𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍-𝘏𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘠 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙

Chapter 7

Lovesbitca8 TAKES CREDIT THIS IS HER WORK - FOUND ON AO3

She woke slowly, her body trying to drag her mind back into sleep for a few minutes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept in a real bed. The cots in the tent weren't as comfortable as this, and Harry snored so loud she was afraid he'd rupture the Protection Spells—

Her eyes snapped open, staring at an unfamiliar wall in an unfamiliar bed. She hadn't moved in the night, and she still lay on her side, facing the empty potion bottle. She bolted upright, searching the room. She was alone. Daylight streaming in through the large windows and cream curtains.

She slipped out of bed, peeking around corners to make sure there was no one hiding. Slithering into the bathroom, she used the toilet, splashed water on her face. The large clawfoot tub in the center of the marble floor called her to slip into the suds and drift away.

She shook her head, blinking away the elegance of the suite and refocusing. Weapons. Exits.

The drawers in the vanity held lush towels and hair potions. She found a tail comb with a sharp end for styling and pocketed it.

Still, no one intruding upon her space when she exited the bathroom. She checked the clock on the bookshelf. Barely 7AM.

The wardrobe called to her as she remembered Narcissa's expression upon opening it. Some kind of displeased acceptance. Hermione pulled the doors open, finding hangers upon hangers of clothing — an extension charm widening and deepening the space. To the left, a second pair of pajamas like the ones she had on, only in flannel. A few long nightdresses, followed by shorter ones. None too flashy. Then robes upon robes upon robes of varying colors, lengths, and fabrics. At the end, jumpers and other informal wear. She pulled the drawers at the base of the wardrobe and found jeans.

Hermione frowned. What kind of guests did the Malfoys usually have in this room? Surely no one who needed denims. She opened the top drawer on the right. Cotton knickers in pale shades. A few bras in the same. A few sports bras.

Whoever it was who usually stayed here was prepared for everything. The bottom drawer held shoes for all weather; trainers and boots.

She let her fingers drift across the fabric of the robes as she pushed the drawers back in, and she jumped when a thought crossed her mind.

Was this Pansy's room?

She glanced at the bed with its creams and golds. She looked to the bookcase with its Muggle books. She took in the fabrics in front of her, and cataloged the knickers.

None of this screamed Pansy Parkinson. Pansy wore red lipstick to the breakfast table, and never needed to reapply throughout the day. Pansy would never be caught dead in pale colors, especially her knickers. And Pansy once asked Daphne Greengrass in third year if Muggles knew how to read. Hermione knew she wasn't joking. No, this wasn't Pansy's space.

She shut the drawers, memorizing the placement of the belts, and moved to the windows, finally pushing aside the soft material and peering out into the grounds. Like she'd guessed, the pond sparkled from this view. The gazebo attracted the early morning fog like bubbles in a glass, and just beyond the gates that encompassed the Manor, she could see the sun dappling the ground. Just to her left, a balcony attached to her sitting room.

Hermione blinked. There must be a door. How far was the drop? How much length would the curtains and bedsheets give her?

The door handle rattled, and Hermione spun as Lucius Malfoy entered her suite, eyes landing on her at the window. She clutched the curtains in her fingers, one hand sliding slowly to the comb in her pocket.