There were too many people around her on all sides—Hermione felt as though she were surrounded by noisy insects, wished she could bat them away. Several people would approach them at once to offer their heartfelt congratulations and blessings. Hermione played her part dutifully, thanking them all and touching her belly, allowed Draco to hold her as often as he wanted. It was an absurd circus—she tried picturing Voldemort conducting his matters in such a way, and failed. He had been feared, yes, but he had not been loved, and he probably had not been that respected, either. He had been powerful and terrifying and unreachable above all. She could never picture him as Draco was now, smiling and charming yet cool, radiating power all the while, like a silent reminder that everyone he spoke to that they were still beneath him.