"I hope one day you have children, Hermione, if that is what you want. I hope it is a choice you get to make."

Hermione nodded, a sudden burning in her throat. Her hand had found its way inside her pocket, and her fingers tightly clutched the parchment there.

She took in the gentle creases around Narcissa's eyes as she told her to call if she needed anything, and quietly excused herself.

She cares for you, Draco had told her.

Whatever had first brought her to Malfoy Manor — whatever schemes or calculations — Hermione couldn't help but believe him in that.

~*~

Draco still wasn't home the following Friday, and Hermione told herself that her anxiety and disappointment were due to the delayed meeting with Cho. He'd sent a letter addressed to Narcissa that morning, explaining that he was on Groix, an island just off the coast of northwestern France. He expected to be sent elsewhere in Europe soon — "nowhere worse than Italy" — and wouldn't be back for another week at least. A postscript at the end asked her to please "let the household know" about his continued absence, as he "didn't want the elves to fuss."

Hermione found herself with the letter around mid-day, tucked beneath the napkin on her lunch tray. It was one of three notes she'd received when Draco had departed unexpectedly — the first from when he'd gone to Italy, the second from the day he'd left last week, and now this one. For reasons she allowed only herself, she folded each of them up, and set them close to her bedside in the empty jewelry box.

~*~

It was three weeks until Draco returned. Three Fridays without visiting Edinburgh. Three Fridays where anyone could be attempting to communicate with her.

She read the Prophet obsessively, looking for anything in Skeeter's propaganda that could be useful, as well as looking for any mention of France or another country that might hint at Draco's whereabouts. After lunch, she'd head to the library to research, or bring one of her history books to the observatory. In the evenings, she'd spend another hour or two on Occlumency.

The tattoos were still eluding her. She was convinced that they were based on borrowed spells, but she'd had frustratingly little progress with the books selected by the library catalog. Her next and final book with reference to magical slavery was a volume on the history of magical North America. And once she was through with it, she'd have to think of another plan.

Exactly seven days into August, Hermione realized she'd forgotten Harry's birthday. When she saw the date on the Prophet pages reading August 7th, she gasped, her hand clutching her heart as if a gunshot had gone off somewhere. She'd been too distracted on the 31st, focused on the letter with Draco's updates.

She cried herself to sleep that night, and spent eight hours Occluding the next day. Four days later, she crawled under the covers and let herself sing happy birthday to Ginny before succumbing to Mippy's Sleeping Draught.