Like Alice in the looking glass, the passage funneled in darkness until she was inside Draco's bedroom with a single step. Her mind ran wild with the magical explanations until she blinked, taking in the state of his room. It looked like a storm had hit, spewing a hailstorm of clothes and books. His bed was unmade, and his sheets still slept in.

Moving around the four-poster, she crossed to his bedside table and tugged the drawer open. The knife lay there, gleaming in the low lamplight. There were some sweets and a few Wizard Cards from empty Chocolate Frog boxes. A crumpled handkerchief. Several coins and quills.

Perhaps he could have been more specific?

She scrunched her nose as she stared into the drawer. A handkerchief would be the smartest option to ward off accidental transportation. She plucked the handkerchief up, and a clouded marbled bounced out of it, rolling innocuously around the drawer.

The room spun and swayed beneath her feet. She had the elements to her freedom right here. The knife. The Portkey. Her heart pounded.

But she would be wandless. And armless. And who knows where the Portkey would lead her. And if she took it, she might never see him—

She would have to think on this. Hermione's fingers trembled as she wrapped the marble up in the handkerchief and carefully replaced it in the drawer.

She sat on the edge of his bed, and stared numbly at his shelves. Ten past four. The room was still tilting on its axis. She curled up onto his mattress as the harried moments replayed in her mind.

He would be gone for an indefinite amount of time. Long enough that he thought to give her an escape route. Or perhaps dangerous enough, where he thought he might not return.

She pressed her face into his pillow, breathing in his scent. The smell of his hair on the pillowcase.

How long had there been a passageway between their rooms? Had he ever used it?

One memory dripped like rain in the back of her mind. When Bellatrix was in her bedroom, he'd appeared when she screamed — standing in the middle of the room. And when he'd called for his wand it still flew to him, even when her bedroom door was closed.

She swallowed, pinching back her tears, but it was useless. They flowed over her lids and crashed down to the pillow that still held his scent.

Pop!

She jerked up. Boppy bounced on his toes, holding the Prophet.

"Thank you," she whispered, exhausted. She reached for the paper, and the elf hesitated.

"Miss can be in her own room? Boppy needs to clean, and Miss is safe in her own room?"

She nodded, taking the paper. "Don't make the bed, please? Not just yet." And at the last moment, she grabbed his pillow, dragging herself through the main doorway back into her bedroom.

The front page of the Prophet screamed at her.

FRENCH TERRORIST CELL INVADES SWITZERLAND!