"What don't you understand about 'stay in your room—'"

"Who? How many?"

"—fucking idiot sometimes, you know that?"

"Answer the damn question!"

"I don't know!" The shout silenced them both. He swallowed, the tension thick and heavy around them. And then, more quietly: "It's just whispers and gossip at this point—"

"Could Harry have gotten out?" As soon as the words left her lips, she knew it was absurd — even before she saw the expression on Draco's face. Still, she whispered, "Is Harry alive?"

He stared at her as if she were a ghost. "Granger," he said slowly, like she could break. "I have no reason to believe that Potter is alive." He tilted his head at her. "Do you?"

She considered the information that Voldemort had been looking for. The possibility that Harry had two souls inside of himself…

Draco stepped forward, still watching her warily. "Do you really believe that if Potter were alive, he would have allowed the Auction to take place? That he wouldn't have been storming the gates every day you've been here?"

Looking up at him, blinking quickly, she felt her heart breaking again, just as it had in the courtyard when she'd seen his small body in Hagrid's arms.

She turned away, her fingers playing with a thread on her jumper. "No. No, I suppose you're right. It was an unfounded theory." She closed her eyes, struggling to collect herself. She took a deep breath. "Nott is here to use the library?"

"Yes."

"And why did I have Dragon Pox?"

His tired eyes sharpened as they ran across her face, remembering his irritation with her. "It doesn't matter now."

"Where will he be seeing 'more of me,'" she said, repeating Nott's words from earlier.

Draco pressed his lips together in a fine line, and glared at the stone floor. "We'll be going out on Friday."

Her pulse pounded. The only other time she'd gone "out," they'd visited Hogwarts. "What does that mean?"

"There is a party every weekend. You've had Dragon Pox for four weeks, too ill to attend." His voice dripped with cold irritation. "And now, you are no longer ill."

"What kind of party?" Her voice cracked.

His eyes drilled into her with a look that said, You know.

Trying to keep her breath steady under the weight of her ribs, she realized something. "Are there other Lots there?"

When he nodded, her heart skipped a beat, her mind running wild with the opportunities—

"The Weasleys are never in attendance," he said, clearly reading her. A heavy silence. "They don't tend to play nice with others."

She stared up at him, feeling a familiar irritation surge through her. "And will I be expected to 'play nice?'"

His eyes flashed at her, and he said, "You're too smart not to."

He was right. She'd been looking for a way out of the Manor. And now that she'd gotten it, she wouldn't spoil it.

Turning on his heel, much like Snape used to, he swept to the stairs and paused at the first step, inviting her to follow. They wound up the back staircase in silence, avoiding the route that passed the library, and arrived in their shared hallway with a series of twists and turns that Hermione hadn't been able to memorize yet.