𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍-𝘏𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘠 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙

Chapter 8

Breakfast appeared the next morning along with Narcissa Malfoy. She escorted Hermione out to the balcony while Remmy set up the breakfast tray and the tea service. She eyed the grounds, looking for weaknesses as Narcissa talked.

After a lull, Hermione thought she'd take a chance.

"I... I'm not sure you can answer this request," Hermione started, "but I was wondering about my friends."

Narcissa turned to her. "Yes?"

"Where are they?" She hesitated before asking, "What state are they in?"

Hermione sat still as stone as Narcissa Malfoy lifted a brow, opened her mouth, and stopped herself. "Hmm. Yes, I see..." she muttered.

"I only ask because I was unconscious for the Auction," Hermione said. "Up until my... bid." She looked down at the wide lawn.

"Yes, of course." Narcissa's eyes slid over her. "Naturally, you would be curious. I will do my best to get that information."

Hermione smiled in thanks, and when her eyes returned to her cranberry scone and tea, she felt nauseous with guilt.

What was Ginny having for breakfast today? When was the last time Luna had a cup of tea?

Where was Ron?

She spent the rest of her Sunday afternoon reading, looking out the window, in the bathtub. Just after Remmy arrived with her dinner tray, a knock rapped on her door.

"Come in," she said, standing for Narcissa like her mother taught her to.

Draco Malfoy opened the door.

Her heart stuttered against her ribs as his eyes skated across her face and shoulders.

So much taller than she remembered him. His skin was still pale and thin like sixth year, like he'd still not gotten a decent night's sleep. He wore black. Not his Death Eater uniform, but another black jumper. Black trousers and large boots. It was so similar to the outfit he wore in the library, as if this was his off-duty uniform.

His eyes roved over her room, landing on things she'd disturbed. The pile of books at the base of her bookshelves, waiting to be reshelved. The shoes she'd worn yesterday on her walk with Narcissa, now sitting next to her armoire. The rumpled way she'd left her bedsheets, even after trying to make the bed.

Hermione stood, hand on the back of her wingback chair, dinner half-eaten on the end table. His eyes finally landed on her again. She watched the quickest of flickers down to her Muggle denims and socks, fast as a blink.

"Mother says you have questions."

No. No, no, no, Narcissa. This was not what she wanted.

She swallowed, and the first question poured from her without thought. "Where is Pansy?"

He looked about as surprised as she felt. She wished she had a plan. Some way to ask the right questions.

He looked at the fire, slowly dwindling. "I gave Parkinson to Blaise Zabini. As a token of thanks and loyalty. She is in Italy now, under his watch."

His inflections and dead eyes meant to suggest that Blaise was the one receiving a gift for his loyalty. But maybe he didn't know Hermione had witnessed Pansy's rescue.

She nodded. One off the list.

"Ginny Weasley went to Avery?"

His eyes returned to hers, and he nodded.

"And Ron?"

He stared at her, unblinking. "Macnair purchased him. And shortly after, the Dark Lord requested him."