Draco's jaw ticked, his eyes locked on the Prophet. "A monster."

"From the True Order's perspective, yes. They'll want to take out everyone involved in this." Realization struck her an instant too late. Her mouth moved silently as she fumbled for her words. "I mean, of course your father isn't a monster, Draco—"

"Isn't he?" Draco's nostrils flared as his head snapped to her. "Ten thousand dead at the hands of four people? The ratio is monstrous."

He stood up swiftly, and Hermione's ribs clenched.

"Draco—"

"I need to take a shower. Excuse me."

She jumped to her feet as he took the stairs two at a time, scrambling to follow him. "I can't pretend to agree with his decisions, but he's not evil. He's consistently done what he thinks is best for you and your mother—"

Draco stopped at the top stair, spinning to her. "And that excuses the blood spilt along the way?"

Her throat strangled her reply. Of course it didn't.

"Leave it alone, Granger." He turned to stalk down the corridor, out of sight.

She raced to the landing, panting. "You aren't him." Draco's shoulders went rigid. "You are not your father, Draco."

His only response was to slip inside his bedroom, closing the door behind him — shutting her out.

Hermione stood in the empty corridor for what felt like hours before she came to her senses, shuffling back to her own room. She collapsed in the chair by her window, lost in thought.

Nothing could excuse the death toll on Baffin Island. Entire communities had been wiped out in the blink of an eye — most of them Muggle. Hermione had to dig her fingers into her palms to banish the images her mind conjured.

Until now, she could at least understand Lucius's decisions, even if she strongly disagreed with them. But this was beyond comprehension. If he'd simply stood by and let this happen, how could she defend him in good conscience?

Her emotions began to overwhelm her, and she had to meditate to beat them back. When she finally emerged from her lake with still waters, she revisited her problem.

By sunset, she arrived at two conclusions. First, it was possible that Lucius had tried to stop it. She could only pray that had been the case. Second, whatever his sins, Narcissa and Draco weren't to blame for them. Lucius had made his choices, and they'd made theirs.

Dinner appeared on her desk at seven. A single plate. She managed a few bites before the food turned cold, and watched the sun sink lower in the sky.

At eight, she dragged herself to the shower. At nine, she resolved herself to the fact that Draco wasn't coming for her. She changed into her pajamas and slid between her sheets, trying to ignore the cold pillow next to her, and the way the sheets didn't quite envelop her like Draco did. After an hour of tossing and turning, she rolled onto her back, staring at the canopy.