A hand touched her wrist.

"Hermione, are you alright? You're as pale as a sheet."

Narcissa's voice seemed far away.

Hermione focused on her breathing, pulling air deeply. She thought of a lake with still waters until her heartbeat returned to normal, and her breathing regulated.

When she opened her eyes, Narcissa had pulled Hermione's chair out and was kneeling in front of her. A cool hand was on her face, the other squeezing her hand. Mippy hovered in the doorway, twirling her ear anxiously.

"I'm very sorry, dear. I didn't realize that this would be a shock to you."

Hermione shook her head, feeling her body sway slightly in her chair.

"It's not. I just…" She swallowed and looked into Narcissa's warm blue eyes. "I had hope."

The pity in Narcissa's gaze was almost too much to bear. Narcissa took her hands and brought them to her lips, kissing her knuckles.

"I was the one to check the body, Hermione," she said softly. Hermione felt a tear plummet from her eyes to their joined hands. "He wasn't breathing. There was no heartbeat." Narcissa slowly freed a hand to brush a curl behind Hermione's ear. "He walked into that forest bravely, and died just the same."

Her throat choked back a sob as she nodded. She squeezed Narcissa's hands in thanks, and then used her napkin to dry her eyes.

Narcissa understood when she excused herself to her room. Hermione buried herself in research and Occlumency that day, trying to forget that she'd met Harry exactly seven years ago on a magical train that took them to a magical school where she'd finally found belonging.

~*~

Draco still wasn't back that Friday. But he had appeared in a picture in the paper that day, standing stoically behind the new Italian puppet minister as he gave a speech. Hermione's heart had skipped a beat, taking in the sharpness in his jaw, the bags beneath his eyes. But even as she'd blinked away, she kept seeing grey eyes instead of a lake with still waters.

One morning, Hermione stepped out of her bath, wrapped a towel tightly around herself, and moved to her armoire. She opened it and gasped.

An unfamiliar assortment of colors. Patterns. Silks. A quick pull to her drawer found that all her comfortable underthings had been replaced with mere scraps of fabric. A small folded note lay on top, and she snatched it up.

McGonagall requested her knickers back. There are some new additions I think you'll enjoy.

— P.

Hermione flushed. Pansy was trying to kill her. She scrounged through her drawers to find any trace of pale cotton, but she'd replaced them all. Running a hand down her face, Hermione huffed loudly, and chose a pale pink pair.

There were still denims in the other drawer — thankfully — but her jaw dropped when she also found shorts. Hanging up in the closet were skirts shorter than her Hogwarts uniform, low-cut blouses, and a few dresses.