The flames burned low in his fireplace, and she spent a few moments looking for the Floo Powder before giving up, not sure if her tattoo would even let her leave by fireplace.

She pulled open the closet doors, finding a vast space for all of Draco Malfoy's blacks, greys, and cobalts. A smirk pulled at her lips as she ran her fingers over the shirts, wondering what he'd look like in pink and orange. He had spare Death Eater robes hung across from his old Hogwarts uniform. She checked the pockets for anything interesting and found nothing.

Although rifling through his drawers was a clear breach of privacy, and expressly against what Narcissa had requested of her, she had bigger issues to worry about. She shoved aside her guilt and pulled open the next drawer.

Laid on top of other greys and blacks was the blue jumper he'd worn weeks ago while sipping on cold tea in her bedroom, as she recovered from her electrocution. It was soft.

She pulled open the drawers against the wall and blushed to find his trunks. Black. Of course. The next drawer was filled with socks. An inordinate amount of socks. She rolled her eyes.

The bottom drawer had extra blankets and a black shoebox. She pried the top open and found her own face staring back at her.

Her fingers froze. Her heart seized. A cold chill ran across her shoulders and down her back.

MUGGLE-BORNS WANTED FOR INTERROGATION

It was the article printed when she was on the run last year, marking her as a priority for the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

She watched her image turn, an old picture they'd used from the night at the Department of Mysteries once the press had arrived. She was covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. She looked feral.

Her head spun, and she centered herself.

There was a drawer in Draco Malfoy's bedroom that contained a shoebox. Inside that shoebox was a picture of her.

She squeezed the lid of the box between her fingers, trying to make sense of it.

Other scraps of paper lay beneath. Her shaking hand reached.

"Miss needs something?"

Jumping, smacking her head on the top of the dresser, she turned to see a portly male elf in the closet doorway holding linens.

"Er, no, I was just…" she stammered, swiftly closing the box and drawer. The elf stared at her, waiting for an answer. Hermione focused on the bedsheets. "Are they home?"

The chubby little elf looked down sadly. "No. Mippy asks Boppy to bring fresh sheets."

She stood. "Is Mippy here?"

Boppy shook his head again. "Just calls for Boppy."

"Did you see them?" she asked, suddenly desperate. "Was he recovering? Or—?"

"Boppy only sees Mippy. Master and Missus is behind a door."

"What door? Where?"

He stared up at her, eyes watering. "Boppy is not to say. Boppy is just to change sheets." Shifting on his feet in his little pillowcase, he said, "Miss needs help with something?"