Her eyes burned into his back, and she thought of Parvati and the Baxter girl. Penelope Clearwater curled in a corner refusing to eat. The slice to her abdomen. The last glimpse of Ginny as she was dragged away.

She couldn't stop the words. Like bile creeping up. "My gratitude?"

He paused with one hand on the door. "Of course, Miss Granger." A raised brow. "You have been saved."

He exited, shutting the door behind him.

~*~

Relying on Narcissa Malfoy's supposed protection wasn't going to get her anywhere. It wasn't protection she needed—it was a way out.

After she was sure Lucius wouldn't be returning, she pulled Hogwarts, A History off the shelves, and sat in the chair facing the door, reading absently while keeping an eye on the entrance.

At 8AM on the dot, a knock sounded from the door. Before Hermione could release her tense shoulders or contemplate what horrors could await her, a treble voice said, "Remmy is here for breakfast!"

Hermione blinked. She stood, placing the book delicately on the chair. "Come in?" It sounded more like a question than she liked.

The door pushed open, and an older female elf tottered in, a tray hovering behind her. The elf — Remmy — frowned. "Mistress says Remmy must knock."

Hermione stared at her, wondering how she was to reply. Remmy scowled and sent the tray barreling toward the end table near her wingback chair. She spun and wobbled out the door. Before she could close it, Hermione said, "Thank you, Remmy."

Remmy turned, eyes squinted, and nodded once before shutting the door behind her.

Beans and toast. Eggs, juice, bacon, grilled tomatoes. Pastries and tarts. And tea service.

Hermione's stomach twisted and rumbled. She hadn't eaten since yesterday — an apple slice Luna had handed her in the morning. Narcissa had claimed she wouldn't poison her last night, but Hermione knew of at least seven potions that could be baked into the pastries or stirred in with the tea that could alter her perceptions, relax her mind or muscles, or leave blank spots in her memories — all of which were tasteless and odorless.

She wandered into the bathroom suite to hide from the delicious scent of the food and stared at the tub. It had several magical taps for bubbles and scents. The tub was deep and wide, and much more luxurious than Hermione had seen in the last year. Her last decent bath had been last summer, before Bill and Fleur's wedding.

But she thought of the way Lucius Malfoy had swept into the suite, like her privacy meant nothing to him.

She quickly turned to the large shower, draped a towel over the side, and stripped. The water hit the perfect temperature, and she spent thirty seconds inside, scrubbing and washing only the essential areas, skipping her hair. She turned off the water, grabbed the towel, and wrapped herself tightly. She stood, dripping on the bathmat, waiting for something to happen.

She poked her head into the bedroom, seeing she had no visitors. She dried off, twisted the towel around her again, and waddled to the wardrobe. She assumed the owner of the robes and jumpers and denims wouldn't mind her borrowing a few things until...