There was a quiet but unshakable certainty in her chest that he hadn't wanted to. That he would have avoided it if he could. But the simple fact was that he had been the one to hold the wand and cast the spell.

Try as she might, knowing it didn't make her care for him any less.

~*~

The next few days came with sporadic sightings of Narcissa — a dinner here, a breakfast there. Neither of them mentioned the executions.

She sang a quiet birthday song to Ron when the day came around, hoping that wherever he was, he wasn't in too much pain. The thought made her cry herself to sleep, and she had to spend all next morning Occluding to shed the pain of it.

On the first Tuesday in March, Hermione excused herself from another solemn breakfast to the library for the rest of the day. Once she was settled, she realized she'd left one of the journals on her bedside table. Heaving herself out of the comfortable chair, she trudged back through the library doors. She passed the line of marble busts of each Malfoy man, and stopped dead when she turned the corner to the entry hall.

There, next to the fireplaces, Draco was draped over his mother's shoulders in an embrace as she squeezed his waist in a vice. A valise and his coat on the floor next to him.

Hermione stared like they were a mirage in the desert that would vanish if she got too close. Her ribs felt glued together, her lungs unable to work.

Draco was home.

She took one step toward the unmoving couple just as Draco sucked in a tight breath, and a sob rattled out, into his mother's neck. Narcissa held him close to her with a soft hum.

Hermione paused, going very still.

"Breathe, Draco," Narcissa murmured.

Hermione pulled back silently, quickly pressing herself around the corner.

Her eyes stung as she heard him catching his breath with shaking gasps. She wanted to comfort him—

"I'll have the elves unpack," Narcissa said. "She's in the library."

"No." Draco's voice was sharp but wet with tears. "I don't want to see her."

Her skin froze, the cold seeping inward, like a Dementor hovered over her. She stared with unfocused eyes at a marble bust of Armand Malfoy, thinking of I've missed you kissed against her ear — remembering the way Lucius had come home last week just to kiss his wife.

"Alright. Bathe and change. Have you eaten? I can—"

"Lunch. Please." She heard him move toward the staircase. "I'll come find you shortly."

She listened to the sound of his heavy boots against the marble all the way up the stairs. Once they faded, Narcissa let out a sharp, ragged sigh. After a long moment, her heels began clicking in the direction of the kitchens.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she stood there before she returned to her body. Slowly, she walked back to the library, passing the marble men who all seemed to hiss, I don't want to see her.