She had less than a day left with Draco, and he was avoiding her.

Her mind drifted to the memory of the way his eyes had refused to meet hers in the cave — the way he strode down the mountain without a backward glance. The speed at which he'd spun to the fireplace, as if he couldn't get away from her soon enough.

Her stomach churned, and her vision swam. Pushing her emotions aside, she tried to summon her logic.

Perhaps he was embarrassed — or worried that she'd misunderstood what she'd seen. But whatever Tom Riddle's reasons were for tempting Draco with her, it was clear that he cared for her immensely. Even his mother believed he wouldn't leave without her.

He had to know she felt the same. She'd shown him how she felt, every day and every night. She'd sacrificed her freedom to stay with him. Yet he'd run away.

Sighing, Hermione turned from the balcony, shutting the doors behind her. In another life, she could have taken weeks to parse him apart. She might have spent months, even, cataloging each look and gesture, trying to stitch them into an answer that made sense. But there was no time.

She found lunch waiting for her on Draco's desk — a single plate. Hermione pulled back the silver lid and stared at it, trying to channel her hunger. She should eat.

She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece — almost three in the afternoon. Anxiety pricked at her insides, further ruining her appetite.

At this rate, her conversation with Draco might have to wait until after Edinburgh. But perhaps that was for the best. If she told him too soon, he might argue his way out of it, just like she had when he tried to make her leave.

Her thoughts wandered to Edinburgh. Voldemort had been clear last night — every Lot was expected to attend. That meant Ginny, and Ron. How long would it be until she saw them again?

Her mind drifted, pondering — and her body went rigid. The silver lid slipped from her fingers, rolling onto the carpet.

There would be bloodshed when the True Order arrived. There would be chaos and violence, and there was no guarantee that her friends would survive it.

Hermione tossed the lid on Draco's desk and swiftly exited his room. Her sore muscles burned with protest as she flew down the stairs and wound through corridors until she was opening the door to the potions laboratory. She flicked on the lamps with Daphne's wand, lighting the cauldrons and pulling down the ingredients she knew by heart.

Tomorrow morning, she would go to Grimmauld Place. But tonight, she could give Ginny her freedom — and if she were lucky, Ron, too. She wouldn't be able to bring them into Grimmauld Place without the Secret Keeper, but she could send Kreacher to hide them somewhere safe. But she'd need Draco's help.

Her emotions bubbled as she worked, tightening her chest and unsteadying her fingers. Once she set the cauldron to simmering, Hermione began meditating to file them away.