idea when she gave her word to be a Death Eater's willing war prize. It was little more than fantasy by the time she'd become complicit in war crimes and eventually volunteered to coordinate and manage them.
She had meant it when she told Draco about the world she wanted but never expected to have a part in.
She didn't have any idea how to be a mother. None of the decisions she'd made in her life had entertained the idea of children. She wasn't sure if wanting to have a child wasn't just her desperate selfishness rearing its head.
“Poor little healer with no one to take care of. No one who needs you or wants you. You can't bear being alone. You don't know how to function. You need someone to love; you'll do anything for the people that let you love them.”
Her jaw trembled as she looked down.
Maybe Draco had been right. Maybe that was what she was like. She'd always obstinately attached herself to those she'd thought might need her. Maybe she just wanted to keep the baby so she wouldn't be alone.
She pressed her fingers against her abdomen and stood unmoving for several seconds until she felt another flutter, quick as a heartbeat and then gone again.
“I'll take care of you,” she whispered. “I'll do everything I can to be a good mum. There's a potion I can make when you're older. Then — then I'll be able to go outside with you sometimes. You won't be trapped with me. When you grow up and want to go, I'll let you go, I promise.”
The doorknob abruptly rattled and then went still. Hermione started violently with surprise and then stood, pressing her hands against her chest as her heart pounded, staring at the door.
Nothing else happened.
She waited and waited, but her world had fallen silent again.
She crossed the room on her toes and rested her ear against the door.
Silent.
She couldn't hear even the faintest sound through the door, but she knew Draco had warded it.
Someone could be shouting on the other side, and she wouldn't know. The door didn't move again as she rested her hands against the wood and strained to hear.
It could be Lucius.
It was possible he was unwilling to wait six months for Draco to remarry and hoped by killing off the 'Mudblood whore,' he might accelerate the process.
Hermione stepped nervously away from the door but then hesitated. The way the door had shaken, it was almost as though someone had fallen against it.
She bit her lip and stepped back, pressing her ear more closely to the crack between the door and the frame.
She shouldn't.
She shouldn't.
Draco would tell her not to.
Her hand wrapped slowly around the knob, and she turned it as silently as she could, cracking the door open. She peered out, and her heart stopped.
Draco was lying face down on the floor. She flung the door open, rapidly glanced up and down the hall, and knelt down, dragging him into her room. She kicked the door shut as she rolled him onto his back and pressed her fingers against his pulse.
He was unconscious.
He was freezing cold. He was going into shock. His robes were shiny and smelled of rot. There were darkened silvery smears on his face. He was still breathing. She checked his eyes and found the pupils unevenly dilated.
She ran her hands over his shoulders and touched his face gently. “Draco? Draco… what happened to you?”
She started muttering curses under her breath. She was burning to have her magic back. The manacles around her wrists grew hot as she seethed over her impotence, kneeling over him, trying to guess what had been done. She ran her fingers along his arms and hands and felt the rigid knots and tearing caused by cruciatus. She could feel his heart racing in his chest.
“Bobbin!” she called sharply.
The elf popped into the room and gave a squeak of horror when her eyes landed on Draco.
“Who's Draco's healer?” Hermione asked. The elf stared blankly at Hermione. “Who does he call when he comes back hurt?”
Bobbin looked down at her hands. “Bobbin is not knowing. Bobbin is mostly being in the kitchens and cleaning. The Master is not calling Bobbin when he is being hurt. Only Topsy or Kreacher.”
Hermione looked down in frustration and drew a deep breath before looking back up. “Do you know where he keeps his medical supplies? Healing potions and things like that?”
Bobbin brightened and nodded eagerly.
“Good,” Hermione said in a tight voice. “Bring me pain relief potions then. Every variety you have. And any other medical supplies you have access to. Bring them all here so I know what I have to work with.”