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THE AUCTION
RIGHTS AND WRONGS

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 Part Two of The Auction by Julie Soto (LovesBitca8)
Part 3 of the RIGHTS AND WRONGS series.

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://archiveofourown.org/works/19101535
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence,
Rape/Non-Con
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger / Draco Malfoy
First Published: 2020-12-07

In the wake of the Dark Lord’s triumph over Harry Potter, the
defeated must learn their new place. Hermione Granger,
former Golden Girl, has been captured and reduced to human
chattel. Sold to the highest bidder as the top prize at an
auction of Order members and sympathizers, she is thrust into
the rabid, waiting hands of the Death Eaters. But despite the
horrors of Voldemort’s new world, help—and hope—seem to
arise from the most unlikely of places.

TYPESET BY
THE CIRCE APOTHECARY

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v
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS

THE AUCTION
VOLUME TWO

JULIE SOTO
I LLUSTRATED BY A VENDELL & G WYNVIS

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 CHAPTER 25

T
HE FLAMES LICKED HER LEGS AS THEY PASSED THROUGH
the fire into Draco’s bedroom. Hermione looked down at the journal
— the leather cover scraped and worn, the parchment soft with age.
Her fingers gripped it tightly, and she blinked. She flipped to the pages she’d
never seen before, checking to make sure they were real.
The key to the Scourers’ code stared back up at her. She drew a shaky breath,
thumbing through the pages until her vision blurred. They’d done it. They’d
gotten the information she needed. It was more than she’d dared to hope for.
She spun to Draco, feeling energy coursing through her. He stood with his
hands in his pockets, watching her.
“I knew it would work,” she said breathlessly.
He lifted a brow. “But it didn’t. You failed to seduce the information out
of him—”
“I still got him to share what he knew—”
“You got him to hand that book over? If I didn’t have the foresight to—”
“—use truth serum on a defenseless girl?” She glowered at him. “Yes, we
mustn’t forget that part.”
Draco scoffed. “An hour ago, you wouldn’t have spit on her if she was on
fire, but now you feel she’s been unjustly treated—”
“I would have expected you to inform me of a plot like that—”
“It got you your bloody journal, didn’t it?”
“No, it didn’t! He invited us over because he was already planning to tell us—”
“He was eyeing the situation, and if I didn’t have leverage he might have
used it against us—”
“You’re wrong! He gave it to us because he cares about Oliver!”
“It doesn’t matter.” Draco shoved his hand through his hair. “You have
the journal now.”
She pursed her lips and ran her fingers over the pages again. Her mind
began whirring quickly, her irritation slipping away. “It’s Gaulish,” she said

✦7✦
after a few moments. “The seventh cluster is based on Gaulish runes.” Chew-
ing her lip, she checked the clock on his mantle. It was 2:30 in the morning,
but she was wide awake.
“I’ll send coffee to the library,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Go.”
Offering him a quick smile, she ran out the door and down the stairs. Within
ten minutes, she had the library table scattered with journals, parchment, and
inkpots, sipping her first cup of coffee and munching on a biscuit.
She worked through the night, astonished at how the key worked. She only
had to visualize a rune and press her fingers to the parchment before the letters
and figures would rearrange themselves, bringing the character in question to
the top of the page. Scribbling furiously to untwine the symbols she had been
staring at for months, she felt her mind spinning with the thrill of working on
a problem, all thoughts and worries about Oliver and Theo slipping away.
Once the sun’s rays began peeking through the large windows, she checked
her progress. She’d translated a full page of Tolbrette’s journal, a rate almost
five times faster than her normal speed. Elation swelled through her — until
her eyes caught the remaining journals.
She was only inches closer to deciphering all of it. And there was still the issue
of all the missing pages. She’d have to fill in the blanks to reconstruct their spells.
Shaking out her cramping hand, she frowned down at the journal. One page, one
step at a time. After four hours, she rubbed her eyes and finally called it a night,
slumping up to her room and falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The next week was spent tackling the journals as ferociously as she’d tackled
O.W.L.s. She spent long days holed up in the library, translating side by side
with Draco as they worked through their respective journals. Thankfully, she
hadn’t seen Lucius since her impromptu tour of the Manor. He’d left a note
telling Draco he’d be away, so they didn’t have to worry about him stumbling
across their research.
The first thing Draco had tried once he’d joined her was a series of unscram-
bling and translation spells. But the journals had resisted. So they’d continued
their routine of getting to the library early, sipping their tea and coffee over the
pages, and bouncing ideas back and forth about the meanings behind the pas-
sages as they worked.
Every evening around eleven, Draco would insist that they retire for the
night and walk with her back to their rooms. He would listen as she shared her
theories about Tolbrette’s “lightning barrier,” explaining why she thought he’d
started with Celtic magic. He would stand with her outside her door, patiently
waiting as she worked through small ideas that nagged her. He would ask ques-
tions or offer input in small ways, but truly, simply having an intelligent

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sounding board was invaluable. She would close her bedroom door once she’d
exhausted herself, still ruminating about the order of entries and what might
have killed “Pigeon No. 5.”
When Friday rolled around and Draco reminded her that they had to appear
at Edinburgh in two hours, she huffed in irritation that her research would be cut
short that evening. For the first time, she had no interest in going to Edinburgh.
She stomped upstairs to get ready, finding a short navy dress from Pansy in her
closet. Putting in minimal effort towards her hair and makeup, she finished get-
ting ready with forty-five minutes to spare and ran back down to the library.
Draco found her at ten minutes past the hour, pouring over the texts and
biting her lip in concentration. When he led her out the doors to the drive, he
noticed she was missing her gold collar and had to summon Boppy to fetch it.
Hermione snapped it on as they walked, her mind still lost among the journals.
“Do you know if Ted Nott will be at Edinburgh tonight?”
“I’m not putting you in Ted Nott’s path, Granger,” Draco grumbled. “Not
when you look like that.”
She blinked at him as the gates opened. Looking down at herself, she didn’t
find anything objectionable. A short dress, tall heels, curled hair, and hasty
makeup. She was about to ask him to clarify when he took her arm and Disap-
parated them to Edinburgh.
Throughout dinner she found her mind wandering to the translation. It was
easy to do, as the room was unusually muted tonight. Flint was still absent, and
so was Theo. She tried not to worry about what it might mean for him and
Oliver. Susan Bones was missing, as Travers had needed her that evening, so
Goyle was sulky and silent. After a few hushed remarks about the latest setbacks
in France — apparently the Order had retaken Groix — the boys drifted to
stilted pleasantries. By the time they wandered down to the Lounge, she’d
worked through several possible meanings behind the Septagram she’d found
in Tolbrette’s journal. When Draco pulled her down next to him on the
couches, she curled her legs up onto the cushions, letting her knees fall against
his. His arm fell over her shoulder, but he didn’t push her to slide on top of him.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the two shadows that
fell over them until one spoke.
“Your kitten looks tired, Draco.”
An older man with a broad torso and a balding head stared down at her. He
swirled a glass of brandy methodically. Just behind him, Yaxley sent her a smirk.
Draco stood abruptly and shook his hand. “Well, I’ve been exhausting her, sir.”
The bald man chuckled and ran his tongue over his teeth. Hermione recog-
nized him, but couldn’t place him.

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 “I hear you’re territorial. That’s a shame.”
“Apologies, sir, but it’s not a shame for me. I like knowing that she’s only
had my cock inside her. Makes it worth the Galleons.” Draco laughed, a tight
sound that sent a chill down her spine.
“Come now, even for an old friend like me?” The bald man leered down at
her and adjusted himself in his trousers. “We were almost family, Draco.”
“Almost,” said Draco coolly.
And it clicked. Mr. Parkinson. She could see Pansy’s features in him now
clearly. Her lips parted in horror, and she quickly turned her eyes down, forcing
herself not to glance to where “Giuliana Bravieri” sat with Blaise.
A Carrow Girl brought by two new brandy glasses for Yaxley and Parkin-
son, and Yaxley let his gaze travel down the girl’s body as he reached for a
new drink. “I have to say I’m surprised by how much you enjoy these little
parties, Quince. To think that your daughter could have been one of these
whores, should she not have—”
“She was no daughter of mine,” Parkinson growled. He downed the rest of
his brandy and traded his empty glass for a full one. “I’m prouder to have no
heirs than to live with the disgrace of that slut. Draco and Blaise did the honor-
able thing by killing her.”
Hermione felt her chest tightening, her ribs crushing her lungs. Parkinson
took a long swig of his second brandy, his eyes narrowed at Draco, as if daring
him to disagree.
“Indeed, sir,” Draco said slowly. “She was a stain on all of us.”
Hermione lifted her gaze and found Parkinson nodding at Draco and turn-
ing to Blaise. His eyes caught on Giuliana.
“Well, hello,” he sang.
And Hermione watched in disgust as Mr. Parkinson ran his eyes down the
body his daughter was currently inhabiting. She chanced a look in her direction,
and found Giuliana Braveri’s eyes were bright with a blaze of fury.
Mr. Parkinson laughed. “This one’s got spirit left, Zabini. I thought we all
fucked that out of her.”
Hermione’s stomach roiled.
She watched Giuliana Bravieri’s shoulders roll back and her nostrils flare.
Blaise made some quip, standing to shake Mr. Parkinson’s hand as well, but
Hermione could only hear the blood rushing in her ears.
Draco grabbed her elbow, made some excuse, and walked them around the
room once before changing course toward the Floo. As soon as she stepped
through, she stumbled to the nearest chair, bracing herself. She had a faint
memory of a conversation with Pansy in the Ministry, a hint at her strained

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relationship with her father — but to sell his own daughter into slavery was
unthinkable. She tried to put herself in Pansy’s shoes. To imagine her own fa-
ther... Her throat closed, and she felt herself gagging.
Draco was at her side in an instant. He ordered chamomile and a sleeping
draught to be brought to her room, and brushed off her questions with a “Not
now, Granger.” He walked her there with a hand on her back and forced her to
go to bed with the promise that they would work on the tattoos first thing in
the morning.
Hermione threw herself into research for the next few days, burning
through her disgust. Quincy Parkinson was simply another person to add to
her list of people who were going to pay. Draco met her every morning and left
with her every evening. The first two days, they made excellent progress. She
was three-quarters of the way through Tolbrette’s journal; he was two-thirds
through with his. But as the week dragged on, his attention became less and less
focused. She found his gaze on her often, trailing over her face or dragging
down her legs before flitting away. He asked her to repeat questions, and she
got the sense that he wasn’t really listening when she spoke. He had to take
more breaks, stretching and strolling through the library stacks. Perhaps he’d
grown sick of helping her.
It wasn’t until Tuesday, when Hermione woke from a very pleasant dream,
that she sharply realized the meaning behind the burning in his eyes.
He was randy.
She blinked at herself in the mirror several minutes later, toothbrush hang-
ing out of her mouth. She’d been so preoccupied, so consumed by her research,
that she hadn’t thought once about what happened before they went to Nott
Manor. But maybe it wasn’t far from his mind. She thought back to the way he
would walk her back to her bedroom at the end of each day, the way he’d watch
her lips close around the rim of her coffee mug. The way he’d find little reasons
to touch her — his hand on her waist as he moved around her in the stacks, his
fingers against hers as he passed her his notes.
Abruptly, her body remembered his fingers in her knickers, her hand
against his erection, his breath in her ear, the sounds from his throat as he came.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to… again. She did. She’d just been… busy.
Hermione cleaned the toothpaste from her mouth, washed her flushed face,
and opened the cabinets. The Contraceptive Potions stared back at her. One a
month. She and Draco wouldn’t be… Not yet. But there was no reason to be
stubborn about it. She drank a potion and dressed quickly before hurrying to
meet him downstairs.

✦ 11 ✦
 He was wearing the cobalt jumper, and her eyes lingered on the way it
stretched across his chest.
She joined him at the large table, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the
carafe. His long fingers flipped a page, and his eyebrows drew together in con-
fusion. She watched him read for a few moments, feeling her blood begin to
hum with the caffeine and her own nerves.
“Anything interesting?” she said, echoing how he tried to draw her attention
last week.
He sighed, not looking up. “Just a bit about magic ink. I think. I can’t be
sure yet.”
She came around to his side of the table and peered over his shoulder to read
what he was reading. He pointed out the translation, but she couldn’t concen-
trate, too dizzy from his scent. She hummed when she needed to, leaning closer,
keenly aware of her chest brushing against his arm.
She heard his throat click as he swallowed. But then he was standing, offer-
ing her his chair and Jones’s key in favor of moving across the room. She
watched him settle into the couch and pick up the reading she’d started yester-
day on Celtic magic.
Hermione bit her lip and tried to restructure her plans. She wanted him to
know she was still interested. Perhaps she needed to be blunt about it. She pre-
tended to translate for five minutes before setting her journal aside and walking
to the couch.
“Mm?” he hummed into his book when he felt her presence in front of him.
Hermione bent at the waist, steadied her hands on his shoulders, and
pressed her lips to his. His lips softened under hers, and his book snapped
closed. She pulled back and looked into his eyes as they flitted across her face.
“Yes?” He smiled.
“I was just thinking… we could use… a break?”
His grin widened. “Oh?”
“Um, yes.” She took a deep breath and crawled into his lap, her legs on either
side of his thighs. His brows jumped, and the book was tossed across the room
as his hands landed on her hips. “We’ve both been working rather hard, and I,
um… I was thinking we could use… a little bit of… um…”
She broke off, her cheeks heating, but he just smirked at her. She rolled her
eyes and leaned in to kiss him again.
His arms wrapped around her back, dragging her closer. She’d worn her
denims ever since Lucius had last scolded her, but now she was regretting that
her legs couldn’t widen like she wanted them to.

✦ 12 ✦
 Draco kissed her lazily, unhurried. His hands roamed over her back and slid
down to her hips, gliding down her thighs and rounding her knees before re-
tracing his path up. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pushing her tongue
into his mouth and relishing the surprised groan that tore from his throat. He
squeezed her hips and pulled her closer.
She let her hands float down, tracing over the jumper and down his chest.
He tangled his tongue with hers as her fingers tugged at the hem, slipping under
to touch his bare skin. He sighed, and she let her palms skate over his skin.
Running into his Sectumsempra scars, she traced the zigzag up, across his
ribs and over the sharp angle under his heart. She kissed him as her fingers
pressed into his muscles, enjoying the firmness of his stomach and the hard
edges of his ribs.
She pulled her mouth off of his and watched his eyes flutter open slowly.
“Off?” she asked, tugging at the jumper.
His eyes flashed, and then he was sitting forward to pull it over his head. His
alabaster skin was so bright under the morning light, and her fingers were im-
mediately drawn to all of his scars — Sectumsempra, the acid curse from Dover,
and a few others she didn’t recognize. She wanted to ask — to make him explain
each of them. But then he was leaning forward to kiss her neck, tugging her
chest to his and sucking on her throat.
Her eyes fluttered closed as his hand ran into her curls, pulling her neck
open for him, his other squeezing her hip, encouraging her to roll forward into
him. She shifted her legs, and suddenly they were slotted together. She gasped,
and he moaned. Even through her denims and his trousers, she felt him grow-
ing harder. She tried rolling her hips, and Draco’s teeth scraped down her neck.
He chuckled into her skin. “The house-elves will stop us soon.”
She bit her lip to keep from mentioning that they probably wouldn’t, now
that she’d taken the potion.
“Until they stop us then,” she whispered back. And he grunted and
squeezed her backside.
“Fuck.”
He pulled her lips back to his, and she let him devour her as she sighed from
the delicious feeling of their hips coming together. Her hands ran over his chest,
loving the vast amount of warm skin at her disposal. She wanted more.
She pulled at her shirt, gathering it to tug off. Draco pulled back to watch
her with heavy breaths and wandering eyes. Her hair fell awkwardly over her
face as it came loose, but just as she’d cleared her vision, she felt his skin against
hers as he pulled her toward him and turned them to lay her down on the couch.
“Okay?” he breathed. She nodded.

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 She’d only been under him once — on the chaise when they were inter-
rupted. But there hadn’t been this much skin. Now she could run her hands
over his bare back. She could push her breasts up against his chest.
He covered her, crawling on top of her and kissing her neck as he slotted
their hips together. His lips trailed lower, over her clavicles, dropping kisses
across the tops of her breasts. He paused, and she looked down to see his gaze
concentrated on the scar over her heart from the ritual that removed her vir-
ginity. He kissed it gently, and Hermione’s knees curled up around his waist as
something warm swirled low in her stomach.
He looked up at her, his lips over her chest, and she watched as his mouth
dragged lower until he hovered over her bra. She could feel his warm breath on
her. She nodded, and Draco kissed her breast, his lips brushing across the thin
lace covering her nipple.
Her chest arched up into him, and a whine poured from her lips as his fin-
gers cupped her other breast. Her eyes squeezed shut as pressure built in her
hips, urging her to shift under him as his thumb grazed her. Her legs locked
around his waist, trying to rub herself on him.
Draco shifted up, removing his lips from her chest and kissing her mouth.
He pushed his length against her core, and she hissed, “Yes.”
He did it again and asked, “It feels good?”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t—”
He kissed her and started grinding his body into hers. The hand on her
breast tugged down her bra cup and began rolling her nipple. She gasped into
his mouth, squeezing her knees around his waist.
His hips found a pace that dragged the denim over her core just right, and
her hips jumped to meet his on every thrust.
“Want you to come, Granger,” he panted against her lips. “Will you come
like this?”
“I—I think so. Please—”
He pumped faster and faster, grinding his hips against her clit. Her nails cut
across his back, and her back arched, closer and closer.
“What else?” he groaned. “What else do you need?”
“Just don’t stop—”
“I can’t—I’m gonna—Fuck—”
“Draco, please—”
His hand squeezed her breast, plucking at her nipple—
She listened to him grunt. Listened to the curses fall from his lips like
raindrops against her cheek. His hips grew erratic, grinding exactly where she
needed him. She was hovering over the edge of the cliff, just one more step—

✦ 14 ✦
 “Beautiful—fucking—fuck—”
His hips rolled into her once more. She shuddered, her jaw falling open, her
body coiling, her thighs shaking, and her cunt clenching. He shivered and
moaned, hips stilling as he came.
They caught their breaths. Hermione’s fingers traced patterns into his scalp, rel-
ishing the way his fine hair slipped through her fingertips. His face was buried in
her shoulder, panting into her skin. Letting her hands drift down his neck and
smooth over his back, she followed the curves of his shoulder blades, mapping the
knots in his spine and memorizing his ribs as they expanded beneath her touch.
His hand was still on her breast, bare beneath his fingers from where he’d
pulled down her bra. And when his hand gave her an infinitesimal squeeze —
his thumb rolling over the peak of her — she was shocked to learn that her body
was still responding.
He lifted his hand, pressing into the couch to hold himself up. He hovered
over her, his eyes skating down her body, tracing her mouth, her exposed
breast, her waist. She memorized him in return — the way his hair fell forward
over his forehead, the definition in his lean arms and chest, the color of his lips
when they were kiss-bruised.
Reaching up slowly, he pushed a curl away from her face. His fingers ran
down her neck and shoulder, and softly tugged her bra cup back into place. He
sat up, offering her his hands, and pulled her up.
They decided to freshen up, and meet back downstairs in an hour. The walk
to their bedrooms was silent, but when he dropped her off at her door, she
turned to him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his lips to
hers in a chaste kiss. She was pleasantly surprised to find how quickly his tongue
slipped into her mouth and his hands grabbed her arse.
・✦・
Kissing Draco Malfoy was like a drug — a potion to clear your mind and set
fire to your skin. She thought maybe she could brew it, bottle it, and keep it
forever.
He kissed her in the mornings before her first cup of coffee, doing more to
her body than a full pot of caffeine. He kissed her in the afternoons when he
was bored with any translation that had no direct relation to the way her body
moved or what made her moan. He kissed her in the evenings when they ar-
rived at her bedroom door, pushing her up against the wall and letting his hands
wander, sometimes pulling her up to wind her legs around his hips.
He liked her hair down, her jeans tight, and her bra blue lace.

✦ 15 ✦
 He let her set their pace. The moment her fingers popped one of his buttons,
her shirt was tugged off. If her hips rolled against his, suddenly the bulge in his
trousers was grinding into her. But no matter what she tried to communicate,
her jeans stayed firmly on. She’d tried taking them off herself once, but he’d
stilled her hands. Before she could question it, his tongue was back in her
mouth, drawing moans from her lungs.
They were running their hands over each other on Friday, her fingers drift-
ing to the front of his trousers, wondering if maybe she should try to unbutton
him today, when a rap-rap-rap sounded from somewhere.
She pulled her mouth off his neck and looked around. Draco went still un-
derneath her.
Rap-rap-rap.
It sounded as if someone was knocking on the library doors.
Hermione straightened her top and scrambled off the chair she’d been
straddling him in. Draco followed suit, smoothing out his shirt as he quickly
crossed to the door. She stood behind him as he pulled it open, and Narcissa
Malfoy stood there patiently, a vision in lavender.
“Mother,” he croaked.
“Hello, darling. Hermione.” She nodded to both of them and stepped
through the door. “You’ll excuse my caution, but I’ve heard that it’s best to
knock before entering a closed-door room nowadays.”
Hermione’s cheeks flamed. Draco coughed. “Er, I’m not sure why—”
“Oh, nonsense. I remember being your age and having the whole Manor to
ourselves.” She smiled sweetly at her son. Draco swallowed, looking quite grey.
“Mother, please don’t—”
“I came to invite you both to dinner tonight. I know you usually go to Ed-
inburgh on Fridays, but perhaps I can tempt you to stay home and visit with
your father and me?”
“Father is home as well?” Draco ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I…
yes I suppose—”
“Excellent,” Narcissa said, her mouth twitching. “I’ll see you both this even-
ing then.”
She gave Draco a quick peck on the cheek and excused herself, bidding them
goodbye. They moved to a table further inside the library and spent the rest of
the day focusing on their translations, leaving the doors propped open wide. It
was too risky to pick up where they’d left off when his parents were both home,
wandering the halls.
Dinner was a strange affair. Narcissa deflected all questions about her visit
with Bellatrix, favoring small talk instead. Halfway through their first course,

✦ 16 ✦
Lucius decided to begin drilling Hermione on the cutlery on the table, quizzing
her on their names and purpose as Narcissa glared at him. Draco was mostly
silent, apparently preoccupied with drinking more wine than she’d ever seen
him drink before. At the end of dinner, Hermione excused herself back to her
room, casting a quick look in his direction. He glanced away, and she supposed
that meant that they wouldn’t be snogging outside their bedrooms anymore.
They continued their translations over the next few days without any inci-
dent. But the following Wednesday, there was a headline in the paper about a
military initiative in Switzerland. Bellatrix was on the front of the Prophet in a
black ensemble, looking quite the role of a murderous general. Lucius had left
the previous day. When Hermione asked Narcissa about it over breakfast, she
sipped her tea and said, “Lucius has it under control.” But her smile was tight.
Hermione hoped to get answers from Draco later, but as soon as they reached
the library, he pulled away. “I don’t know any more than you do, Granger,” he
clipped, before turning to his translations.
They went to Edinburgh that Friday, but Draco was distracted. Theo was
back, his face pinched and pale. Cassandra sat quietly in his lap, unusually de-
mure. At dinner, Draco snapped at anyone who tried to ask about Switzerland.
When they went downstairs to the Lounge, it was practically empty — only a
few Carrow Girls with trays serving a handful of men at the gambling tables.
Draco tugged her out into the courtyard, following the other boys and whis-
pering an apology in her ear. Before she could ask what for, a wave of sound hit
her — a swell of jeering and yelling. Her heart seized with terror at the thought
of another One O’Clock Gun, but Draco gripped her elbow tightly as he led her
forward, and a peek through the packed crowd allowed her to take in her first
view of Seamus Finnigan since the Auction. He was beaten and bloody, brawl-
ing with another male Lot. She tried to clear her mind, but she could only watch
in horror as Seamus pounded his fist into the other person repeatedly, the
crowd’s cheers ringing in her ears. Seamus tugged the boy’s head up by the hair,
and before he slammed his fist into his nose, Hermione recognized Justin
Finch-Fletchley beneath the blood. They left soon after, as the crowd whooped
at Seamus’s victory.
She managed to make it to the Apparition Point before she began crying.
Draco held her as the wind whipped around them, his knuckles brushing her
tear-stained cheeks. The next morning, he flatly refused to let her go to the li-
brary, insisting she had to spend the day practicing her Occlumency. To her
annoyance, she agreed.
The following week flew by. There was a triumphant, though heavily cen-
sored, article about Switzerland in the Prophet on Monday. She and Draco

✦ 17 ✦
worked in the library together most mornings after she’d spent an hour Oc-
cluding. Both of them were almost through their second journals. And though
it was fewer and farther between, Draco still would find a reason to request her
assistance in the back of the library, pulling her close to him and working his
hands under her shirt.
Lucius finally returned on Thursday, and it seemed like a weight had lifted from
Narcissa’s shoulders. Hermione took it as an encouraging sign. Unfortunately, Lu-
cius’ presence also meant that Draco stopped finding excuses to touch her in the
library or kiss her goodnight. By the time she was getting ready for Edinburgh on
Friday, Hermione was talking herself out of taking a bath to… unwind.
Pansy had sent her a champagne-colored slip dress with matching heels that
morning. The dress had thin straps and a short hem, and sliding into the silky
fabric didn’t help her current state one bit. The dress was cool on her over-
heated body, and her breasts stood out plainly against the draping silk. She care-
fully applied her makeup, snapped on her collar, and met Draco downstairs.
As usual, his drifting eyes liquefied her, his gaze curving over her hips and
breasts, sliding down her legs, and trailing up to her collarbones and neck.
She sent him a smirk and said, “Shall we?”
He seemed to snap out of his trance, stepping forward to take her elbow and
guide her out the front doors. They got down the front steps, onto the drive, and
out the gate before he tugged her to the side and descended upon her lips. She
squeaked as he pushed her against the stone wall, his tongue in her mouth and
his hands roving her back, her waist, her hips. Her laughter died in her throat,
and she kissed him back fiercely, throwing her arms around his neck. He groaned
and squeezed her arse, the silk riding up her cheeks. His fingers slid beneath to
palm her backside, and she gasped as his hard length ground against her.
“Been thinking about your arse all week, Granger.”
She shivered, not from the October wind dancing over them, but from his
words, spinning delicious melodies in her ear.
His hands glided over her hips, fingers running along her spine beneath the
silk of her dress.
“Do you know what I love about this dress?”
She panted into his ear as his hands skated around her ribs, coming forward
to cup her breasts. “What?”
He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, filling his palms with her.
“That I get to take it off you later.”
She moaned, a high-pitched whine. He kissed her deeply, rubbing his
thumbs in soft circles.

✦ 18 ✦
 And just as quick as it started, he was pulling back, his hands sliding down
her stomach. She caught her breath as he took her hand, threaded their fingers
together, and dragged her to the top of the hill, Disapparating them.
The shock of Apparition cooled her off a bit, but there was something curling
deep inside of her as they walked beneath the howling werewolves and passed the
leering guards. It was a silly thought: inconsequential, if not irresponsible, given
the circumstances. But it sent a thrill through her veins just the same.
Draco Malfoy wanted something from her that only she could give him.
And as they greeted Charlotte, as his hand pressed to her lower back — his
fingers inching lower than before — she relished that kind of power. That in-
toxicating feeling of being desired. Not by someone who’d just take from her.
Someone who wanted her to give herself freely.
They spent some time in the Great Hall, with Draco shaking hands and
dodging questions about Switzerland. His left hand pulled her so close against
him, she was practically straddling his hip. When they finally made their way
up to the dining room, she felt Draco’s hand drift lower as they climbed the
stairs. She batted his hand away with a wink.
Harper opened the door for them, and her stomach swooped when she saw
Flint back at the head of the table. His eyes lifted to them, but there was no
snarky comment, no lingering gaze on Hermione’s legs or chest. He almost
looked nervous.
Draco greeted the boys, even patting Theo on the back, and took his seat at
the head of the table. Hermione wound herself into his lap while he laughed at
something Pucey had just said. His hand was on her leg as soon as she was set-
tled, pulling her body closer, and sliding up her thigh to rest just below the short
hem of her dress. She felt her skin flush, and every time he brushed his thumb
across her inner thigh, she felt her stomach tighten.
“Marcus,” Draco called out. “How was your holiday?”
The table quieted, waiting with bated breath.
Flint swallowed, and looked down at his wine glass. “Fine. Weather was per-
fect.” He rolled his shoulders back and sent Draco a smirk. “Hope you didn’t
miss me too terribly.”
Draco tapped his fingers on the table. “We hardly noticed you were gone.”
He reached for his glass and drank deeply, staring at him over the rim.
The table was silent. Several boys followed suit and grabbed their wine glasses.
There had been a palpable shift in power. The boys who usually clamored
around Flint for his attention or guidance were shifting their focus to Draco.
There was no talk of Sharing her, no ribbing Draco for his behavior. As the

✦ 19 ✦
night dragged on, Flint sunk further and further into the background, his eyes
flickering anxiously around the table.
And throughout dinner, Draco kept his hand on her thigh, moving infini-
tesimally higher and higher. But when she glanced down, he was only an inch
under the hem of her dress. She took calming breaths once she noticed his erec-
tion against her hip.
When it was time for the Lounge, Hermione felt like she was about to com-
bust. Draco kept her close to his side, his hand wrapping around her hip as they
passed through the hallway. The Lounge was packed this time. Draco dropped
into the large chair he usually sat in, and she settled against him, curling her
legs up into his lap. He took two glasses of champagne from an offered tray,
and once he’d handed her one, his free hand rested on her knee.
Graham Montague sat on his left, chatting sports and memories of Hog-
warts days. He usually followed Flint like a puppy. His Carrow Girl straddled
him and began kissing his neck, putting an end to his one-sided conversation.
There was nothing to distract her now from the humming in her skin. Her-
mione remembered the day in the Manor library, her thighs on either side of
Draco’s hips — the way he couldn’t keep his hands off her arse, the sound of
him moaning in her ear. She could feel eyes flicker to her and Draco, and then
away. The boys watching, weighing.
After a few heartbeats, she leaned in, pulling his earlobe between her lips.
His hand squeezed her leg. She pressed a kiss to his pulse point. She heard his
voice tremble. Her hand slithered down his chest, trailing over his shirt buttons
to rest lightly on his belt buckle. She heard his throat swallow. The hand on her
thigh began skating across her skin.
Shifting on his lap, she moved to straddle him, kissing his neck and steady-
ing herself on his shoulders. His hands jumped to her hips — just like she knew
they would — and the soft gasp from his lips when she settled her core against
the bulge in his trousers made her head spin. She pushed her chest forward,
letting her breasts graze him, and one of his arms wrapped around her back.
His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, and his fingers twisted in the
ends of her hair.
She could barely move like this — plastered to his front, the hand in her hair
tugging her head back. Her throat was open to him, and as his hand glided
down to her backside, his lips descended on her neck. She moaned softly, and
felt his cock twitch between her legs.
Her hands slid up to his hair, holding him close. He sucked at his favorite
spots, the places he’d discovered that made her groan and gasp. The hand on
her arse massaged her over her silk dress, pulling her hips into his as the other

✦ 20 ✦
hand held her chest and neck close. His teeth grazed her pulse, and she tried to
shift her hips against his.
She could hear the sounds of glasses clinking, of boisterous voices and low
music. The purr of a Carrow Girl in her ear as fingers brushed across her shoul-
ders, offering more champagne. But it all vanished like sound in a vacuum
when Draco splayed his hand on the base of her spine, rolling her hips forward
at his own pace.
A tight whine escaped her throat. And suddenly the hand tugging at the
ends of her hair jumped to cup her jaw, sliding into the hair behind her ear, and
pulling her face to his — kissing her.
Hermione gasped in surprise, her eyes shooting open to find Draco’s closed
in bliss. Kissing her at Edinburgh.
Letting her lashes flutter shut, she sighed into his mouth as his tongue dove
into her. Her arms draped over his shoulders, and her hips began undulating
against his. Her breasts brushed his chest softly with every roll of her body, and
the cold silk teased her nipples.
He was fully hard in his trousers now, something she could feel with every
snap of their hips. His mouth nipped at her, and his tongue pulled moans
from her throat.
She pulled back to catch her breath, and before her mind came back to her
body, he was standing, saying his goodbyes, and dragging her toward the fire-
places. She stumbled behind him in her heels, trying to steady herself.
In a puff of green smoke, they stepped through to his bedroom, and she
reached for him at the same time his hands lifted her by the waist, carrying her
to his bed. Her breath caught as he dropped her on the edge of the mattress, her
mind catching up. They were on a bed and he was hard and she was wet and
they were on a bed.
He took her face in his hands, bending down to kiss her quickly. “Whatever
you want. We’ll do as much as you want.”
She nodded, relieved that he’d read her mind, and let him push her back on
the mattress, shifting her across the middle of it. He crawled over her, kissing
her deeply and sliding his hand over her waist. Threading her fingers in his hair,
she kissed him back, losing her breath in him.
His hands started rucking up her dress, pushing the silk over her hips, mak-
ing good on his promise from a few hours before. She kicked off her heels, and
he met her eyes as he dragged the silk up over her breasts, gaining her permis-
sion with her short nod. She helped him pull it over her head, and then she was
down to her knickers on Draco Malfoy’s bed.

✦ 21 ✦
 He shifted his knees to slot between hers, and then he was kissing her, suck-
ing a path down her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed, and his lips and tongue
trailed down to her breasts, sucking and licking at her as his hand rubbed her
hip. She arched her chest forward, pushing her nipple into his mouth as he
teased it with soft rolls of his tongue.
“Don’t tease,” she moaned, twisting beneath him.
And then he sucked on her, drawing a strangled gasp from her lips as he
pinched her other breast between his fingers.
He kissed each rib on his path down her stomach, over her bellybutton. His
hand smoothed over her thighs, opening her wide even as she ached to rub
them together. Draco kissed the lace band of her knickers.
Her eyes shot open.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, and she bit her lip, her legs tensing and
trying to close.
Did he really want to… do that? She wasn’t sure—
He looked up, his eyes black and locked on hers. And before she could
blink, he was moving back up, kissing her stomach and throat until his mouth
found hers again.
She sighed and ran her hands down his shirt. She was halfway down his
chest when his mouth pulled away.
“Can I touch you again?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She tugged at his shirt. “Take this off.”
He sat up and fumbled with the buttons, his eyes drinking her in as she lay
prone on his mattress. Once his shirt was off, he lowered himself to her side
and ran his hand down her stomach.
“Can I take these off?”
She bit her lip and nodded. His eyes darkened, and then he was rolling her
knickers down her thighs, helping her kick them off. Then his hand held her
hip as he settled on her right side.
He stared down at her body for a moment that lasted forever, and she felt
her heart pound, her face flushed with embarrassment and arousal.
Then his hand moved to her center, and she turned her eyes on the ceiling
as his fingers dragged through her folds. He pressed his lips to her clavicle, kiss-
ing lightly as his fingers explored her.
She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She let her left just lay at her
side and her right slid under his waist, wrapping around his back.
“Is this… am I alright?” she whispered.
He hummed into her neck and dipped his fingers between her folds.
“You’re perfect.”

✦ 22 ✦
 She bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting Draco find her clit within seconds.
She tried to stifle her gasp, but she knew he’d heard it when he smirked against
her collarbone.
Gently, he pushed her thigh open, bending her knee to the mattress. When
his hand returned to her center, she could feel everything. Every drag of his fin-
gertips. Every brush of his knuckle. His fingers slid down, and she felt him
pressing against her entrance.
“Fuck.”
She jumped. “What?”
He shook his head and kissed her ear, dragging his fingers up to her clit,
swirling her. Her hips shifted. “Gonna make you come, Granger.”
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded her head. And
then he was kissing her mouth again, lips and tongue insistent, distracting her.
She sighed and arched her back when he found a rhythm she liked, increasing
the pressure from his fingers. Her hips shifted, and she felt his cock against her,
still hard in his trousers.
Her eyes shot open as he groaned into her mouth and rolled his hips forward
again. She should be doing something, yes? She should be touching him back?
She turned on her side and reached up to wrap her arm around his neck,
kissing him back and pressing their bare chests together. He grunted into her
mouth and nipped her lip, adjusting his fingers between her legs. Her hand
slithered down his chest, and she hooked her fingers into his belt.
His hand left her core and grabbed her wrist. She pulled back and looked
up at him.
“It’s okay, Granger,” he breathed. “Just lay back—”
“Draco.” She frowned up at him. “Let me touch you.”
He hesitated. And she quirked a brow, feeling devious.
“Are you embarrassed?” she asked innocently.
His brows pulled together. “No, why would you—”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. She shrugged.
His eyes turned deadly. “What would I have to be embarrassed about,
Granger?”
She chewed on her lip, biting back a grin. “I’ve heard boys can be rather
embarrassed about their… size. But I’m sure you’re good at other things—”
He tore her hands from his body and pinned them to the bed, rolling on top
of her. He growled and ground his hips into her, scowling down at her.
“Does that feel ‘small,’ Granger?”
She shook, failing to keep her laughter at bay. “I don’t really know. I haven’t
seen it yet—”

✦ 23 ✦
 He sat up and ripped his belt from his trousers. Laughing, she tried helping
him with his buttons, but he batted her hands away, still looking murderous.
Which made her laugh harder.
Once unbuttoned, he pressed himself back down on top of her and kissed
her breathless. She ran her hands over his ribs, drifting lower and lower until
she was brushing her fingers against his trunks. He groaned and rolled his hips
forward, sucking on her bottom lip.
She pushed his trousers down past his hips and reached for the elastic of his
trunks. He pulled his mouth from hers and dropped his forehead to her shoul-
der, breathing harshly against her skin. She reached inside and lightly wrapped
her fingers around him.
He shivered and groaned tightly.
The skin was warm and smooth. She tried trailing her fingertips along him
softly, and Draco mumbled something into her neck. He drew a sharp breath,
and then his hand returned to her core.
Her head tilted back, shifting her hips against his hand. His fingers trailed
down to her entrance, and slowly he pushed one finger inside.
She gasped, her hand stilling and her leg curling up to his hip. “Oh—”
He lifted his head and kissed her again, pushing further into her. “Okay?”
“Yes. Sure. I mean, it’s good—”
She stopped her stammering when he withdrew and pushed into her again,
slowly filling her.
He cursed, and started kissing her neck again. He twisted his hand, and then
his thumb was at her clit.
Hermione let her eyes flutter shut, brushing soft fingers across his cock and
shifting her hips against him. His fingers picked up their pace, rubbing and
thrusting faster and firmer. She could feel the strain that had been building
since he kissed her outside the Manor gates swelling inside her. Her free hand
twisted in the bedding, stretching out, reaching.
Her breath stuttered in her chest, her walls fluttering — so close.
“Fuck.” Draco panted harshly against her jaw. “Felt that.” She flushed.
“Gonna make you come all over my sheets, Granger.”
His thumb swirled her clit, working her higher and higher as his lips sucked
at her neck. She realized her hand was still wrapped around him, but she
couldn’t think, let alone move, while he played with her. Her head fell back,
arching her chest toward his canopy, her knees curling toward her chest.
He curled his finger, dragging against her inner wall, and she whimpered as
her cunt clenched, squeezing him in place while his thumb worked her clit.

✦ 24 ✦
 She cried out his name, and he pressed their mouths together as she rode
out her climax on his fingers.
He slowly pumped his finger into her as she relaxed, and then finally
pulled away from her. She caught her breath and remembered her hand on
him — the hand that had pulled away and curled into a tight fist against his
chest when she came.
Draco rolled to the side, laying on his back. She turned to him and trailed
her hand down his stomach.
He took her wrist gently. “You don’t have to—”
“I want you to feel good too.” His eyes closed, and she watched him swallow.
She propped herself up on her elbow and leaned in to kiss his neck as her hand
dipped lower. “Just… teach me what to do.”
He groaned, clenching his jaw.
She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked slowly, tentatively, watch-
ing his brows pull together. She looked down, and was momentarily fascinated
by the way her hand moved around him. And… it seemed he had nothing to
be embarrassed about after all.
“Is this—”
“Tighter.”
She bit her lip and followed instructions. His eyes remained firmly closed,
and his lips parted as he breathed harshly.
“Faster?”
“Yes. Fuck.”
She sped up her hand and pressed herself closer, kissing his collarbones like
he’d done for her. His hips jumped, and she watched his stomach muscles tense
and release. He pressed a hand over his face.
“What’s wrong?” she breathed into his shoulder.
His chest heaved for air, and he licked his lips. “I’m gonna come.”
She pushed forward to kiss his lips. One hand wrapped in her hair, the other
shifted down to cover her hand, showing her a pace he liked, and encouraging
her to twist her wrist a certain way. He moaned when she did it on her own,
and cursed while his hips jumped to meet her hand.
With a delicious sound, he grunted, stilling as he came, spurting up over her
fist. He dragged her lips back to his, and she continued to pump him slowly,
feeling him twitch and pulse, intrigued by the way he softened.
He grabbed his shirt and cleaned her hand. And she suddenly remembered
that she was completely naked in Draco’s bedroom.
“Um, thanks. Or… not ‘thanks,’ but…”
He grinned up at her, his eyes drifting over her skin.

✦ 25 ✦
 Hermione swallowed. “Um, I should… get cleaned up.”
He nodded slowly, staring at her. They sat up, and he handed her dress to
her. Her knickers were missing again, but she was too embarrassed to linger.
She kissed him quickly, and scurried back to her room, leaning back against the
door and reliving the past hour.
Her hands ran over her face, sliding down her cheeks and neck—
The collar was still on. Hermione winced at the realization. She unclasped
it, ready to toss it across the room, when a thin scrap of paper fluttered down
to her feet.
Her breath caught. When had someone passed her a note? Bending swiftly,
she snatched it up.
Don’t miss next Friday.
Her heart pounding, eyes widening. What was going to happen next Friday?
She ran her hand through her hair, wondering at what point in her distraction
had someone gotten close enough to slip a note into her collar without her no-
ticing. At some point in the evening, she’d lost herself. Lost track of the game.
She sank against the door, staring at the note. Taking a shaky breath as guilt
overshadowed her euphoria.
・✦・
The following weekend was Halloween. Hermione made sure there would
be no special plans prohibiting them from attending. A batch of fresh makeup
had appeared in her bathroom, and Hermione painted her lips and applied the
shadow dutifully. Pansy had her in a long-sleeve black lace dress, skin-tight, the
hemline barely covering her backside. But at least her chest was covered. It
didn’t stop Draco’s wandering eyes, though. Or hands.
Dinner was a rambunctious affair, with the boys drinking spirits and singing
songs. Draco ruled over them all, smirking and enjoying himself, letting his
fingers trail over her thighs.
Hermione fought the urge to melt into him. She’d promised herself she
wouldn’t lose her head in the Lounge again. She could maintain appearances with-
out winding herself up. If she and Draco wanted to touch each other, they could do
so at home. She needed to stay alert for whatever she could not miss at this party.
Following the boys down to the Lounge, Hermione kept an eye out, not let-
ting Draco’s hand on her waist distract her from her mission. She sat in his lap,
taking a glass of champagne offered by a Carrow Girl and searching the room.
But alert as she was, she still was totally unprepared for a shadow to cross over
them, and a voice to lilt, “Come with me, Mudblood.”

✦ 26 ✦
 She looked up into a pair of grey eyes, and she blinked to realize that Lucius
Malfoy was at Edinburgh. Draco stilled underneath her before helping her
scramble off his lap. He quickly stood with her.
“Father.”
“Son.” He eyed him coolly. “It’s time for your pet to see the Burgundy
Room, wouldn’t you say?”
Hermione gaped at him. The Burgundy Room was where the important dis-
cussions happened — where the dignitaries were taken. The “other room.” And
Lucius Malfoy wanted to take her there? She was still reeling from the image of
him being at Edinburgh, much less speaking to her publicly.
Draco coughed and gestured for his father to lead the way. Lucius lifted a
brow before grabbing Hermione’s elbow with firm fingers and turning to escort
her to the thick door in the corner of the room. Draco took two steps to follow,
and Lucius spun back.
“Don’t bother, Draco. I’ll take good care of her.” His eyes flitted disdainfully
over the Slytherin boys who were watching with rapt attention. “Play with your
little friends.”
Hermione’s eyes widened and snapped to Draco. He was mouthing some-
thing wordlessly, his face as white as a sheet. Before he could argue, Lucius spun
on his heel and dragged her away.
“I trust you know how to behave, Miss Granger,” Lucius drawled once the
doors had closed behind them.
She nodded, opening her mouth—
“That includes holding your tongue.”
She snapped it closed. Lucius turned down a long hallway to the left, and
she walked quietly by his side, her heart hammering in her ears. They turned a
corner into another room where a small crowd was gathered, voices low and
glasses clinking. Lucius stepped through them, greeting his friends and associ-
ates. Their gazes lingered over her body, but they made no mention of her. They
approached the wooden door, and Lucius turned to the guard. A quick Detec-
tion Spell, and the door opened for them.
Hermione stepped into a dimly lit room filled with cozy fireplaces and low-
lit sconces. There were twenty or so people in the room. She spied Yaxley and
Dolohov speaking to the Spanish Minister, Santos, and someone who must be
his wife. Avery sat in a comfortable chair, speaking lowly with an Asian man. A
bodyguard stood just to his side. Charlotte looked up from where she was ex-
changing empty glasses, her eyes quickly passing over Hermione before looking
away. And across the room, Minister Cirillo from Greece stood with Mulciber.
Cho Chang hung off his arm with a light smile, not sparing her a glance.

✦ 27 ✦
 Cirillo’s eyes landed on them, and her lips split into a smile, revealing per-
fectly straight teeth. “Lucius, darling. I was hoping you’d come.”
Lucius tugged her by the elbow to cross the room. Cirillo met them in
the middle.
“Eleni,” he greeted. “I promised, didn’t I?” They kissed cheeks.
“Still. Antonin tells me you do not visit often.”
“You must know how I loathe this castle. Built by Muggles.” He sneered as
he glanced around at the walls, then rolled his shoulders back. “But of course,
when I’m not needed out of the country, I’m willing to stop by. Provided you’re
in town, Madam Minister.”
Cirillo winked at him, and her eyes drifted over Hermione. “So you brought
her. Your son’s prize.”
Lucius laughed and stroked her cheek with a single finger. Hermione froze,
fighting the urge to jerk away. “She’s more of a family prize, I’d say.”
“Precisely what I was hoping to hear,” Cirillo purred. She stepped into Her-
mione without permission, tracing her lips with her fingertips, touching her
hair. As if she was inspecting cattle.
“Truly exquisite,” she murmured. She turned back to Lucius. “Surely you
can part with her for a few hours?” Hermione felt her chest grow tight, suffo-
cating her lungs. If it weren’t for Lucius’s grip on her elbow, she might have
stumbled backward.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s a possibility,” he said lightly. “But I must warn you,”—
he chuckled—”she’s awful with her mouth.”
Hermione blinked once. Twice. She flushed in embarrassment.
“For all that talk, she’s not a quick learner.” Lucius looked her over disdain-
fully. “She may be pleasant to look at, but she’s not my first choice.”
Cirillo laughed and let her eyes wander down her body. “That’s quite alright.
I prefer to use my own mouth. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”
Charlotte appeared just next to them with her tray. Her eyes flickered before
her lips curved in a demure smile.
“Well, the Mudblood might be good for something, then,” Lucius lilted, grab-
bing the offered glass of scotch. “I’ll talk to my son and see when is best for him.”
“Good luck with that, Eleni,” a dark, raspy voice said. Hermione looked up
to see Dolohov strutting over to them. “You won’t get the Malfoy heir to part
with her for a night.” He sipped from his glass and stared at her over the rim.
“His son is quite… particular about the Mudblood.”
Lucius stood very still next to her.
“Particular?” Cirillo asked.
“Mm. Perhaps I should say… taken with.” Dolohov turned his eyes on Lucius.

✦ 28 ✦
 “I’d be careful about what you’re implying, Antonin. My son has refused to
Share her with you on my orders.” His lips curled.” I’d rather not have her re-
turn to us diseased.”
Dolohov looked like he wanted to respond, but bit his tongue.
Lucius turned back to Cirillo. “I’ll be happy to consult Draco. But in the
meantime, Eleni, have you met Anna?”
Cirillo raised a brow. “Anna?”
“A new Carrow Girl. Captured in Switzerland just last week. I’d planned to
ask for her myself tonight, but one mustn’t be greedy around their guests...” He
chuckled, and the sound felt like knives in Hermione’s chest.
“Hmm,” said Cirillo, her interest clearly piqued. “I’d be interested to meet her.”
“Charlotte,” Lucius called out, and she approached. “Be a dear and fetch Anna
for the Minister this evening. I think she’s precisely what Eleni is looking for.”
Charlotte inclined her head in acceptance, and before she moved away,
Dolohov slammed his glass down on her tray and grabbed a new one. He
sucked on his teeth.
“So. I hear Lestrange keeps asking for reinforcements in Switzerland. It’s a
shame she can’t get that situation under control.” He shook his head, then
feigned a casual glance at Lucius. “Weren’t you supposed to help her, Lucius?
With your golden ‘political touch?’“
“Yes, well, unfortunately we can’t all have your subtleties, Antonin. What
was it that got you demoted back to checking on the Lots? Raping the Italian
Secretary’s wife?” Lucius sipped his scotch.
Dolohov sneered at him, lips parting—
“Now, is that Minister Grubov?” Lucius gestured to the man across the
room speaking to Yaxley. “I’ve been anxious to speak to him.”
“Yes,” Dolohov grumbled. “I’ll introduce you—”
“I don’t require an introduction from a half-blood. But thank you for your
generous offer.”
And without another glance in Dolohov’s direction, Lucius was crossing the
room with Hermione in tow. She was just recovering from the whiplash of the
past few minutes when she was suddenly being introduced to a new Minister.
Her eyes cast around the room as Lucius spoke to Grubov. She listened to
conversations, watched interactions, but very little was useful, as they all
seemed determined to stick to pleasantries. She wondered who had slipped her
the note, and for what purpose. Did they know she would be requested in the
Burgundy Room tonight? Or was she now missing out on the important inter-
action in the Lounge because of Lucius?

✦ 29 ✦
 “Ah! Here he is,” Grubov said, clapping his hands together. “You found a
fireplace?”
“I did,” said a deep voice. “Many apologies for my lateness. I vuz needing
to make a call.”
Hermione turned, following the sound of the familiar voice up to a broad
chest, thick shoulders, and face of dark stubble.
Viktor Krum clapped the shoulder of the Bulgarian Minister and nodded at
Lucius Malfoy, barely glancing at Hermione.
“Vut did I miss?”

✦ 30 ✦
 CHAPTER 26

“V
IKTOR!”
Minister Grubov grabbed him by the shoulder. He was just as
tall as she remembered, outfitted in smart, blood-red robes. He
kept the beard he’d grown when she’d seen him last. Adrenaline swept through
her veins as she took him in, her heart pumping so fast she was lightheaded.
“Have you met Lucius Malfoy?”
“No. I do not think I have had the pleasure to.” Viktor extended his hand,
and Hermione watched Lucius’s shrewd eyes flicker over him before accept-
ing his greeting.
“Mr. Krum.” Lucius’s other hand slithered around her ribs to grab her oppo-
site arm, keeping her tight to his side. “I was sorry to hear that the international
leagues have been suspended. My family and I so enjoyed watching you play.”
“So vos I. But I am thinking it vos the right time to turn to politics, no?” He
rumbled a warm chuckle. “The views are much nicer here,” he said just as Char-
lotte returned, offering drinks with a flutter of her lashes.
Hermione watched him take a drink from her with an unfamiliar leer. He
turned back to Lucius, eyes still skimming over Hermione’s head as if she
wasn’t there.
This was the reason she couldn’t miss tonight’s party. It had to be.
“And every girl here is free for a private audience?”
“Ah, the Silver Collars,” Minister Grubov said, giving a tap to his neck. “The
Gold Collars are negotiable. Is that right, Lucius?”
“Most of them,” Lucius said, with a small squeeze of her wrist.
Hermione watched Viktor’s eyes flicker to her and waited, her breath shal-
low and mind dizzy. His eyes widened as he pointed at her.
“Is this the Granger girl? I heard she vos caught, but I did not know who
took her.”
The Granger girl. Hermione could feel her heart pounding.

✦ 31 ✦
 “Yes.” Lucius swirled his glass lazily. “She is my son’s property.” And with a
lilt of his voice and a tilt of his head, Lucius focused like a shark. “I believe you
were acquainted with her during your time at Hogwarts?”
Viktor smiled thinly. “She vos my date to the Yule Ball. Good for appear-
ances, but she stepped on my toes all night.” He looked down at her, letting his
eyes trail over her skin. “I have not seen her in four years, but she has certainly
grown more attractive.”
It hadn’t been four years. It had been one year, at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.
They had talked. They had almost danced. They’d kept in regular contact before
then. She remembered his long letters, the summer invitation she’d declined
due to O.W.L.s.
Viktor was trivializing their relationship on purpose.
“In fact, I vould very much like to… negotiate for her. Tonight.” His eyes
were liquid as they roved her body. “She vos, how do you say… a good girl
before. I vos not allowed to touch.”
Lucius paused, and Hermione held her breath as he calculated. “I’m afraid
she’s highly requested, Mr. Krum. You’d have to get in line.” Minister Grubov
laughed, and Lucius joined him.
Lucius’s eyes flicked to the door, and Hermione followed them to see a Death
Eater bringing in a thin brunette girl to Charlotte. The girl was shaking as Char-
lotte led her over to Minister Cirillo, her lips stretched in a strained smile.
Anna.
“As it is,” Lucius said lightly, “she is my son’s slave. You will have to speak with
him about any trading.” He turned abruptly to Grubov. “Minister, I hear you have
begun the process of a Muggle-Born Registration. How is that coming along?”
Hermione tried to keep up with the political discussion through her at-
tempts to keep an eye on Viktor. The only times he would glance in her direc-
tion would be to let his eyes linger over her body.
After ten or so minutes of conversation, Lucius excused them and brought her
over to meet the Japanese Minister, who was using a Translation Charm to speak
with Mulciber. Hermione glanced at Cho, but she too was avoiding eye contact.
In the far corner, Minister Cirillo was chatting with Yaxley, one hand on her
drink and the other on Anna’s backside. Hermione tried to follow the conver-
sation with the Japanese Minister, but she was too distracted, watching the
Swiss girl shiver and twitch out of the corner of her eye.
That was supposed to be her. And Lucius had thrown that girl into Cirillo’s
path instead. Her stomach twisted with guilt and relief as Cirillo finally ended
the conversation, took Anna by the elbow, and escorted her to a side door. She

✦ 32 ✦
hardly had a chance to steady herself before Lucius was grasping her by the
elbow and saying his goodbyes.
Hermione kept her eyes downcast as he tugged her to the exit. She tried to
find Viktor just before the door closed, but his back was turned to them.
The two of them strode down the hallway, Hermione dragging in her heels.
She waited until they were a safe distance from the guard before she whispered,
“Why did you bring me in there?”
“You were requested, Miss Granger,” he muttered out of the side of his
mouth. “I could only put off Eleni for so long.” They were almost at the end of
the hall when he yanked her even closer. “Have you spoken with Viktor Krum
since Hogwarts?”
She felt her skin prick, her breath stop. She had half-a-second to decide—
“No. Not since fourth year.”
She glanced up at him and found his lips pressed together, displeased. And
she noticed their pace quicken.
They re-entered the Lounge, passing the gambling tables and crossing effi-
ciently to the couches where Draco and the boys sat. Draco’s eyes locked on
them from the moment they stepped through the door, but he made no move
to greet them or retrieve her.
Lucius waltzed over with her, and with a firm shove, she tumbled into
Draco’s lap. She braced for a fall, but Draco caught her, tugging around her ribs.
“Your whore is mouthy,” Lucius spat. “Take her home and discipline her.
Or I will.”
He smoothed his robes and lifted a meaningful brow.
“Yes, Father.”
With a final haughty glare at her, Lucius spun on his heel and swept from
the Lounge.
Draco quickly made to stand, but Hermione slipped her hands around his
shoulders and buried her face into his neck. She kissed his skin over and over
until she felt muscles relax. Her heart pounded as she nuzzled closer, making
her way up to his earlobe. “Please,” she whispered, “Remember the note.”
It had taken her a full day to tell him. She had worried he’d be too nervous
to take her to Edinburgh if he knew. When she’d finally come clean, he’d
simply plucked the note from her with a scowl, dismissing her theories with
a disinterested hum.
Perhaps he was still angry about it. Maybe that’s why he’d gone so stiff.
After several more painful moments, he finally shifted. He curled an arm
around her waist and pulled back to hold her chin with the other. “You’ll be
good?” he said, loud enough for the boys to overhear. “No more misbehaving?”

✦ 33 ✦
 She nodded eagerly and leaned forward to kiss him. He caught her jaw and
lifted his brows.
“Will you?” he prompted.
She cast her eyes down and licked her lips for the boys. “Yes, sir.”
There was chuckling and catcalling, and then Draco brought her mouth to his.
She shifted in his lap as she kissed him, crossing her legs as she scooted up his thighs.
Her mind spun as his hand started to stroke her thigh. She needed to find a
way to get back to Viktor. Perhaps she could ask Draco to—
“Ah! Some familiar faces.”
Draco froze underneath her, his tongue pausing in its exploration of her
mouth. She squeezed his shoulders and turned to see Viktor tipping his head at
the Slytherin boys.
Pucey jumped up with a bright smile, shaking hands with him as Montague
and Flint followed suit. She remembered how friendly the Slytherins had been
with the Durmstrang students — it made sense that they would greet each other
warmly. The arm around her waist tightened. Draco made no move to stand.
“Krum! About bloody time you joined us at Edinburgh,” Flint said, with a
clap to his shoulder. “Where the hell have you been?”
Viktor’s eyes flicked to the hand on him, and Flint quickly pulled it away. “I
am in government now. Undersecretary to Minister Grubov.”
“And how do you like it?”
Krum shrugged. “Vell enough, though the Mudbloods have been trouble-
some. Evidently they do not like our new laws.”
Flint and Pucey chuckled, and Viktor smiled. Hermione could feel Draco’s
slow and steady breaths against her side, his ribs expanding and contracting in
controlled movements. Her eyes slid to the side and found both Blaise and Giu-
liana staring at her and Draco. They quickly glanced away.
“Speaking of Mudbloods!” Pucey clapped his hands together in glee. “Did
you see your old girlfriend is here?” He pointed to her and sat on the couch,
scooping Mortensen into his lap to allow Viktor to sit beside him.
Viktor took a seat, finally turning his eyes on the two of them. “I did. She
has grown up a lot.”
“An improvement, I’d say.” Pucey leered at her as he skimmed his hand over
Mortensen’s thighs.
“Mmm.” Viktor took a drink from a passing Carrow Girl. “Malfoy,” he
greeted with a nod. “You are happy with her, no? She has learned tricks since
school days?”
“I’ll say she has,” Flint said under his breath. Montague laughed.

✦ 34 ✦
 “Krum,” said Draco, a hard edge to his voice. “What brings you back to
Britain?”
“A few meetings vith your Minister Thicknesse. But ve are very glad to relax
at Edinburgh for the night. Now.” Viktor slapped his thighs. “Vere do I get a
girl to bounce on my knee?”
The boys laughed, and Pucey called over one of the waitresses to round up
someone for Viktor Krum. Draco played with the ring on his thumb, spinning cir-
cles. Hermione held very still, her brain working furiously. Perhaps she could—
“Malfoy.” Viktor’s eyes were intent as he leaned forward. Searching, almost,
like they were when he played Quidditch. “I heard you bought her for many
Galleons.”
Hermione swallowed, and she heard Draco’s jaw click. “I did.”
“And? Vos she vorth the amount?” He chuckled as he reclined, and the
sound went through her like ice.
The question hung in the air as Draco leaned forward to grab his drink,
steadying her with his other hand. Resting his glass on his knee, he nodded.
“Every Sickle.”
“Good, good.” Viktor cleared his throat. “Vell, she vas not much of anything
four years ago. I vould like to see how she has changed.”
A stilted silence amongst the boys. Hermione could only hear the thump
of the music.
Viktor’s brow creased. “That is… I vould appreciate the chance to visit vith
her privately.”
“That’s out of the question,” Draco drawled.
She pinched the skin of his neck. She needed to speak to Viktor.
He didn’t flinch.
“Ah. I see I am being impolite.” Viktor managed an unsettled smile. “Of
course if there is the question of price—”
Pucey leaned into Viktor’s ear and loudly whispered, “He’s not one to share,
Krum.” Flint snorted, then quickly stared into his drink.
“You let Theo use her as a Lap Warmer,” Montague piped in. “Surely
Viktor Krum—”
“I lost her in a bet. Fair and square.” Draco’s eyes were hard as he sipped
his Firewhisky.
“I am happy to bet my gold for a smaller prize. I vould very much like it,” he
said, with another intent look at her, “to have Herm-own-ninny as a Lap Varmer.”
There was a tingling certainty in her veins. This was it. He’d been sent by
the Order, and he needed to speak to her. Her mouth was dry as she ran her
fingers into Draco’s hair, giving a gentle but urgent tug—

✦ 35 ✦
 “I’m not looking to Share tonight. You’ll have to manage with one of the
Carrow Girls.”
Hermione inhaled sharply. Draco refused to meet her eyes, his gaze intent
on Viktor. Blaise shifted next to them.
“Ah.” Viktor’s eyes were narrowed as she turned to look at him, her pulse
thrumming in her ears. “I forget Malfoy is the only child, yes? He does not let
others play with his toys.” The boys laughed. Hermione tugged on Draco’s hair
again, trying to communicate with him.
“Surely a famous Quidditch player like yourself could have any girl in the
room.” Draco brought his glass to his lips. “Some of these whores might even
beg the Carrows for a chance at Viktor Krum.”
The Slytherins were silent, watching the match.
Viktor smiled at Draco, and his teeth gleamed white. “Yes, perhaps I vould
not need to buy a girl for company. I vonder if I could say the same for you.”
There was a tense breath. Draco’s thumb tapped his glass. “Perhaps ve should
let Hermione choose—”
“You’ll excuse us”—Draco stood swiftly, putting her on her feet—”but lis-
tening to you butcher your consonants has given me a headache.”
Her elbow was grabbed, her feet forced to move.
“Come on, Draco! Stay!” Pucey called out behind them.
Draco had dragged her across the length of the room before her brain caught
up and she realized they were headed for the fireplaces.
“Wait!” she hissed.
His jaw was clenched, and his grip on her tight.
“Draco—”
He tugged her roughly into his side and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “If
you fight me in public, I will have to discipline you in public.”
“But I need to—!”
He snarled and jerked her forward through the green fire and into his bed-
room. She stared at the fireplace in shock, reeling from the speed at which they
had flown through the Lounge and into the flames.
“Unbelievable. Should have listened to my father—”
“We have to go back.” She spun to him. “Viktor was the person I needed to
see tonight. The note—”
“You must have gotten your wires crossed, Granger. There was only one
thing Krum was after.” He paced the length of his room, tugging at his collar.
Her mouth opened and closed. They were wasting time. “He was there to-
night to speak to me! He’s with the Order!”

✦ 36 ✦
 Draco halted to give a withering glare. “You think Viktor Krum is infiltrat-
ing the Death Eaters’ fortress?”
Her brain whirred, starting to work. “He probably has help. Maybe Minister
Grubov is in on it—”
“Radomir Grubov was one of the first Ministers to subjugate his govern-
ment to the Great Order,” Draco said flatly. “Don’t be idiotic simply because
your ex showed up.”
She blinked at him, her mouth trying to form words. “My—my ex?” Anger
began burning in her chest, clouding her thoughts. “Draco, if your jealousy just
cost me the opportunity to communicate with the Order—”
“He’s not with the Order,” he snarled. “He’s a Quidditch star looking for a
good time on a Friday night.”
“You weren’t in the Burgundy Room.” She breathed deep, trying to remain
calm. “He was giving me signals.”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Signals.”
“Yes. Purposefully omitting details. Misremembering things—”
“One too many Bludgers to the head, Granger.”
Her nostrils flared. “He said the last time he’d seen me was four years ago,
but we spoke just last year at Bill and Fleur Weasley’s wedding—”
“Bill and Fleur Weasley are enemies of the Great Order. Of course he
wouldn’t admit that he attended their wedding.”
She clenched her fingers into fists as her emotions bubbled over. “You
should have let me talk to him alone for just a few minutes—”
“Are you insane?” He crossed to her. “You wanted me to send you off to a
private room with that mountain troll? Did you see the way he looked at you?”
“Viktor’s not like that!”
He narrowed his eyes as he loomed over her. “No?”
“No! He’s—he’s very sweet and respectful. You don’t know anything
about him—”
“I know he used to follow you around like a hound.”
“You’re wrong!” Her magic was crackling now, and it took all of her will-
power not to stomp her foot. “It was all very innocent. He mostly watched me
study in the library!” Draco turned away from her with a mutter that sounded
suspiciously like bloody sugar quills. “We did nothing more than kiss, and when
we were together he never pushed me—”
He spun back around. “He wanted to fuck you then, and he wants to fuck
you now. Hate to break it to you, Granger, but it’s true.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled. “You have no idea what you’re talk-
ing about.”

✦ 37 ✦
 “I know men.” His expression was split between a leer and a snarl. “I know
what it’s like to see you in these dresses.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Quit being crude. Viktor isn’t a
Voldemort supporter, and I know it because I know him.”
“So sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He let out a scathing laugh as he ran his fin-
gers through his hair. “This world is upside-down. Did you ever dream five years
ago that you’d see your classmates doing what they are today? People change—”
She threw up her hands. “No, they don’t! Who they are inside is who they’ll
always be!”
Her chest heaved as she glared at him, waiting for his retort. But his eye
simply twitched. And he swallowed tightly. “I see,” he finally said. He cracked
his neck, stepped back, and disappeared into his bathroom.
She fumed on the way back to her room, thinking about what Viktor might
have told her if Draco hadn’t sabotaged them. News about Ginny, perhaps. Or
Ron. Maybe even a plan to get them all out.
It was only when she was in the bath, washing off the smoke of the Burgundy
Room, that she reviewed her accusation that people never change and winced
at what she’d implied.
No one. Not even him.
・✦・
She was in the library the following morning, picking up where her research
had left off, when the doors abruptly swung open. She eyed Draco over the top
of her coffee cup before setting it down and flipping open a new journal.
Her blood was still simmering, but she forced it to calm. While staring at her
canopy last night, she’d arrived at the conclusion that Draco had meant it when he
said he didn’t trust Viktor. After everything he’d seen, he had good reason not to
trust anyone. Still, she trusted Viktor, and that should have been enough for him.
It had been a serious setback, but she was willing to listen to an apology.
He paused at the end of the table, not taking his usual seat. Her eyes flick-
ered up to him, and she found him fully Occluded, staring down at her with
an empty gaze.
“Tell me your plan for the tattoos.”
She blinked at him. “My plan?”
“Yes. We’ve been translating these journals. We’ve been piecing together how
the tattoos were made. Once you have your answers, what is your next step?”
“I… to find out how to break their magic.”
“And once you know how. Then what?”

✦ 38 ✦
 His face was closed, unexpressive. His hands were clasped behind his back
like his father.
She lifted her chin. “If they were made with a curse, then I’ll create a coun-
ter-curse. If they were done with a potion, I’ll create an antidote. I would think
that would be fairly ob—”
“And what will you do with this antidote?” He tilted his head in a swift, fluid
motion. “Because surely you must know that we will not simply free you.”
His words jolted her, as if she’d missed a step on the stairs. Swallowing, her
heart pounding, she licked her lips. “What’s the point of working on this re-
search with me if you have no intention of helping me?”
“You asked me to.” His eyes flickered before returning to an icy slate.
She took a breath, pressing her lips together, and said, “Surely you are aware
that I was planning to get my findings to the Order.”
“Through your spy network.”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘mine,’ but yes.”
“And when you make your escape,” he said slowly, “do you plan to do so in
the middle of the night, without a word to us? Or will you be asking for my
wand before you go?”
She felt the words crawl over her skin, like beetles. “Draco—”
“Of course if it is a counter-curse, you’ll be needing my wand to perform it.
So we’ll have this conversation then, I suppose.”
It sounded so cold and calculated. Unfeeling.
She stood, feeling the need to be on his level. “Where’s this coming from?”
“I suppose I just want to know what my hours of research are building to-
ward. What’s your plan, Granger?”
A scornful laugh escaped her. “My friends are being held captive, raped, and
tortured. And you want to know why you’re helping them?”
“I wasn’t helping them. I was helping you.” His face was still a mask, cool
and unperturbed. “And what is your plan for yourself? Assuming you plan to
seek out the Order once you escape — wherever they are — how do you intend
to avoid a world full of Death Eaters?”
“I—I don’t know! If you’re so worried that I’ll be recaptured and implicate
your family, you shouldn’t have destroyed that pill!” She snapped a book closed
in frustration. “I’m thinking of how to help the hundreds of people that are in
unthinkable circumstances right now. I’m not considering myself. That seems
to be the primary difference between us!”
His clouded eyes looked straight through her.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I don’t care about the rest of them.
I never have.”

✦ 39 ✦
 His words sunk into her chest like icicles. That wasn’t true. She knew it
wasn’t. She opened her mouth to argue it.
“I won’t be able to assist you in your research anymore,” he said. “Not until
you’ve thought this through and decided what you want.”
She blinked, dazed. “What I want?”
There were words caught in her throat, wedging there like a rock as he nod-
ded to her and swept from the library. The doors slammed closed, and she
flopped back in her chair and glared at the books until she began crying, her
sobs echoing through the walls.
・✦・
Draco didn’t come back to the library for the next six days. She didn’t seek him
out, too angry and sad, and confused above all. She buried herself in translations
during the day. But at night, she’d toss and turn, replaying their conversation.
Wondering what he’d meant when he said she had to decide what she wanted.
The problem was that things had shifted between them, even though their
own goals remained the same. Hermione wanted to free her friends and help
defeat Voldemort once and for all. Draco wanted to stay alive and protect his
family. But she cared for him — possibly more than she’d ever admit. And she
knew he’d begun to care for her, too. Going to bed in the evenings with that
familiar longing for him the next day was the worst part.
The situation was impossible, and when she thought about it for too long,
the corners of her four-poster would start closing in on her until she was gasp-
ing for air. She had to resume her Occlumency practice in the morning to keep
her mind clear and emotions calm.
Narcissa sat down to tea with her each afternoon. On Thursday, she tried to
pry into her son’s withdrawal. Hermione shrugged and said, “Perhaps he was
bored of research. I like it quite a lot.” She didn’t ask again.
On Sunday, the front page of the Prophet covered an explosion at the Swiss
Ministry offices, leaving forty dead. According to Skeeter’s skewed commen-
tary, the attackers were “insurgents,” bent on destroying Voldemort’s foothold.
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned the paper over.
She saw Draco in the corridor later that day. He acknowledged her with an
“Afternoon, Granger,” but it felt much like running into a hotel maid — stilted
and polite. She bolted to her room afterward and Occluded until the stinging
in her eyes passed.
They’d been completely naked with each other only a week ago, but now they
were back to acquaintances, it seemed. She had never… gone through a break-
up. Was that what this was? Were they broken up before they’d even begun?

✦ 40 ✦
 She woke on Monday morning to a banging on her door. Hermione jerked
up in bed, her hand reaching for a wand she no longer had.
“Granger!” Draco’s voice bellowed.
She blearily checked the mantle — almost four in the morning. She tossed
off the covers and dashed for the door, wondering what could be the matter.
She threw the door open and found him impeccably dressed in his black
trousers, black boots, and black robes. There was a flurry of activity in the hall-
way — elves racing by, a discarded coat on the floor. Lucius’s voice calling from
inside his bedroom. Suddenly, she was wide awake as she took in his intent eyes
with dark circles underneath, the tension in his jaw.
“I’m needed in Switzerland.”
She stared at him, waiting for his words to make sense. A trunk zoomed
behind him, levitating down the hall.
“Draco, there’s no time!” Lucius’s voice was a snarl.
“I need thirty seconds!” Draco turned back to her, running a hand through
his hair as Hermione’s mouth fell open in horrified understanding. “I’m leaving
now, and I—”
“How long?”
He blinked at her and shook his head. “I don’t—I don’t know.”
“Your father was supposed to have this handled.” She felt her air coming
quickly, something tightening in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Yes, well it’s gotten worse, and—”
Lucius appeared over his shoulder. “Now, Draco. Say goodbye.” He
stalked away.
She felt the moment slipping from her grasp like oil through her fingers. She
reached for him as he turned back to face her, clutching his robes. “Where is
your mother?”
“Outside the gates with Bella. Granger—”
“But why are you—”
“Listen to me.” He gripped her arms, and she went still, her heartbeat ceas-
ing and her skin frozen. “If my parents have to leave, stay in your bedroom.
There are heavier enchantments on this room than any other in the house. Wait
for my mother to come get you.”
Her heart started again like a drumbeat, a thundering beneath her skin.
“Draco!” Lucius roared from the bottom of the stairs.
He ignored it and spoke quickly.
“If the Manor is invaded, there is a panel in your bedroom wall that connects
to my room. In my bedside table, there is a Portkey — I have placed a knife in
the drawer and charmed it to cut through bone and cauterize.”

✦ 41 ✦
 “Now, Draco!”
She stared at him with wide eyes as he pried her fingers from his robes and
brought them to his lips before dropping her hands and turning from her —
dashing down the hall.
Her throat was tight, and her head spun. Her feet followed him. “Draco—”
“Stay in your bedroom until my mother comes back this morning,” he called
over his shoulder.
“Draco.”
“The elves are here—”
“Draco!” Her voice broke. “Draco, wait!”
He spun back to her just a few paces from the top of the stairs, and she threw
herself into his chest, her arms winding up around his shoulders and into his
hair as her lips covered his. His hands threaded swiftly through her curls, drag-
ging her close. She swallowed a sob as he slanted his lips over hers and brushed
his thumb across her cheek.
She was pushed back, her arms unwound. And he was sweeping down the
staircase, joining his father at the bottom and rushing past him out the front
doors. Lucius stared up at her for a moment longer, and followed him out.
She ran to a bedroom with a view of the drive, throwing back the curtains and
watching two tall figures move swiftly through the grounds, their matching hair
illuminated by the moonlight. She made out Narcissa just past the gates — Bellatrix
beside her. Hermione yanked the curtains closed at the shock of seeing the dark
curls. When she peeked through them again, all four figures had Disapparated.
Her lips were cold. And there was nothing but the wind in the trees.
“Miss?”
She jumped and cried out, spinning to find Boppy twirling an ear.
“Miss goes back to her room now? It is safe for Miss there.”
She nodded shakily, taking a deep breath. Her legs were unsteady as she
walked back to her room; twice she had to brace herself on the wall. Before the
door closed, she turned to Boppy, who’d been following her silently. “May I
please have the Prophet as soon as the owl arrives?” He bowed and waited in
the hall until she shut the door behind her.
Leaning back on the door, she placed a hand on her throat, feeling her
thumping heartbeat. Then her eyes snapped open.
A panel in your bedroom wall.
Hermione moved to the wall her room shared with Draco’s. It was the same
wall as her fireplace, so space was limited. She tried pressing against the left
side, touching anything that could be a knob. Crossing to the right side, she
pressed her hands against the wall. After a few seconds of contact, the hard

✦ 42 ✦
surface disappeared. She gaped in astonishment as she pushed her forearm in-
side the invisible barrier, forward and back again. Then she drew a sharp breath
and stepped through.
Like Alice in the looking glass, the passage funneled in darkness until she
was inside Draco’s bedroom with a single step. Her mind ran wild with the
magical explanations until she blinked, taking in the state of his room. It looked
like a storm had hit, spewing a hailstorm of clothes and books. His bed was
unmade, and his sheets still slept in.
Moving around the four-poster, she crossed to his bedside table and tugged
the drawer open. The knife lay there, gleaming in the low lamplight. There were
some sweets and a few Wizard Cards from empty Chocolate Frog boxes. A
crumpled handkerchief. Several coins and quills.
Perhaps he could have been more specific?
She scrunched her nose as she stared into the drawer. A handkerchief
would be the smartest option to ward off accidental transportation. She
plucked the handkerchief up, and a clouded marbled bounced out of it, roll-
ing innocuously around the drawer.
The room spun and swayed beneath her feet. She had the elements to her
freedom right here. The knife. The Portkey. Her heart pounded.
But she would be wandless. And armless. And who knows where the Port-
key would lead her. And if she took it, she might never see him—
She would have to think on this. Hermione’s fingers trembled as she wrapped
the marble up in the handkerchief and carefully replaced it in the drawer.
She sat on the edge of his bed, and stared numbly at his shelves. Ten past
four. The room was still tilting on its axis. She curled up onto his mattress as
the harried moments replayed in her mind.
He would be gone for an indefinite amount of time. Long enough that he
thought to give her an escape route. Or perhaps dangerous enough, where he
thought he might not return.
She pressed her face into his pillow, breathing in his scent. The smell of his
hair on the pillowcase.
How long had there been a passageway between their rooms? Had he
ever used it?
One memory dripped like rain in the back of her mind. When Bellatrix was
in her bedroom, he’d appeared when she screamed — standing in the middle
of the room. And when he’d called for his wand it still flew to him, even when
her bedroom door was closed.
She swallowed, pinching back her tears, but it was useless. They flowed over
her lids and crashed down to the pillow that still held his scent.

✦ 43 ✦
 Pop!
She jerked up. Boppy bounced on his toes, holding the Prophet.
“Thank you,” she whispered, exhausted. She reached for the paper, and the
elf hesitated.
“Miss can be in her own room? Boppy needs to clean, and Miss is safe in
her own room?”
She nodded, taking the paper. “Don’t make the bed, please? Not just yet.”
And at the last moment, she grabbed his pillow, dragging herself through the
main doorway back into her bedroom.
The front page of the Prophet screamed at her.
FRENCH TERRORIST CELL INVADES SWITZERLAND!

✦ 44 ✦
 CHAPTER 27

T
HE DAYS GREW SHORTER AND COLDER. THERE WAS A
chill about the Manor whenever Hermione was left alone in it — her
fireplace never quite working to its full potential, the water from the
taps never quite warming her bones. She hadn’t felt this ill at ease in the Manor
since she first arrived.
Narcissa had returned only hours after the three of them left. She’d arrived
at Hermione’s door with Mippy, the tea and coffee, and a forced smile.
“He’s settled in Zürich. The French took Geneva with the help of the Swiss
rebels, so for now, he is safe.” But her teacup had rattled on the last word. And
she had quickly changed the topic.
A week after they’d left, the Prophet reported that Lucius had been sent to
the Netherlands to begin negotiations. Two days later, the Dutch Minister
pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord, and the day after that, Lucius was seen in
Switzerland again, inspecting a new military installation at Lausanne.
Hermione took her breakfast with Narcissa in the dining room every morn-
ing. The two of them slowly found a balance between reading the paper with
held breath and discussing books and the weather in between stilted pauses.
Two weeks after she’d said goodbye to him, Draco’s face appeared in
the Daily Prophet. He stood silently next to Bellatrix as they both watched the
new Swiss Minister address his government. The old Minister had joined the
rebels in Geneva — “abandoning his people” as Skeeter had framed it — and
Voldemort’s new puppet was brought in to transition the Ministry. Draco was
pale and thin, his expression completely Occluded as he nodded once to some-
thing the Swiss Minister said. Bellatrix looked bored. Hermione had excused
herself from the table and spent the next hour in her bedroom crying.
At the end of November, the French attacked Basel. Skeeter reported that
the Dark Lord’s armies had managed to quell the attack from French and Swiss
rebels with the help of German allies, leaving at least three hundred dead. The
picture on the front page of the Prophet was of Draco, wand tip smoking, as he

✦ 45 ✦
stared down the burning remains of the Basler Münster. The picture caption
read: General Draco Malfoy victorious in Basel.
Narcissa didn’t meet her for breakfast that morning, sending an excuse with
the elves. And Hermione was glad she didn’t have to poke at her eggs and pretend
to eat. She read the paper five times over, searching for more mention of him, but
all she found was the picture of his steely eyes turning towards the ashes.
She missed him. The feeling was too visceral to ignore. At night, she tossed
and turned over the memory of their last fight, as if dissecting every detail would
somehow make it less painful. She still had no idea how to “decide what she
wanted” — or what he’d even meant. But it made her chest clench to think of the
million things she wanted to tell him throughout the day, but was unable to.
Several times a week, she would wander through the passageway between
their rooms and imagine she might find him twisted up in his sheets, snoozing
soundly with his hair askew. She would examine his trinkets, thumb through
his bookshelves, and press her face into his sweaters and shirts. Some days she
would stare down at the drawer containing the knife and the Portkey, and won-
der. But then she’d slam it closed.
Even if she cut off her arm and escaped, she still had no idea how to find
George and the others. Snatchers and Death Eaters were roaming the country,
and if she was caught, the Malfoys would certainly be tortured and killed, if they
hadn’t been already. She couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. She might
never see him again—
No. She’d resolved to stay. The Order needed her here. Even Theo had said
that she was the only one who could break the tattoos. No one else had the same
access she did; the most expansive library in Great Britain and all the blueprints
for their spells were at her fingertips. She would stay, even though Draco had
left behind the keys to her cage. She’d stay so she could free Ginny and Ron and
the others from theirs.
She never lingered in his bedroom for too long — she didn’t want to attract
the attention of the elves. She knew they still came in from time to time, though
they’d left his bed unmade. The day after he’d left, she’d tugged open the bot-
tom drawer of his dresser and found the shoebox containing the newspaper
clippings was gone. Only a blanket left behind.
As the death toll rose in Switzerland, breakfasts with Narcissa became
shorter and scarcer. There was nothing to fill her days but research. She some-
times spent eighteen hours a day in the library. Once or twice, she fell asleep on
top of her books, only waking when the elves Apparated her into her bedroom
— tucking her legs into the sheets and pulling a warm blanket up to her chin.

✦ 46 ✦
✦ 47 ✦
 With no distraction except for the daily papers, she tore through the Scour-
ers’ journals, translating each of them with the help of Jeremiah Jones’s key.
By the first week of December, she had all nine journals fully translated. She
had picked up tantalizing pieces of the puzzle along the way: translations men-
tioning a branding iron, or a spell for “caged birds.” Some mention of an im-
penetrable circle. But she’d simply marked them for later and forced herself to
finish the translations before getting twisted up in reading and research.
Even with the journals fully translated, there were chunks of pages missing
from each one — especially Tobias Tolbrette’s. Jones’s journal confirmed Tol-
brette’s importance. In the beginning pages, just before the key, she found a
unique string of characters that could only be Tolbrette’s name. Beneath it, she
found numbers where Jones had referenced the reader to certain pages of Tol-
brette’s journal.
Nott Sr. had been liberal in tearing out pages of Tolbrette’s journal, but he’d
also been rushed. He’d missed two pages following a mention of a “lightning
barrier” that Jones had referenced; he’d left a full five pages after a mention of
skin brands. Every time she came across a torn page, she knew it was missing
because it was exactly what she needed. So reading the pages that came before
and after became her newest task.
On December 5, she took out a new sheet of parchment and listed her first
hypotheses.
1.) Both the Scourers and the Death Eaters used the same boundary spell
to lock in their slaves: the “lightning barrier” (Jones, p. 2; Tolbrette p. 4,
18, 67-70, 111, 123-124; Emerson p. 9; Taylor p. 34-35).
2.) The Death Eaters used a tattoo as a conduit, whereas the Scourers
used a branding iron upon the skin of their slaves (Jones, p. 2; Tolbrette
p. 48-53, 95, 162-163; Fernsby p. 27, 76).
3.) In both cases, there must be a way to link a boundary spell to the con-
duit. Whatever binding mechanism the Death Eaters used is likely highly
similar to the one used by the Scourers.
Hermione rubbed her arm, remembering the day she’d jumped through the
barrier and rolled down the hill. Before the numbing pain and darkness, she’d
been crippled by the searing shock that had originated in her tattoo. She won-
dered how many “doves” and “pigeons” had suffered a similar fate while trying
to escape. Perhaps their owners had left them outside the boundary to die.
She swallowed and refocused. If she was to find out how to break the magic
of the tattoos, she’d need a test subject eventually. She’d need a wand as well —

✦ 48 ✦
there was no way around it. Although she was weeks away from being ready to
test anything, her stomach still turned over at the thought.
The remaining few hours of daylight were unproductive. She mused and
ruminated until her dinner went cold and her back ached from sitting so long
in one position. When her eyelids began drooping over Tolbrette’s journal, she
finally dragged herself back to her room.
Unless Draco returned, there was only one possible solution, but it was far
from ideal: Narcissa. She’d simply have to hope he came home before it was
necessary. As for what him coming home might mean for the Order and her
friends— that was something she couldn’t let herself think about.
Progress began slowly, but grew quicker as the days passed. Hermione
cracked the lightning barrier first. She got lucky with the two pages Nott Sr. had
missed in Tolbrette’s journal, which had almost all the steps to cast it. He’d also
overlooked two pages in another journal belonging to Cephas Taylor, a Scourer
who had documented his attempts to bind his livestock to the barrier. Between
the two journals, Hermione had the completed steps. She’d been right that they’d
based the lightning barrier on Celtic magic. They’d altered the caim, a circular
ring of protection, to keep the protected within instead of warding evil spirits out.
She explored the skin brands next. It took longer — Tolbrette had spent
many of the intact pages discussing where to brand his “doves,” given that they
might be branded several times by different owners and should remain “pleas-
ing to the eye.” But she ultimately was able to string together the steps using the
same piecemeal strategy, using snippets from several journals.
The last step was uncovering the binding mechanism between the brands
and the barrier. This step was trickier. It wasn’t until midnight on her fourth
straight day of research that she found a tiny but unmistakable Egyptian rune
scribbled in the bottom right margin on a page in which Tolbrette mentioned
adding two new “pigeons” and three new “doves” to his “flock.” The immedi-
ately subsequent pages had been torn out.
She didn’t sleep that night, tearing through the library until she located a text-
book on ancient Egyptian runic enchantments. The sun was almost up when she
finally located a match for the rune in Tolbrette’s journal. The textbook detailed
how an enchantment using that rune had been used to magically bind treasures
branded with the pharaohs’ names to the wards protecting their tombs.
All that was left for her was to locate magical tattoos that might serve as a
substitute for the skin brands. Which meant that she could finally rest her ex-
hausted writing hand, and read.

✦ 49 ✦
 Late in the second week of December, on the seventh day in a row of non-
stop rain, Narcissa knocked on her door. Hermione quickly hid her book on
branding and tattooing in ancient Mesopotamia before opening the door.
Narcissa was thinner and paler than she’d been a month ago, but the
warmth in her eyes was unchanged. Hermione welcomed her inside, joining
her at the chairs near the fireplace as Mippy poured them tea. It took all of her
self-control to hold in her question until the elf vanished.
“Has something happened?”
Narcissa smiled wearily, crossing her ankles. “I haven’t heard anything new
from Switzerland, no. But there is something that I came to talk with you about.”
Hermione’s mouth was dry as she watched Narcissa stir in her cream.
“I had assumed it wouldn’t be a priority this year, what with a war going on…
but apparently the Dark Lord thinks his loyal followers deserve some normalcy
and amusement.” Narcissa sighed into her teacup and turned her gaze on Her-
mione. “Every year, I host a New Year’s Eve Gala.” Hermione’s eyes widened. “It’s
very grand, and under normal circumstances I take a lot of pride in it.”
“I see.” She chewed on her lower lip. “So you’ll be hosting this year?”
“Yes. Here. In the Manor.”
Her heart squeezed inside her ribs. “Will Draco be expected to attend?” Nar-
cissa shook her head, and the vice released, leaving imprints.
“The Dark Lord anticipates an attack on Zurich in the new year. He’s been
asked to remain on guard with a select few. At least we can thank Merlin for
small miracles that my sister won’t be in attendance, either.” Narcissa brushed
a stray strand of hair away from her temple, her long fingers turning over her
ear and sloping down to her neck. “Lucius will attend, as it is quite impossible
for a wife to host without her husband. But he will leave with the last guest.”
Hermione’s hands shook as she poured her coffee from the carafe. She im-
agined Draco staring out of a cold tower on New Year’s Eve, waiting for fire to
rain from the sky.
“The Manor will be quite busy for the next few weeks, and the library will
need to be… cleaned.”
Hermione started to find Narcissa’s eyes on hers. “Of course. I will… clear
out.” She took a sip of coffee, hoping it hid the flush in her cheeks. “And I prom-
ise to stay in my room.”
“Actually,” said Narcissa, and Hermione’s eyes snapped back to her. “Lucius
thinks — and I agree — that the best place for you is out front and center. Under
my eye, and in plain view.”

✦ 50 ✦
 The warmth from her coffee drained from Hermione’s veins. “But—” She
swallowed and drew a shaky breath. “I was under the impression that you didn’t
like the parties—”
Narcissa lifted a pale brow. “You misunderstand. I may be holding it against
my will, but Narcissa Malfoy’s New Year’s Eve Gala is the grandest society event
of the season. This is no night in Edinburgh.”
“Oh.” Hermione blinked and slowly set down her saucer. “What’s so grand
about it? On a normal year, that is?”
Narcissa’s cheeks brightened to a lovely pink, and her eyes glinted in a way they
hadn’t for two months. Hermione tucked her legs beneath her, decorum forgotten
as Narcissa launched into a twenty-year history of the New Year’s Eve Gala.
・✦・
Finding a spell to cast a magical tattoo had been fairly straightforward. After
narrowing down potential options, she had chosen the one that appeared the
most flexible: a simple spell used on prisoners of war. There was no way to be
sure if it was the same spell Nott Sr. had used, but it seemed receptive to a vari-
ety of enchantments.
By the third week of December, Hermione was ready to test a reconstructed
version of the barrier and tattoos, but she needed a wand. And it was unlikely
that Draco would be home anytime soon. She’d deduced that the situation in
Switzerland had worsened, thanks to Skeeter’s increasingly redacted reporting.
Not to mention the strain around Narcissa’s eyes.
As the war raged for Switzerland, the rest of the world slipped further into
Voldemort’s grip. Poland pledged support, followed by Austria. Two days later,
the forty-three-year-old German Minister died of “natural causes.” The
Prophet had published his obituary next to an article on the new German Min-
ister — a dear friend of Eleni Cirillo’s.
Hermione began having nightmares again. Sometimes it wasn’t Harry slip-
ping from her fingers, but Draco or Ron. She resumed her Occlumency practice
in the mornings, and the nightmares vanished. The dread in her stomach grew
as the last week of December neared, and she began thinking of ways to ask
Narcissa for her wand.
On Christmas morning, Hermione snuck down to the Conservatory to clip
a few lilies that magically grew year-round. She wandered down to the freezing
dungeons and tugged a few sprigs of lavender from a bundle, and with some
twine, she made a lousy bouquet. Hermione grimaced as she handed them to
Narcissa over breakfast, apologizing for her lack of skill.

✦ 51 ✦
 Narcissa swooped to kiss both cheeks, silencing her excuses. Hermione
opened Narcissa’s gift — an elegant blue organizer for her notes — as Mippy
served them coffee and tea. With a fierce blush, the elf dropped a pair of hand-
knit mittens on Hermione’s lap and squeaked, “Happy Christmas, Miss!”
In the days following Christmas, Hermione began to feel guilty about asking
for Narcissa’s help. Narcissa clearly knew she was up to something, but had cho-
sen to never mention it. She didn’t want to put Narcissa in a position that required
her to either interfere or keep a glaring secret from Lucius. There had to be a
subtler way of asking. A way that let Narcissa continue to look the other way.
An idea sparked one morning during breakfast.
“Narcissa—” Hermione hastily finished swallowing her toast. “What am I
to wear Thursday evening? The clothes I wear to Edinburgh are… not really
appropriate.”
“I was wondering when you’d ask.” Narcissa winked at her. “Miss Parkinson
is already working on it. She’ll bring your dress by at five o’clock.”
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. She hadn’t realized that Nar-
cissa knew about Pansy’s visits.
There went her plan of transfiguring an old dress.
“Wonderful. Since that’s sorted, I was also wondering… since I need to look
my best…” She swallowed. “Might I borrow a wand? Just for an hour in the
morning to do my hair?”
Narcissa blinked at her, and Hermione Occluded. Tilting her head and con-
sidering, Narcissa finally said, “I suppose that would be alright.”
She felt a pressure in her chest release. Adrenaline and possibility flooded
her veins as she smiled. “Thank you, Narcissa. Only an hour.”
On the morning of the 31st, Hermione met Narcissa for a quick breakfast.
When they finished, Hermione didn’t even need to ask — Narcissa simply
handed over her ebony wand with a tight smile. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt
as she thanked her, but it vanished as she raced up the stairs to her room. The
wand hummed between her fingertips, and she felt the exhilaration of its magic
in her blood. She spread her research on the floor of her room, and as easy as
remembering to breathe, she cast a spell to spread out her notes. The ebony
wand complied.
Logically, she knew she had an hour, but it felt like she had only a matter of
minutes to get this right. She took a deep breath, and gathered her thoughts.
She needed a mouse, she needed to construct the barrier, she needed to charm
that mouse with a tattoo and link it to the barrier.
She transfigured her coffee cup into a coffee-colored mouse, and quickly
emptied a shoe box for him to run around in. She cast a spell to numb it to all

✦ 52 ✦
pain, and another to view and monitor its vitals. It grew slightly dazed inside
the shoebox, having lost a bit of sensation, and Hermione watched bemusedly
as it kept surprising itself with its own tail.
With a deep breath, she drew a large circle with her wand in the middle of the
floor, her arm extended to the ground, her body turning clockwise with the sun.
The room shivered as she whispered the words she’d memorized from her notes,
the air vibrating around the caim as it sealed itself. She grabbed the shoebox and
dropped the mouse inside, sending a quick freezing spell to keep it in place. Con-
centrating all her energy, she cast the tattoo spell, and watched a small black mark
appear on the mouse’s left foot. A quick glance at the nearest parchment before
she muttered the runic charm that sealed the tattoo to the barrier.
She wiped sweat from her brow, and carefully lowered the mouse into the
circle. She watched its vitals, and unfroze it.
It scurried, darting left—
And out of the circle.
She gaped in horror as it raced under her bed and out of sight. She quickly
enlarged its vitals graph, her eyes darting from side to side. The light-
ning had worked. It had shocked the mouse’s numbed system as it crossed the
line. It was continuing to deliver shocks. But they were decreasing in intensity.
Hermione frowned down at her texts, summoning the mouse back to her so
it hovered mid-air. She’d created the barrier correctly — she was certain of it.
Letting out a huff of air, she slowly lowered the mouse back into the circle…
And it darted right, toward the fireplace this time.
Again, the lightning had worked. The mouse’s vitals responded to the shock,
but the shocks quickly wore off. Something about her tattoo or binding spell
was flawed. The barrier was properly shocking the mouse, but only weakly, and
then its effects vanished.
She spent the next forty minutes scowling down at her research and sprin-
kling toast crumbs into the shoe box. At the end of her hour, she transfigured
the mouse back into a coffee cup, cast a few curling charms that only managed
to give off the impression that she’d been the one electrocuted, and trudged
downstairs to find Narcissa.
Narcissa took one look at her and said, “No luck?”
Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. “No, unfortunately. I, um… I
should probably leave it to Pansy. She might have to stay a while.”
Narcissa took her wand back and smiled.
・✦・

✦ 53 ✦
 Pansy stepped out of the flames of Draco’s fireplace at five with a garment
bag tucked under her arm, and a small case dangling from her fingertips.
“Granger,” she said flatly, looking Hermione over. “Merlin, you couldn’t
even wash your hair for me?”
She frowned. “I did wash my hair.”
Pansy lifted a brow and pressed her ruby lips together. “With what? A bar
of soap?” She spun on her heel and led Hermione back to her room. “I’ll speak
to Narcissa about your products. Clearly, Draco Malfoy — the grand interior
designer — couldn’t be bothered to fill your closets or your cabinets with any-
thing useful.”
Hermione rolled her eyes as Pansy threw open her wardrobe to hang up the
garment bag before dragging her into the bathroom and shoving her into the
chair at her vanity.
“Alright now,” Pansy said, examining her closely. “What shall we do with
this…”
Hermione scowled up at her as Pansy narrowed her eyes. Then she forced
her to wash her face again — And moisturize! Damn it, Granger, how many
times do I have to tell you! — before she started rubbing the goo on her cheeks.
When it was quiet, Pansy asked, “Have you heard from him?”
Hermione blinked open the eye Pansy wasn’t jabbing with a brush. She was
stirring her concoction of colors together, frowning at her palettes.
“No.” Hermione cleared her throat. “Narcissa told me that no owls are per-
mitted to travel in or out of Switzerland. But Lucius travels into Germany often
and sends updates.”
She waited for Pansy to ask anything else, but she simply ordered Hermione
to close her eyes.
When Pansy moved onto her hair, Hermione said, “I have a question about
the day you were captured.”
Pansy scoffed and slightly jerked the curl she was working on.
“Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I answered your question.”
Pressing her lips together, Pansy met her eyes in the mirror. After what felt
like a lifetime, she gave the slightest of nods.
Hermione drew a slow breath. “I woke up with my tattoo already on my
arm. Did you? Or do you remember when it appeared?”
“Oh, I remember alright.” Pansy’s features darkened as she prodded at a
finished curl.
Hermione’s heartbeat quickened. “Do you remember anything about the
spell they used?”

✦ 54 ✦
 She twisted another wayward curl around the wand and frowned. “I don’t
remember a spell. Just the potion and the parchment.”
Hermione felt her skin prick. Every hair on her arms stood on end.
“What kind of potion?”
“Well gee, Granger, when I was allowed to examine it, my findings were
inconclusive—”
“You drank a potion?” Hermione turned to her, tugging her curls away from
Pansy’s fingertips. “You’re sure?”
Pansy scowled at her. “Yes, Granger. I’m positive I remember having my
jaw pried open.”
“No, I mean…” She tried to gather her racing thoughts. “Was it mint-fla-
vored? Did it suppress your magic?”
“I felt my magic leave me, yes, but it wasn’t minty like the Suppressant Po-
tion. It tasted like ink.”
Hermione blinked at her, then looked down to the D.M. on her arm.
Ink.
She’d thought that the tattoo was a spell cast upon a person, an external
charm. But maybe the key to the tattoos’ magic was inside of them.
Directing Hermione firmly to turn back to the mirror, Pansy started in on
her curls again. Hermione blinked rapidly, her mind spinning at breakneck
speed.
“So you drank the potion, and the tattoo appeared on your skin?”
“Not quite.” Pansy tugged her hair a bit too harshly. “I don’t know what
the potion did, but when Yaxley signed the parchment, his signature rose up
on my skin.”
“What parchment? What did it say?” Her heart was hammering, her breath
shallow in her lungs.
“Nothing.” Pansy shrugged. “It was blank.”
Hermione spun around to her again — Pansy sighed — and lifted her tattoo
to Pansy’s eyes. “Was the ink he signed in like this? Black with gold mixed in?”
Pansy shook her head. “He signed in blood.”
Like a clock striking midnight, the pieces clicked into place.
Blood magic.
She stared off, letting her mind work.
She’d need blood magic to lock the mouse in. That’s why the tattoos hadn’t
bound properly to the barrier. But she’d missed more than that. There was a
potion component as well.
“Oh goody,” Pansy drawled. “Do I have the pleasure of watching the bright-
est mind of my age work through a problem?”

✦ 55 ✦
 Hermione grabbed her sleeve. “You’re sure it was just the potion and the
signature? There was no dark spell cast on your arm?”
Pansy shook her off with a scowl. “That’s all.” She forcibly turned Hermi-
one’s head to face the mirror again.
“But—” Hermione furrowed her brow. “But I didn’t drink a potion. I woke
up in the Ministry and was already tattooed.”
“They injected you,” Pansy said. And then: “Probably. I know a lot of the
girls in the cell were knocked out when they brought them in, and they were
already tattooed as well.”
“But they kept you awake?”
Pansy met her eyes in the mirror and swiftly looked away. “They wanted me
to watch as they took it all away. No magic, no bloodlines… Just property.”
Pity pulled tightly at her ribs. She swallowed. “They?”
“Yaxley. And my father.”
Pansy pocketed the wand, having finished with her curls, and reached into
her other pocket for pins. Apart from her tightly-set jaw, there was no indica-
tion that they were discussing anything unpleasant.
Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper as she asked, “Why were you
at the Auction, Pansy?”
She twisted a section of her hair off her neck and gave a long-suffering sigh.
“One of life’s great many questions.” When Hermione didn’t respond, Pansy
leaned forward to whisper into her ear. “You’ll never figure it out, Granger. I
want you to go to your grave knowing that the one riddle you couldn’t crack
was Pansy Parkinson.”
She smirked at her, and with a final shove of a pin into her scalp, she pro-
claimed her work complete.
Hermione examined herself for the first time. A similar style to her makeup
and hair for Edinburgh, but not as smoky. Her lips and eyes were light. Her hair
was up off her shoulders for once, gathered into a twist at the back of her head
with her curls cascading down her back.
“What color is my dress tonight?”
“Granger, don’t you know anything?” Pansy rolled her eyes and led her out
to the wardrobe. “Narcissa Malfoy’s New Year’s party has been a Black and
White gala for the past decade.”
Hermione flushed. “Ah. She might have mentioned it.”
Pansy opened the bag with a flourish. Heavy black satin and tulle poured
from the bag onto the floor like a flood. Hermione’s head tilted down and up
again as she gaped at the sheer amount of fabric. Especially in comparison to
what she usually wore to Edinburgh.

✦ 56 ✦
 “I… this is… elaborate,” she finished lamely.
“Well, I should hope so.” Pansy pulled the dress out and hung it up on the
wardrobe door. It seemed to double in size.
“So what is ‘Giuliana’ wearing this evening?” Hermione asked, reaching out
to run her fingers over the satin.
Pansy lifted a condescending brow. “This isn’t an evening at Edinburgh.
Slaves are not going to be in attendance.”
Hermione’s mouth opened. “But…”
“The New Year’s Eve Gala is a high society event. The Death Eaters you
usually see with a teenager grinding on their lap will have their wives on their
arms tonight.” She turned back to the dress, fluffing the skirt fondly before her
features hardened again. “You’ll see several debutantes coming out tonight,
hoping to snag a June wedding. More marriages have been arranged at Malfoy
Manor than at any matchmaker’s offices.”
Something sank from her throat to the bottom of her gut. “So, I’m just…
decoration.”
Pansy gave her a tight-lipped smile. “More of a trophy, I’d say.”
Pansy left shortly after laying out her undergarments and pointing out the
bag of jewelry she was expected to wear (“Put on everything, Granger!”). Her-
mione tried to sort through the new information she’d learned about the tat-
toos, but there was no time. And the nerves in her stomach were overwhelming.
She knew what to expect at Edinburgh. But tonight was entirely new.
Before long, Hermione was slipping into the gown, gasping as it magically
closed around her ribs without the help of a zipper or fastenings. The skirt fell to
the floor around her heels, puffing out around her hips after cinching at her waist.
She opened the jewelry bag, and when her hand pulled out a choker necklace
embedded with hundreds of diamonds she almost dropped the whole bag on
the floor. Hermione didn’t know much about jewelry, but she knew this might
have cost as much as she did. The necklace lay perfectly above her collarbones,
between the thin straps of her black dress. There were diamond earrings to
match, a diamond bracelet, and two diamond rings.
At half past eight, someone knocked on her door. She squared her shoulders
and flung open the door to find Lucius Malfoy standing in her doorway, wear-
ing a white tuxedo with black lapels. At first, there had been a wild moment
when she’d thought he was someone else. She had to shake off the sudden wave
of grief when her mind registered that although he resembled him, it wasn’t.
Lucius lifted a brow as he took her in. “Sufficient.”
She glowered and gestured to his tuxedo. “I suppose this will do as well.”

✦ 57 ✦
 His lips quirked and, to her surprise, he offered her his elbow. She blinked
before accepting, and he slowly led them down the hallway.
“You will not leave my side. You will not speak unless spoken to. And I as-
sume you know how to respond when spoken to.”
She nodded, her pulse quickening with each step. “How is he?”
“He sends his regards.”
They reached the top of the stairs, and she found Narcissa standing below
in white, waiting near the front doors to the Manor. She didn’t smile at them,
but her eyes sparkled. Hermione had the strangest sensation as they started to
descend. In another life, she might have belonged to their world. Or at least
tried to. She might have danced like a pureblood girl and known the names and
uses of every one of Lucius Malfoy’s utensils.
The noise of voices in the drawing room startled her from her thoughts —
there were already guests mingling. Lucius released her elbow as they swept
across the marble, and Narcissa greeted him with a kiss to his cheek. She said
nothing to Hermione, pointedly turning her back on her. Hermione blinked,
then quickly moved to stand behind them. Her eyes widened when she glanced
out the front doors. The long driveway was lined with gilded archways, the in-
tertwined fairy lights hovering in a golden glow to welcome the guests.
“The elves did a lovely job, dear, as usual.” Lucius straightened his black bowtie.
“Hix is testing all the warming charms now,” said Narcissa lightly. “It’s a
shame not to use the Floo.”
“I know, but times being what they are…”
There was a flurry of movement outside, but Narcissa’s shoulder had
shifted, obscuring Hermione’s view. Hermione fiddled with the skirt of her
dress as the sound of chatter from the grounds grew louder and louder, floating
through the open doors. It sounded as though everyone had arrived at once.
A man and woman stepped into the entry hall, and Hermione had to stop
herself from peering around Lucius’ shoulders to get a better look. She was the
Malfoys’ trophy tonight — it was their choice to decide when to display her.
Narcissa greeted them with ease, and Hermione blinked at the marble as she
heard Narcissa say their names and kiss their cheeks. She did the same for the
next couple, and the next, and Hermione realized that she might have been re-
citing names for Lucius’s benefit.
A line began gathering outside of the doors, and as the din grew louder,
Hermione felt safe enough to lift her head. The array of new faces was over-
whelming, but she caught a few familiar ones. Some stood and shook Lucius’s
hand and asked about Switzerland, and some held Narcissa’s wrist and pouted
that Draco couldn’t be there. Most of them ignored her, but it was interesting

✦ 58 ✦
to see which men she recognized from Edinburgh. Which ones leered and
which ones averted their eyes quickly, turning back to their wives.
At one point, a talkative older woman who smelled thickly of cloves held up
the line, droning on and on about some kind of society event she was hosting
in the spring. Hermione watched as Narcissa pounced on the perfect moment
to interrupt. “Dolores, that sounds divine. I’ll come find you in about half an
hour to hear more, but do you know that Hugh McKenzie is already inside?”
Dolores’ eyes brightened like a predator that had just found its next meal. She
quickly excused herself, forcing Lucius to step out of the way. Narcissa brushed a
strand of hair back over her ear and muttered, “Insufferable.” Lucius placed a
hand on the small of her back and leaned in her ear to whisper, “Poor Hugh.”
Hermione looked at the floor and pressed her lips together to hide her smile.
“Granger.” She jumped, glancing up to find Adrian Pucey grinning at her
over Narcissa’s shoulder. “Save a dance for me?”
Both Malfoys turned to look at her, their shoulders parting. Leaving her in
clear view.
Lucius looked back at Pucey, his eyes hard. “That would be highly inappro-
priate, Adrian.”
“Of course, sir. My apologies. I was just having a bit of fun.” Adrian shook
Lucius’s hand as two people who could only be his parents moved beside him.
“My, Narcissa,” the woman cooed, her eyes fixed on Hermione. “Is this the
professor’s daughter?”
“Heavens, no.” Narcissa laughed. “That’s Draco’s Mudblood.”
Mrs. Pucey pulled back the hand she’d been extending to Hermione, as
though burned. Hermione looked down to the floor as a thick silence settled
over them.
“Well,” Mr. Pucey said, clearing his throat. “She almost fooled me, but
there’s something lowborn in her posture.”
The faux-pas was quickly swept under the rug, and the Puceys moved inside.
The minutes dragged on, and Hermione’s feet began aching in her heels. Walk-
ing around a bit would help, but she didn’t dare move without permission. As
more and more people entered, it became harder to remain hidden behind Lu-
cius’s coattails.
That’s Hermione Granger.
—went for 65,000 Galleons—
No place for Mudblood, if you ask me—
—suppose you can’t blame them for wanting to show her off—
Hermione’s breath hitched at the sight of several girls she hadn’t seen since
Hogwarts, including Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, and Romilda Vane. All

✦ 59 ✦
three were in black dresses and making eyes at any men who crossed their path.
Hermione’s palms felt clammy when Theo Nott and his father entered together,
followed closely by Blaise and Goyle. Theo didn’t look at her as they passed,
though a muscle in his cheek twitched. His father’s eyes were too glassy and
unfocused to notice her.
The clock inched closer to nine as the drawing room grew louder and louder
behind her. Floating platters of champagne soared overhead to serve the guests
in line. One platter came dangerously close to her head and she ducked, stum-
bling a few steps to the left. The moment she steadied herself, she met eyes with
Antonin Dolohov. A chill ran through her veins and she quickly moved behind
Lucius again, chastising herself for the chill that ran through her veins.
Lucius whispered into Narcissa’s ear as the clock struck nine. Narcissa nod-
ded, and Lucius grabbed Hermione’s elbow, suddenly steering her inside.
“Not running from me, are you Lucius?” called out a gravelly voice.
Lucius rolled his shoulders almost imperceptibly before he spun around,
pulling Hermione with him. Hermione’s heart stuttered at the sight of Dolohov
sidestepping the line, heading straight for them. Narcissa pursed her lips before
returning to her other guests.
“Not all.” Lucius smiled tightly. “It’s nine o’clock. It’s traditional for the host to
enter the main room on time, and for the hostess to remain to greet the latecomers.”
“If you say so.” Dolohov took Lucius’s hand, and Hermione could see how
tight his grip was from their bloodless knuckles. “Your receiving line was so
long, I felt like I was standing on your drive for hours.”
“If you arrive on time, you get in on time.” Lucius released Dolohov’s hand
and clapped his shoulder. “That’s alright, Antonin. The more society events
you’re invited to, the easier polite manners will become.”
Lucius steered her away, but Dolohov’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
Her body froze in sharp terror as he brought her hand to his lips, and whis-
pered, “Miss Granger. A pleasure as always.” His eyes were black tunnels as his
clammy lips pressed to her skin.
Dark spots in her vision. A cold wind in her ears.
And then Lucius was tugging her away with a faint growl. She struggled to
breathe as she stilled the shivering book that contained the echoes of water
against tile. He pulled her into the drawing room where she’d been tortured so
many times, and she braced herself—
But when her vision cleared, she found a very different room. Her lips
parted as her eyes roved the ceiling. Cream walls and golden candlelight, gently
falling snow that vanished before it landed on your head. There was a string

✦ 60 ✦
quartet playing in the ballroom just beyond, the entire room vibrating with
champagne and conversation.
Hermione stood rigid by Lucius’s side as he greeted friends and made ac-
quaintances with foreign officials. Her eyes wandered to the young people — a
group of dark-featured girls stood together in the corner, giggling and glancing
at Blaise, Theo, and Adrian as they sipped champagne and smirked at them.
She spied Marcus Flint chatting up an older woman, turning on the charm.
Narcissa joined them after a time, slipping her arm through Lucius’s and
introducing him to several new guests. Hermione followed at their heels, no
more than a step behind. When they ran into Ted Nott, it seemed he’d already
had several more servings of Firewhisky, in addition to the one in his hand.
“Lucius,” he slurred. “Back from Switzerland, I see.”
Lucius tilted his head. “And I see you’re back from Groix.”
Nott Sr. raised his glass in a mock salute before scanning the room. “No
whelp, though. Your boy still mucking things up over there?”
Hermione saw Narcissa’s fingers dig into Lucius’s arm.
“Not at all,” Lucius lilted. “I’d say he’s doing a fine job. We expect to retake
Geneva any day now.”
Nott Sr. laughed and muttered something to himself. “Antonin has some
interesting stories about him. Has he learned to cast Killing Curses yet?”
Both Malfoys went very still. Lucius glanced around before releasing his wife’s
arm and stepping forward, inches from Nott Sr.’s face. “You’re treading on thin
ice, Ted. You should hear the stories I’ve heard about your son. To say nothing of
what I’ve heard from Rookwood about your performance in France.”
Nott Sr.’s face soured. He hid his grimace with a long sip of his Firewhisky as he
glanced over his shoulder, looking for listeners. His knuckles were red and raw—
he’d clearly punched something recently, and done a patchy Healing charm.
“So, why don’t we have another glass,” Lucius whispered, “and toast to the
Dark Lord together.”
A floating tray paused at his elbow, and he took a glass from it, never breaking
Nott Sr.’s gaze as he yanked the empty tumbler from his grip and shoved the
champagne into his chest. He plucked his own glass from the tray and toasted.
Nott scowled as he clinked his flute against Lucius’s. “To your wife’s health.”
Narcissa said nothing. Nott Sr. downed the bubbles before stalking off.
Lucius guided Narcissa forward, whispering something in her ear. She nod-
ded, and her posture relaxed.
“Narcissa!” They were quickly accosted by a grandly dressed middle-aged
woman. “We must have you and Lucius on the dance floor,” she said, as she
kissed Narcissa’s cheek. You are a delight together!”

✦ 61 ✦
 Narcissa returned her kiss and offered her a dazzling smile. “You’re too
kind, Siobhan. But I’m afraid we’re a bit preoccupied with babysitting this even-
ing.” She lifted a brow and jerked her head in Hermione’s direction.
“Then let me take over. My mother deserves to dance at her own Gala.”
The deep baritone spoken behind her shivered her skin and sent her
blood racing.
Hermione’s heartbeat skyrocketed as she turned slowly, hardly daring
to hope…
Draco stood behind her in a tuxedo — white from head to toe, shimmering
almost silver in the candlelight. She forgot how to breathe as he looked over her
shoulder at his mother’s friend, his lips tugging in a smile.
“Draco”—the word sharply enunciated on Lucius’s tongue— “what a surprise.”
Hermione watched a storm of emotions cross Narcissa’s face as she reached
for him. He hugged his mother, kissing her cheek. After a few long moments,
she released him, and he stepped beside her. And when she felt his hand press
lightly on her back, her knees almost buckled.
“I thought I could spare an hour or two,” Draco said, staring at his father.
“Wonderful! Oh, I love seeing the family all together!” Siobhan clapped her
hands together. “Narcissa, Lucius, come dance—”
Lucius took his son’s shoulder with a firm hand. “Draco, let’s speak over here—”
“Oh, I’d love it if the two of you danced, Father.” Draco tore his gaze away
to give Siobhan a roguish wink. “Siobhan is right. You couldn’t possibly deprive
your guests of the opportunity to watch.”
“No, indeed!” said Siobhan, beaming.
Narcissa must have seen the murder in Lucius’s expression, because she
quickly grabbed Siobhan’s elbow. “Let’s find out what waltz is playing next. Lu-
cius can meet us in the ballroom.”
She dragged her friend away, and it was just Hermione with Draco and his
father, smiling tightly at each other.
Lucius glanced around before taking a step forward. “This is reckless.” His
lips barely moved as he spoke. “There is no reason for you to be away from
your post—”
“Nor you, Father—”
“I have hosting responsibilities for an evening the Dark Lord wished into
existence,” Lucius hissed. His nostrils flared as he seemed to collect himself,
quickly placing his hands on Draco’s shoulders and straightening his tie. “You
were ordered to stay.”
Draco seemed to stand taller, not breaking his father’s gaze. The warmth of
his hand was burning into the skin beneath her dress.

✦ 62 ✦
✦ 63 ✦
 “By Bellatrix. Who left her post a half hour ago to play with the prisoners.”
Lucius’s eyes flashed. “It’s 10:15, Father. Two hours isn’t a risk—”
“And what do you think will happen when your aunt tells the Dark Lord
you left your post because you couldn’t bear being away from your Mudblood
whore a moment longer?”
Draco stiffened beside her. She could hear him swallow even through the
blood rushing in her ears.
Lucius’s pasted on smile never faltered as Draco blinked and slid his hand
from around her waist. Grasping her elbow instead.
She felt ice in her chest with the loss.
“Good,” Lucius hummed. “Now listen carefully, you foolish boy.” He
brushed imaginary lint off Draco’s jacket. “You will not disappear with her. You
will not dance with her. You will not kiss her at midnight.”
“Fath—”
“She is not your date.” His hand squeezed Draco’s shoulder. “She is your
property. And by arriving here tonight, you’ve given five hundred people a rea-
son to be curious about the inner-workings of your relationship.”
Draco took a slow breath. She listened to him exhale and saw the slightest
nod of his head. Lucius plucked up two passing champagne glasses and held
one to each of them. His lips were still curved in a smile, but his eyes were feral,
almost daring them to disagree. Hermione blinked and quickly took the glass.
She wrapped her fingers around the stem like a lifeline.
“Enjoy the party, children,” Lucius lilted. “Draco, I expect you back in Zü-
rich by 12:01.”
And then he vanished into the crowd, leaving behind only the heavy weight
he’d placed in her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to suck in air. It was the
first moment she’d seen Draco in eight weeks, and she could hardly dare to look
at him. She couldn’t without exposing herself. The hand on her elbow tightened.
“Draco, darling!” Her eyelids flew open to find a tall woman dripping in
diamonds approaching them. “You grow more handsome every day!”
She watched his mask slip on as he released her elbow and kissed the
woman’s cheeks. “Marie, you look ravishing as ever.”
And thus began the carousel. Draco seemed to spin in circles as he was at-
tacked on all sides by eager middle-aged women with daughters of an eligible
age. Her skin grew cold as they were interrupted by one after another, some not
even waiting their turn.
Hermione stood silently at his side as eyes either skipped or passed over her
disdainfully. Draco kept glancing over the women’s heads towards the closed
doors at the center of the drawing room.

✦ 64 ✦
 “I’m sorry I’m not dancing tonight, Mrs. Hastings,” he said, kissing one of
the women’s hands. “But I do know that Theo Nott over there has been ach-
ing for a partner, and he’d be mad to decline a girl who looks as lovely as Mary
this evening. You’ll excuse me—”
“But dear, surely there’s a young woman you can escort this evening.” Her
eyes flicked over to Hermione with a grimace before coming back to him.
“Draco,” said another stout woman, who had elbowed her way forward. “You’ll
have to excuse me when I say that given the occasion”—she lifted her brows mean-
ingfully— “having a Mudblood on your arm isn’t doing you any favors.”
“Too true, Mrs. Dormer.” Draco glanced at the doors again as he smoothed
his hair. “Unfortunately, I only have time to kiss my mother and walk my pet
tonight. But I hope the situation in Switzerland will calm down soon enough.”
Then he was swiftly extracting them with a few muttered apologies, drag-
ging her by her elbow through the crowd. Hermione followed him blindly, lost
in her thoughts. The whiplash of seeing him again, being near him, his scent so
close to her again — and then being held at arm’s length while a hoard of
women vied for his attention… It felt like a dull blade slicing her open slowly.
And it wasn’t just his presence. It was the heavy stares of hundreds of people
— most of whom had never believed she was worth more than the dirt under
their shoes — now seeing her as nothing more than an ornamental inconven-
ience. As if she were a pretty, expensive painting that no longer matched the
new furnishings.
Edinburgh was different. As disturbing and horrifying as it was, she still held
a twisted sort of power there. She was visible; she was valuable. She commanded
attention. But here, in Draco’s world, she was nothing.
There were young women who greeted him with batted lashes and flirty
laughter, and more society ladies who pushed for him to take a debutante to the
dance floor. He brushed them all off as politely as one would expect from Nar-
cissa Malfoy’s son. But as Hermione stood at his side, mute and invisible, she
wondered how long he could slip from their grasp.
If she was unsuccessful with the tattoos… if she remained locked up in Mal-
foy Manor as the years dragged on, what would become of her when it was time
for Draco to court? It was clearly expected of him. And how could he not be
expected to marry and continue the Malfoy line with a pure-blood girl?
Perhaps one day she’d be the mad wife locked in the attic. A dirty secret
caged within the Manor’s walls. Perhaps she’d stalk the halls at night while
Draco’s real wife slept soundly in her four-poster.
Hermione buried her dark thoughts and focused on the present. If this was
all she got from him, she’d take it. She’d take the way his fingers would slip

✦ 65 ✦
across the hollow of her elbow. The feeling of his breath on her ear when he
stole a moment to press his nose to her hair.
In some conversations, he’d forget himself, and his hand would slide across
her ribs, warm and firm. His fingers would curl around her opposite side, his
knuckles teasing her bare arm, his thumb sparking shivers across her skin.
When their backs were to a wall, he let his fingers slide up and tangle lightly in
her curls, slipping across her shoulder blades and sloping up her neck to dance
with the fine hairs standing on end there. She grew dizzy and light-headed with
his attentions, her legs pressing together under the hundreds of layers of tulle.
He leaned into her ear when their companion was distracted and whispered,
“I’ve missed you.”
Her lips trembled, and she pressed her eyes closed, willing herself not to cry.
All she could do was nod as the older man turned to Draco with a, “Don’t you
agree?” — to which Draco smoothly did.
At ten minutes to midnight, the sound of wands tapping against champagne
glasses signaled a toast. From their position at the far end of the room near the
windows, she watched as a wave of people joined in, tapping against their
glasses and turning towards the platform set up near the fireplace.
Narcissa ascended, and the applause of hundreds rang out. She cast an Am-
plifying Charm and greeted the room with a glowing smile. “Happy New Year.
We’re so pleased you could join us.”
As the chatter in the room quieted, Blaise and a pretty olive-skinned girl
appeared at their side, Theo and a stunning blonde girl trailing behind them.
Blaise greeted Draco with a slightly drunken smirk. Theo nodded at him, look-
ing quite miserable.
Every eye in the room was on Narcissa as she said a few words about the
Dark Lord’s victory, and honored those who had fallen. Before long, she was
introducing Lucius.
The clock was minutes from striking midnight, and Hermione felt Draco
being ripped from her with every tick of the second hand.
But then, Draco was stepping back towards the heavy drawing room curtains,
tugging her lightly at her waist. She moved with him as he found a fold in the
curtains, holding it open for her to sneak through. She looked back to see one of
the beautiful balconies overlooking the gazebo. A place for them to be alone—
“And my son, Draco,” Lucius boomed. “Who I couldn’t be prouder of.”
The curtain dropped. His hand slipped away from her waist. Every eye
turned toward him, and he stepped forward with a forced smile.
Lucius bowed at him from across the room, his eyes glinting. He gestured
for Draco to join him, and without even a glance back to her, Draco moved

✦ 66 ✦
swiftly through the crowd. A few stragglers eyed her, and Blaise stepped for-
ward silently to take his place.
“We could not be more honored to serve the Dark Lord in Switzerland. My
son has played an important role in helping crush the rebels and secure the
foothold of the Great Order.” Lucius roused the crowd with a wave of his hand
as Draco climbed the stairs to him.
The crowd responded with hollers and cheers, as well as a smattering of ec-
static giggling from a nearby group of young women. Draco shook his father’s
hand and stood tall at his side, looking every inch the obedient son.
“Unfortunately, Draco can’t stay,” Lucius said, placing a firm hand on the
back of Draco’s neck.
Hermione’s chest seized. It was still two minutes to midnight—
“He’s expected back in Switzerland.” Lucius gave a sympathetic nod as the
crowd groaned. “Let’s send him out with the warmest thanks we can, shall we?”
The room erupted.
Draco eyes locked on hers from across a crowd of hundreds as they both
realized they wouldn’t have a chance to say goodbye. He seemed to snap out of
his trance after a moment, turning to kiss Narcissa with a tight smile. Her
breath rattled as he waved at the crowd and left, exiting out of the drawing room
and back to Switzerland. Away from her.
She swayed on her feet, but something steadied her — Blaise’s hand on
her elbow.
The melody of Lucius’s voice wound through the crowd as he talked of fresh
beginnings. Hermione blinked, dazed.
She should have told him she’d missed him too. It could have been the last
time she ever saw him.
Her vision burned white-hot as Lucius mentioned the time — less than a
minute to midnight. She scanned the crowd, too furious to look at the podium
as Lucius waxed eloquent about the Dark Lord’s might and their year of victo-
ries over his foes.
Her chest burned, her blood searing in her veins as she thought of Harry.
Ron. Ginny.
The crowd swelled and swayed, and her eyes paused on a beacon of brilliant
white. A girl in a blinding white dress, draped with glinting diamonds, her skin
translucent and pale. A mane of furious red curls dancing around her face.
She looked exactly like—
“As I toast you into the New Year,” said Lucius, “let us remember why we
are here.”

✦ 67 ✦
 Five seconds to midnight. She blinked back her tears, eyes narrowing on the girl
in the white dress. Standing next to Avery, his features unmistakable as he turned.
Hermione’s blood turned to ice in her veins.
“To the Dark Lord’s power,” Lucius called, lifting his glass.
Every hand raised theirs in turn.
Midnight struck.
And as fireworks bounced around the room, Hermione watched Ginny
Weasley smile and chorus with them:
“May he reign forevermore.”

✦ 68 ✦
 CHAPTER 28

S
OMEONE WAS KNOCKING HER ELBOW. JARRING HER, HELPING
her lift a glass. Champagne flooded her closed lips.
The girl in the white dress swallowed, her throat moving delicately as
the champagne poured into her mouth.
Fireworks crackled and boomed, and the girl’s skin glowed blue and red and
green — a white canvas to paint on.
Warm breath whispered against her ear — “Granger, close your mouth or
you’ll catch lacewing flies.”
The stretched elastic of her mind snapped, and her vision seemed to shiver
before refocusing.
Ginny Weasley was within twenty feet of her.
She spun to Blaise, her heart pounding in her throat. She kept her gaze on
Ginny in case she vanished. “Blaise, please. You need to take me to Avery. I
need to— If I could just get close to her—”
“You must be confusing me with a different Slytherin. I’m afraid my back
doesn’t bend that way for you, Granger—”
“Please.” She looked up at him, and he sipped his champagne, avoiding her
eyes. “I haven’t seen her since May.”
Blaise faced the ballroom as he whispered, “I have no business with Avery.
I can’t just walk up to him—”
Avery pressed a hand to Ginny’s back and steered her toward the doors.
Hermione’s breath squeezed out of her lungs — to lose her so quickly after get-
ting her back—
“Just walk me that way,” she begged. “Just towards the doors, and then I’ll
figure out—”
“What did I tell you about speaking to your superiors?” Lucius hissed be-
hind her. A warm hand grabbed her elbow. “Behave yourself.”
She turned to his cold grey gaze, her lips trembling, trying to beg him with-
out words.

✦ 69 ✦
 “Clearly you’ve had enough excitement for the night.” His eyes were like ice
as he turned to Blaise, speaking loud enough for onlookers. “I apologize for her
behavior. I can assure you she’ll be thoroughly punished. Please, excuse us.”
And without waiting for a response, Lucius escorted her through the crowd
with a bruising grip on her upper arm.
“Mr. Malfoy—”
His fingers tightened. “Control yourself,” he muttered from the corner of
his mouth. “Remember where you are.”
She stumbled before quickly finding her footing. The logical part of her
brain knew he was right, but the rest of her was screaming to turn around.
She needed to get to Ginny.
Lucius nodded at several people as they passed, moving swiftly through the
ballroom as Hermione’s mind whirred in overdrive. But her heart began sink-
ing with each step. Lucius was right. Short of a miracle, there was no way she
could speak to Ginny tonight.
Pain pricked her temple as he led them out the drawing room doors, to-
wards the marble staircase. They closed, sealing Ginny away from her like a
coffin. Hermione swallowed, trying to be strong—
“Lucius!” a voice called, just as he put his foot on the first step. They swiveled
around to find Yaxley, leaning out the cracked door of the small sitting room
tucked behind the staircase. “Come join us. We were just discussing Geneva.”
“Of course. Give me a moment to put my pet to bed,” said Lucius smoothly.
He moved to the second stair, tugging Hermione behind him.
“Bring her,” said Yaxley, and Lucius froze. He turned around slowly, and
Hermione followed. “I was just about to come looking for you. We have the
other one in here, too.”
Hermione’s breath was tight in her chest.
Ginny.
Alone in a room full of Death Eaters.
Lucius hesitated, and Yaxley lifted a brow. “Don’t be stingy. Your guests want
to see the finest horses in the show.” He smirked. “Maybe we’ll let them wrestle.”
Hermione said a silent prayer, begging. And then—
“Just for a few minutes, I suppose,” said Lucius stiffly.
Her skin shivered, and then her heart beat out of her chest as Lucius led her
to the sitting room. With each step of the marble, she concentrated on binding
her emotions into books — pushing Draco into a far corner of her mind and cov-
ering him with other texts, folding the pages of Ginny into another book alto-
gether. The doors pushed open just as she lost them somewhere in the stacks.

✦ 70 ✦
 Her eyes caught on the white dress immediately. Ginny had her back turned
to the door, Avery at her side with his hand on her backside. Hermione drew a
sharp breath, but her Occlumency held. She looked away. Dolohov, Rookwood,
Mulciber, Crabbe Sr., Parkinson, and the Lestrange brothers stood in a lazy for-
mation, sipping drinks and chuckling with each other. It was odd to see them in
the bright candlelight of the Manor, without a slave on their arm or in their lap.
Their eyes drifted over her, but they looked away without leering — all ex-
cept Dolohov.
“So, this is where you all disappeared to.” Lucius shook Mulciber’s hand and
promptly took a path through the room towards the drinks trolley in the corner,
pushing Hermione to stand against a wall behind a chair.
“Your wife throws a fine party, Lucius.”
“That she does.” Lucius sipped his brandy and moved to shake Avery’s
hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Aron. Welcome.”
“I got permission to let her out of her cage.” Avery chuckled, and Hermione
watched his hand slide up from Ginny’s backside and curl into her ginger locks.
Swallowing, she quickly looked away.
“However will the Dark Lord amuse himself on this New Year’s Eve?” Ra-
bastan murmured, and Mulciber hid a smile in his glass.
Avery sneered. “It’s an honor to be of service to the Dark Lord. I consider
myself lucky to have a pet who holds his interest.”
Ginny smiled demurely, sipping from her champagne glass.
“These two know each other, I take it?” Rookwood said, gesturing between
Ginny and Hermione. “Both of them sucked Potter’s cock?”
The men chuckled. Ginny simply blinked.
“I’ll ask you to watch your language in front of my great-grandmother’s por-
trait,” Lucius said, lifting his glass to point at the grumpy looking grey-haired
woman in her frame. The men laughed.
“Is that right, darling?” Avery said softly into Ginny’s ear, his hand fisting
the hair at the base of her skull. “Do you remember your old friend?”
Hermione watched Ginny twist — her bones spindly under the pale-blue
skin of her back — and turn her gaze on Hermione for the first time. Her warm
brown eyes were shallow pools of nothingness as they roved over Hermione.
“Hardly,” she said.
Her voice was different. Like a hook had been pulled tight around her throat
and tugged until the melody left her inflections. In that one word, Hermione could
hear an aristocratic drawl unfamiliar to Ginny’s natural consonants and vowels.
“Here you all are.” Hermione turned to the door and found Nott Sr. leaning
drunkenly on the doorframe. “Not going to invite me to this little private party?”

✦ 71 ✦
 Yaxley pursed his lips in distaste. Rookwood and Mulciber shared a mean-
ingful look.
“Not at all, Ted,” Lucius said smoothly. “Do join us. I was just about to open
a bottle of Scotch.”
Nott Sr.’s eyes lit up. He stumbled into the room and dropped into a high-
backed chair. “What’s the latest, then?” Lucius handed him a drink, his lip
slightly curled.
Luckily, unlike at Edinburgh, neither Hermione nor Ginny were prime at-
tractions for the evening. That honor belonged to Switzerland. The room was
focused and almost civil as they discussed the latest initiative to retake Geneva.
Most were confident; others pointed to rumors of foreign assistance to the
French and Swiss rebels. Lucius said little, simply humming and circling the
rim of his glass with his finger.
Hermione shrunk between the drinks trolley and the back of Lucius’s chair,
trying to be invisible as her brain scrambled to memorize names and dates. But
unless she went to Edinburgh again soon, it wouldn’t be of any use.
At one point, Dolohov approached to pour himself another drink, and Her-
mione froze like a rabbit in the headlights. Lucius swiftly stood and stepped
between them, refilling Dolohov’s glass himself and thrusting it into his hand
with a sneer. Dolohov returned to his seat, sulking, and Hermione’s fingers
loosened on the back of Lucius’s chair.
Hermione tried not to stare at Ginny. But her control began slipping as the
men droned on, and she chanced a glance in her direction. Her stomach turned
at Ginny’s tight smile as Avery wrapped his arm around her waist. She sipped
her champagne while he pressed his face into her neck, laughing when he whis-
pered in her ear.
All of it was wrong.
It was as if the fire behind her eyes had burnt down to embers, dying in the
hearth. Hermione’s books shivered as she quickly looked away, focusing on a
lake with still waters.
Ginny didn’t look at Hermione again.
Before long, Lucius was making his excuses to return to Narcissa. And Her-
mione couldn’t find the strength to wish to stay in the same room as Ginny any
longer. Her mental shelves were straining under the weight of her heavy Occlu-
mency, threatening to buckle any moment.
She didn’t even take a final look at Ginny as Lucius grabbed her arm and guided
her up the stairs, her mind throbbing and numb. Down the long corridor to her
bedroom, she felt Lucius glance at her, but she was too exhausted to respond.

✦ 72 ✦
 As she stepped through her doorway, Lucius warned, “Stay in this room.
No wandering.”
She nodded mutely. What reason was there to wander? It was impossible to
reach Ginny now. She had no excuses. She was out of clever plans.
Lucius stood in the doorway as she took off her jewelry, piece by piece. Her
vision blurred, but her hands were steady. She startled at the sound of a shut door.
She felt the hum of locking charms and trespassing wards. And then, nothing.
Hermione unclasped her dress, letting the tulle and satin fall to the ground.
As she stepped out of it and wandered to the bathroom, it occurred to her that
there was nothing she could have done differently. Nothing she said or did
could have given her a moment alone with Draco on the balcony. Nothing in
her power could have cleared the ballroom so she could have rushed across it
and taken Ginny in her arms.
It had all been hopeless from the start.
Turning on the taps, she stood by her vanity and stared at the tub as it filled.
First Draco, then Ginny. She’d lost them both tonight.
A memory sparked. There was one thing she could have done differently.
She should have told Draco that she missed him too. Now he was back in Zü-
rich, and he might die without ever hearing the words.
The tub was filled, the taps magically turning off. She stepped into the perfectly
warmed waters, watching the ripples move aside for her. Her face was stinging.
She should have been bold and reckless, smashing champagne stems and
slicing throats in that room, like Ginny had been once. She should have shown
her that Hermione Granger was still in this shell of a body covered in tulle and
makeup. Maybe Ginny would have remembered herself as well.
The water surrounded her shoulders. She submerged deeper, slipping her
ears and eyes below the surface just as the first sob tore from her throat, the salt
from her tears poisoning the lavender-scented bathwater. She stared up
through the funhouse mirror of water at the high, cream-colored ceiling.
She missed Harry. She missed Ron. She missed her parents.
She had Ginny in her grasp tonight and let her slip.
And Draco Malfoy might never come home to her.
She opened her mouth underwater and screamed.
・✦・
The sorrow of New Year’s Eve hung like a shawl across her shoulders for a
week. She only saw the elves for three days, as if Narcissa knew she needed
space. Perhaps Narcissa needed space as well — after all, her husband and son
had left for war all over again.

✦ 73 ✦
 Her mind was a scattered mess the morning after. She tried to Occlude, to
push everything back into place and tidy her shelves. Instead she ended up cry-
ing on the floor next to her bed, curling into herself at the memories of the
strange sound of Ginny’s voice and the heat of Draco’s hand on her back. She
allowed herself a day of rest and recovery before she tried again.
She started with Ginny and flipped through the crinkled and dog-eared
pages of her book. She bound the new pages in like an addendum, a slice at the
end for the reader. Ginny’s book wedged itself on a high shelf, disappearing.
Then the volumes on Draco Malfoy closed under her fingertips. Thick pages
with crisp edges and elegant typefaces. I’ve missed you, folded into the pages
like a bookmark, and the millions of could-have-beens slipped between the
chapters. She closed the book with a lock and key, and shoved it onto a shelf at
eye-level, unable to lose it in case she needed it again.
It was eight in the evening on January 2nd when she was finally done. Her
head pounded and her eyes squeezed closed every time they landed on the fire
in the hearth. But her shelves were sturdy, and the heaviness in her stomach
lessened. She ate a slice of bread that had appeared with her dinner and tucked
herself into her sheets after taking a Dreamless Sleep potion.
When she woke the next morning, she felt nothing but cold determination.
After a half-hour of meditation, she packed up all her books on tattoos and
moved them back down to the library.
Pansy had given her invaluable clues into the creation of these tattoos. An
ingested potion changed things dramatically. A potion had an antidote. She’d
been chasing a counterspell.
Her test with the mouse had failed for numerous reasons, the first of which
had to do with the use of a potion. The second had to do with blood magic. But
thanks to Pansy, Hermione now knew the potion came first.
She started by cross-referencing all of the library’s resources on magical tat-
toos with potions. She tried hundreds of search terms — so many, in fact, that
she had to list them down. She tried searching in half a dozen other languages.
She’d even tried skimming books by hand. But after several weeks, she’d found
nothing that related magical tattoos to an ingested potion.
Frustrated with her lack of progress, she spent the last week of January on
the second piece of the puzzle: blood magic. She found plenty on its uses in
protective wards, including those surrounding magical estates. But here she was
overwhelmed with too much information. And it was useless to zero in on any
particular spell until she could locate the correct potion.
Once again, it felt like she was working blind. The Scourers hadn’t used a
potion — there was no precedent and no apparent shortcuts to find the

✦ 74 ✦
information she needed. She wished she had Draco to help her see whether
she’d missed something, but she was out of ideas. So she started from scratch,
searching One Thousand Magical Potions and Their Uses by hand. Hoping that
something would catch her eye and spark an idea in her exhausted mind.
The weeks moved like molasses until it was already mid-February. She
broke up her research with Occlumency practice and semi-regular meals with
Narcissa. If the Prophet reported good news, Narcissa would sit down with her.
Bad news, Hermione’s tray would appear in her room. It was still bitingly cold
out, but sometimes she’d wander the grounds on her breaks.
Draco’s name or picture appeared in the paper at least once a week. Hermi-
one found herself cutting out pictures of him more than once, tucking them on
top of the folded parchment in the jewelry box on her nightstand.
What she would give for just one sarcastic letter from him now.
The following Tuesday, the Prophet reported that the rebels had moved
against Basel. Though the city was still decimated by the attack in November,
an army of hundreds had marched through the rubble towards the city’s
stronghold. Thousands of Death Eaters had been recalled from Lausanne and
successfully crushed the attack. Skeeter spent a full page lavishing praise upon
the ingenuity of the Death Eaters who’d been responsible for Obliviating by-
standers and Imperiusing Muggle leaders — all of whom blamed the destruc-
tion on foreign terrorists.
On Wednesday morning, Hermione woke up to find her breakfast delivered
to her room, a copy of the Prophet laying underneath the coffee cup on her tray.
ZÜRICH UNDER SIEGE!
by Rita Skeeter
Like roaches to cupboards, a small band of insurgents infiltrated Zürich last
night. This brazen attack from French invaders and Swiss traitors is undoubtedly
a reaction to their spectacular failure in Basel yesterday — a last-ditch attempt
to seize control and throw the country into chaos.
The Great Order’s forces have been recalled from Basel, with support from
additional infantries in Lausanne and Bern. Sources close to the situation expect
a decisive victory over the usurpers as early as this afternoon.
Blinking, Hermione stared down at the page. Her heart drummed in her
ears as she scanned above and below it. Her shaking fingers tore through every
other page, searching for more.
Nothing.
Hermione growled and tossed the paper into the fire. She began pacing, her
mind scrambling to connect the pieces. The French and their allies had attacked
Basel two days ago, but it had been a feint. Basel wasn’t an obvious strategic

✦ 75 ✦
target. But it had lured Voldemort’s forces outside of neighboring Switzerland,
leaving the real objective vulnerable: Zurich.
Where Draco was.
Her chin trembled before she began pacing again. Skeeter’s lies were glaring.
If it had been a small band of insurgents, there was no reason to summon the
forces in Lausanne, let alone Bern. Voldemort’s army had left a direct path of
vulnerability from the border through the heart of the country. Only a massive
attack could have warranted it.
Her shelves shook violently. Hermione clutched her bedpost, breathing
deeply until they calmed. She began pacing again.
The leash on Rita Skeeter was getting tighter and tighter, the omissions
more glaring. She’d asked Narcissa last week about getting a copy of another
paper from a foreign ally of the Great Order’s — anything less biased — but
Narcissa had replied that non-British periodicals were forbidden in the U.K. by
order of Minister Thicknesse.
She paused at the fireplace, staring as what was left of the pages curled and
crisped in the flames. She tried to focus on her research that day, but it was no
use. So she spent the rest of her day meditating. When night fell, she pulled a
chair by her window, staring at the dark windows of the room next door until
she drifted to sleep.
She woke up the next morning with a crick in her neck and panic in her
chest. When no paper arrived with her coffee, Hermione went straight to the
dining room without changing out of her pajamas.
She found Narcissa standing over the table, glaring down at the newspaper.
Blood rushed in her ears.
“What’s happened,” Hermione croaked. “What did Skeeter say?”
A light scoff. “I’ve had enough of Miss Skeeter for one lifetime, thank you
very much,” Narcissa replied, and as Hermione inched forward. Her mouth fell
open when she realized it wasn’t the Prophet spread out on the table, but pages
of The New York Ghost.
“Mippy took a trip to New York City this morning,” said Narcissa.
Hermione blinked, her neck craning to get a better look.
“Start there.” Narcissa pointed to the pages on the other side of the table.
Hermione moved quickly to those pages, and found the evening edition from
Tuesday, when hundreds of rebels failed in their mission to take Basel back.
But that wasn’t what she found in the Ghost.
SMALL BAND OF REBELS CAUSE TROUBLE IN BASEL
by Gertie Gumley

✦ 76 ✦
 French and Swiss fighters from “the True Order” coalition caused a stir in
Basel, Switzerland this morning when a series of explosives detonated outside the
Basel Town Hall. Swaths from the Dark Lord Voldemort’s army of so-called
“Death Eaters” were dispatched to Basel instantly, and according to sources, spent
the whole day fighting maybe twenty-five soldiers.
Hermione frowned, but before her mind could compare Skeeter and Gum-
ley’s takes, her eyes caught on Wednesday’s paper.
FRENCH SUCCESSFULLY INVADE ZÜRICH
by Gertie Gumley
After drawing hundreds of Death Eaters to Basel yesterday, the True Order
has claimed territory on the east side of Zürich. The city was sparsely occupied
after Tuesday’s attack on Basel, creating a window of opportunity for the army
of Swiss rebels and their allies.
According to eyewitnesses, the rebels moving on Zürich vastly outnumbered the
Death Eaters left in the city, catching the Dark Lord Voldemort’s army unawares.
“It was a classic Wronski Feint,” said an anonymous source. “Thousands of
French in Zürich all at once. Only I can’t quite make sense of how they invaded
from the southeast.”
Hermione’s eyes popped wide as she read, her vision jumping from page to
page, looking for any mention of familiar names. The rebels were taking
ground. This was good news. But—
“Is there any mention…?” She trailed off, running her fingers over her lips.
“Here.” Narcissa extended a paper to her, and Hermione plucked it more
quickly than was polite.
It was today’s Prophet. A picture of Draco, Lucius, Mulciber, and Bellatrix
was at the center of the front page beneath the headline, “REBELS
THWARTED IN ZÜRICH.”
Hermione shook out the paper, her fingers skating the edge of the photo. It
had been taken at nighttime. Draco had been alive no more than 12 hours ago.
Hermione frowned down at today’s New York Ghost: “BATTLES RAGE IN
SWITZERLAND.”
“Where is Lucius?”
“He was called to Lausanne last night.” Narcissa rubbed her brow. “The
French are pushing past Geneva.”
And sure enough, in the Ghost’s article there was mention of incursions east
of Geneva. The Prophet, on the other hand, had nothing but inquiries into the
Austrian Minister. She had been taken into custody while investigators looked
into whether she colluded with the rebels and allowed them to infiltrate the
country via the Austrian-Swiss border.

✦ 77 ✦
 Narcissa duplicated the Ghost pages for her, and excused herself with tired,
red-rimmed eyes. Hermione spent the rest of the day sorting through Skeeter’s
lies and cross-referencing with Gertie Gumley.
At the end of every Gumley article, she signed off with “M.A.C.U.S.A. Pres-
ident Harrison declined to comment for the 33rd week in a row,” or “No word
from the President’s Office on if or when M.A.C.U.S.A. will provide aid to the
French or Swiss Ministries, though Scandinavia, Iceland, and Canada have
pledged support.” Hermione found the reporter’s boldness and openness disap-
proval of the president quite impressive.
She couldn’t sleep that night.
One rainy day at the end of February, Skeeter reported that Nott Sr. had been
promoted to General and dispatched to Zürich, where the battle continued to rage.
She grew hardened to the lies of the Prophet and the news of war. Her fear
for Draco’s safety, and the safety of her friends, was a constant burden in her
gut, but she was helpless. So she began Occluding daily for at least two hours
and buried herself in her research.
One evening on her way back from the library, there were raised voices in
the entry hall: one male and one female. Hermione stopped cold, and for a split
second she considered turning around. But her control snapped at the sound
of a familiar cadence. She crept forward quickly, pressing herself against the
wall adjacent to the stairs.
“—a few days. No more—”
“For what purpose? Surely…” Narcissa’s voice faded in and out. “...some-
thing Bella can handle?”
“The Dark Lord was resolute,” the male voice replied. “I must lead the in-
vestigation in Austria.”
Lucius was here.
“Surely Draco can go with you—” Narcissa’s heels clicked across the marble.
“I’ve already tried.” His voice was crisp and clear, as if he meant it to travel
past the stairs. “The Dark Lord insisted he stay. Your sister spoke with him first.”
Hermione held her breath and shifted quickly out of sight, slipping behind
the staircase.
Narcissa muttered something scathing that made Lucius sigh. “Cissa, you
mustn’t—”
“You’ll go back soon, won’t you? You’ll be there with him?” Her voice shook
as it echoed through the walls.
“I’ll do my best. I told Ted and your sister to inform me immediately if
they’re planning a significant counterattack.”
Narcissa scoffed. “As if you can trust either of them.”

✦ 78 ✦
 “I have no choice.” A long pause. “He’s made it this far, Cissa. He’s stronger
than you give him credit for—”
“He’s a boy. A boy you’re leaving alone with a pack of wolves.”
She heard Narcissa pacing.
“I need to go,” said Lucius, his voice low and regretful. “I just wanted to
assure you we are both safe at present, and…” Narcissa’s heels paused on the
marble. “But I need to go. I’ve already stayed too long.”
She heard the fireplace roar to life.
“Lucius!” Narcissa’s voice bounced across the beams and banisters, as lost
and helpless as a child.
Hermione looked around the staircase before she could stop herself. Narcissa’s
arms were flung around his shoulders, her lips hungry and desperate against his.
Floo powder dripped from his fingers as he crushed her lithe body to him.
Hermione pulled back with a silent gasp. Her own parents were in love, she
knew. But Hermione couldn’t be certain that Henry and Jean Granger had ever
clung to each other like this.
It was over quickly. Hermione peeked around the stairs just in time to see
Lucius pushing his wife back and tossing the powder into the flames. Narcissa’s
fingertips pressed against her lips, her arm wrapping around her middle.
“Be safe,” she whispered.
His lips pulled in the semblance of a smirk. “Alright. Just because you asked.”
He stepped through, and the flames took him away. Narcissa stared at the
fireplace for a long moment.
Hermione sank back into the shadows, not wanting to disturb her.
A few days. No more.
Draco would be alone in Zürich with Bellatrix, and Nott Sr., and countless
other monsters. And his mother was scared for him.
She went back to her room for the night and drank a dose and a half of Dream-
less Sleep potion, slipping between the sheets without touching her dinner.
The next two days passed without any news. Narcissa joined her for break-
fast, but she was skittish and distracted. Hermione continued her research in
an Occluded haze, making little progress. But on the third morning, she woke
up to a breakfast tray and copy of the Daily Prophet announcing:
VICTORY IN SWITZERLAND!
by Rita Skeeter
The Great Order is victorious at last against the rebel mercenaries in Zürich!
After months of skirmishes in Basel, Geneva, Bern, and Zürich, the Dark Lord’s
army has beaten back the French and Swiss insurgents once and for all, thanks

✦ 79 ✦
to the ingenuity of General Theodore Nott and the dedicated work of the countless
other officials and soldiers.
Last night’s decisive blow illustrates the magical might of the Great Order and
those closest to the Dark Lord. Developed in recent months by General Nott, a novel
magical weapon was released on the frontlines last night, first to defeat the rebel
forces in Zürich, and then dispatched immediately to Bern and Geneva. By dawn,
the insurgents had fled, leaving Switzerland in the hands of its rightful owners.
Former Swiss Minister Vogel and his cabinet — who refused to pledge support
to the Great Order — have been captured in Geneva, and are currently being held
in the Swiss Ministry in Zürich. Check back for the evening edition of
the Prophet for more information.
Hermione’s fingers were shaking. What deadly weapon had Nott Sr. created,
and how many had it killed?
Was Draco safe? Who else did Hermione know fighting on the front lines
yesterday? Were Bill and Fleur still alive?
Pop!
Hermione jumped, spinning to see Mippy blinking up at her.
“Mippy has paper for Miss. Mistress is not well, so Mippy brings paper
for Miss!”
Hermione rubbed a palm over her thundering chest and reached for
the New York Ghost. “Thank you, Mippy. Do you… Is there any word on
Draco? Or Mr. Malfoy?”
“Mippy is not knowing, Miss,” said Mippy, twirling her ear.
Hermione nodded numbly and let the elf pop away. She shook open
the Ghost and gasped.
A THOUSAND DEAD IN ZÜRICH AND COUNTING
by Gertie Gumley
Yesterday at dusk, a poisonous gas swept through the streets of Zürich, killing
over one thousand French and Swiss soldiers. Although most No-Majs have fled
to neighboring Italy or Germany, some are suspected among the casualties, along
with Swiss witches and wizards who did not hear or heed orders to stay inside.
According to an eye witness, the gas is resistant to the Bubble-Head Charm
and kills on contact. It was created by a member of Lord Voldemort’s inner circle
and looks to be the newest Mass Death Magic used in the Great Order’s attempts
to claim Europe.
The Ghost received word that the Death Eaters released the gas upon Zürich
around 5 p.m. last night, allowing it to move indiscriminately through the city,
killing True Order soldiers on the frontlines and any exposed civilians. Patronus
warnings were received in Basel, Bern, and Geneva, where the majority of the

✦ 80 ✦
rebels retreated just before the gas was unleashed. The Death Eaters used an un-
known protective charm to move through each city unharmed, picking off fighters
who had not yet evacuated or been reached by the gas.
Just weeks ago, the No-Maj Federal Council of Switzerland declared a State
of Emergency, citing terrorism similar to that in Edinburgh, Scotland, and or-
dered the mass evacuation of No-Maj citizens. The Ghost has received word that
two members of that Council showed signs of resisting the Imperius Curse. They
are now being held by the Death Eaters, along with Swiss Minister Vogel and the
Magical Council Members who survived the attack.
With the retreat of the rebel forces in Switzerland, Lord Voldemort’s Great
Order now has complete control of every one of France’s bordering countries.
France remains the stronghold of the anti-Voldemort coalition, referring to them-
selves as the “True Order.” When informed of their defeat in Switzerland, coupled
with news of Voldermort’s new Mass Death Magic, M.A.C.U.S.A. President Har-
rison was quoted as saying that he was “looking into the situation.”
Hermione sat in her chair as the paper slipped from her fingers. Her legs felt
leaden and numb.
Over a thousand dead in one day.
Her anxiety bubbled to the surface, and the bookshelves in her mind shiv-
ered. New images flitted through her mind. Bill and Fleur collapsing with
countless others, their faces swollen and blue. Had Draco been there with the
other Death Eaters, prowling the clouded streets? Or had someone from the
“True Order” gotten to him first?
Her chest seized and her fingers clenched. She closed her eyes and imagined
a lake with still waters until she could breathe freely again. After an hour of med-
itating, she went to the library and buried herself in her books until nightfall.
The next morning, there was no paper under her coffee cup. She wandered
down to the dining room and found it empty. Narcissa’s study was empty.
She called for Mippy, and the elf appeared immediately.
“Was there no Prophet today? Or the Ghost?”
Mippy shifted from foot to foot. “Mistress tells Mippy to take papers away.”
Her bright emerald eyes couldn’t meet Hermione’s.
Her heart thumped in her chest. Something had happened.
“Can I please have them?” Hermione asked with a thin voice.
Mippy wrung her hands. “Mistress says… it’s better not to...”
“Then can you take me to her? I understand if you’ve been forbidden, but I
need to know what happened.”

✦ 81 ✦
 Mippy played with her apron. “Mistress is needing to be left alone, Miss.
Mippy hasn’t been forbidden from giving the paper.” And with a flick of her
small wrist, the Prophet appeared in her waxy fingers.
Hermione took the pages and thanked her. She turned away quickly, dis-
tracted by the picture of Draco on the cover, standing beside the new puppet
Minister. His eyes were empty.
EXECUTIONS IN ZÜRICH: DARK LORD WELCOMES SWITZERLAND
TO GREAT ORDER
by Rita Skeeter
In the wake of the Great Order’s defeat of the French rebels in Switzerland,
the Dark Lord appeared in Zürich last night to accept Minister Egger’s pledge of
support. General Lucius Malfoy joined him, having returned from Austria in the
early hours of yesterday morning.
The Prophet has learned that the executions of ex-Minister Vogel and two of
his cabinet were carried out by General Draco Malfoy shortly after Switzerland was
retaken. In a statement to The Prophet, General Bellatrix Lestrange was quoted…
The paper fell limp at her fingertips. She felt ice in her throat, slicing her
neck on every breath.
Perhaps there had been a mistake. Perhaps Bellatrix had cast the curses in-
stead. Rita was notoriously misinformed…
She scanned the rest of the article. His name wasn’t mentioned again.
She sat in the library, staring out the window for the rest of the day, in a haze
of confused grief. Narcissa’s reaction indicated that Skeeter had been telling the
truth. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Draco had been sent to the battle
lines to fight for Voldemort. Did she really think his hands would remain clean?
But there was a stain on her heart, black as ink, festering deeper and deeper
with each passing hour. He’d killed three innocent people. She could only hope
it had been the first time. But he’d likely be expected to kill again.
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

✦ 82 ✦
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 sol-
emn 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.
・✦・

✦ 83 ✦
✦ 84 ✦
 It was five in the evening when the doors to the library finally opened. She
was lost in the stacks, thumbing through a text on rare potions when she heard
the hinges creak. Her head snapped up, and she reshelved the book before
winding through the shelves.
He was staring down at her research table, turning a page in her notebook.
He seemed taller, his profile stronger. His hair had grown just a bit — one more
half-inch and it would curl at his neck.
“I see you’re still here, with both arms attached.” His voice was flat as he
turned another page. “So you’re still hard at work, I take it?”
She swallowed at the sound of his voice. Familiar, but distant.
He wanted to skip the hello. There would be no embrace, no kiss by the
fireplace, no I’ve missed you. Just back to business as usual.
She stepped down from the landing, keeping her distance as she approached
the table. She’d imagined him returning home a thousand times. But none of
the scenarios in her head had played out like this.
“It’s good to see you, too, Draco.”
Silence.
“Yes, I’ve made a lot of progress, actually.” Her throat felt raw. “I was… I
was hoping to share it with you.”
He turned to her, his gaze landing on her for the first time since New Year’s.
Since before that. He gave her the smallest of nods.
“But before we get to that, I—” She cleared her throat. “I wanted you to
know that I’m glad you’re home safely. That you’re not injured, I mean.”
He didn’t flinch.
“And if you want to talk about it, I—”
“I don’t.”
The word was clipped. Final. Her stomach sank.
But then his eyes flickered, and he quickly looked away. His hand shook
almost imperceptibly as he turned another page, avoiding her gaze. She
watched him, wondering what he’d been through all those months. What he
must be feeling now.
Her heart clenched.
She’d meet him halfway, if that was what he needed. She could wait for him
to be one to close the distance between them.
Taking a shaky breath, she moved to her notes. “Then let’s talk about the
tattoos.”
She spent the next half hour filling him in on her progress over the last four
months. She told him about her failed experiment. About her chat with Pansy.
She told him about the blood magic and the tattoo potion — how she was stuck

✦ 85 ✦
trying to figure out what kind of potion Nott had used. Draco said nothing, but
he listened attentively. He hummed at the right parts and furrowed his brows
at the mysteries.
“Pansy said they signed for her in blood, but I wanted to make sure you went
through the same process.” She looked up at him from her notes. He was watch-
ing her closely. “Did you have to sign in blood as well?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Was there anything special about the parchment or the quill used? Did you
cut yourself for the ink?”
“No.” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “The quill was charmed to sign
in the holder’s blood.”
“And when Dolohov’s ownership transferred to you,” she said, and he
shifted. “Was there anything different that happened?”
“No. Same process. I signed the parchment in blood, and the transfer was
complete.”
His voice was clipped, his jaw tight.
We had a binding agreement, Antonin, she remembered him saying. She
chose to drop it for now.
She stared down at her notes, willing some logic to jump out at her.
“Mother tells me you’ve been reading the papers.”
Her fingers stilled. “Yes. Every morning.”
The room was quiet.
“Then you read about the executions, I take it?”
She turned to face him. He stared down at the table, eyes glazed. The muscle
below his left eye twitched.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
She watched his ribs expand slowly. “Skeeter was misinformed. There were
only two. The Undersecretary was forced to watch and then taken prisoner.”
His lips pressed together. “And for what little it’s worth, those were the only—
” His throat caught on the words, and he fell silent.
“You were in a war-torn country for four months,” she said softly. “I hadn’t
expected you to return a saint—”
He barked out a laugh. “A saint. Was that what I was before, Granger?” His
tone was scathing. It set her teeth on edge.
“Listen. I don’t like the thought of you killing. Of course it makes me s—
upset. But you had no choice.” She didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her
fingers curled and trembled.
“I had to torture them first,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken.
She took a deep breath. “Of course. Your aunt was watching, so—”

✦ 86 ✦
 “No.” His voice was cold. “I had to torture them first. My first two attempts
at the Killing Curse failed.” He ran a sharp hand through his hair. “But af-
ter Crucio, it became a bit easier.”
Her skin shivered, and she failed to hide it. The black stain sinking into her
heart burrowed deeper. He pressed on.
“Bella said it was time for me to prove myself. Said the Dark Lord was anx-
ious to hear about my ‘progress.’ She wouldn’t let me pass it off to her. I tried,
but there were others—”
The words vanished, unsaid. His eyes were empty and pale.
She stepped forward, and reached for his pale knuckles on the table. “I know
it’s not my place, but I… I forgive you, Draco. You should forgive yourself.”
He flinched, snatching his arm back. She watched his fingers stretch like
he’d been burned.
“No, you don’t.” He stepped away from her. “That’s why they’re called Un-
forgivables, Granger.”
“If you hadn’t done it, you’d have been killed.” She willed her voice to re-
main calm.
“I watched them cast the spell. The one that killed all those people.” His
voice was barely above a whisper. “Father advised against it, but Bella made the
call when he was gone. I saw them do it, and I did nothing.”
Her lips opened in slow horror, but he was already walking away, crossing
to the doors.
He paused as he pushed them open. “I’ll think on that potion bit,” he said
over his shoulder.
Her chest felt heavy as lead as she listened to the doors click closed.
・✦・
The next day he found her in the library just before noon. His face was un-
readable as he approached, and she stood like a statue until he stopped in front
of her and dropped a book on her research table.
“Perhaps this helps.”
She ran her fingers over the cover. An old dark magic book. “What is it?”
“It’s a replica of a book in Ted Nott’s private potions laboratory.”
She stared at it, hardly daring to believe. Her eyes snapped up to him. “Theo
gave this to you?”
Draco shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “I took the opportunity to
drop in on Theo and Oliver this morning. Theo hadn’t heard about a potion
either, but Oliver confirmed he’d drank one. So he went looking.”
Hermione’s mouth fell open. “But won’t his father find out?”

✦ 87 ✦
 “Ted is still in Zürich celebrating his success. Apparently he’s been too
drunk to keep track of his privacy charms lately.”
Blood rushed in her ears as she flipped through the pages, finding Nott Sr.’s
notes in the margins. “Oh my God. This is— brilliant. This is incredible, Draco.”
She turned an exhilarated smile on him, her chest heaving in excitement.
Something familiar flashed in his eyes. And then her heart stopped as he pulled
up a chair across from her like no time had passed and asked to see her notes
on the potion. Her pulse thrummed with the promise that he would help her
again. That maybe things might return to normal.
While she dove into Nott Sr.’s book, Draco read over her theories and notes.
Hermione tried to focus on his logic and problem-solving. Did her best to ignore
her traitorous mind when it floated up soft memories of his hands and his lips.
They worked together for two weeks, passing books back and forth like they
used to, drinking their tea and coffee in the mornings and rereading yesterday’s
notes. She hesitated to ask about Edinburgh, but she was itching to go back. She
hadn’t been since the end of October, and it was the second week of March now.
She’d read in the Prophet that the celebrations had been muted, but she still
turned cold at the thought of what she might have missed.
One morning she cleared her throat and turned to him before her second
cup of coffee. “Would you assume that the tattoo has the same properties when
we are at Edinburgh?”
He lifted his head out of his notes and considered her. “I’d say so. I need to
take you over the boundary when we enter and exit.”
She huffed, crossing her arms in frustration. “That’s just the problem, isn’t it?”
His mouth opened. “Sorry?”
“I’ve been working under the theory that the tattoo’s boundary at the Manor
had to do with the boundary of the property itself. Seeing as the Manor is some-
thing you own by birth, the blood boundary is already in effect. It’s the only
thing that makes sense. But Edinburgh is not a property you own.”
He scratched his forehead, trying to follow. “Alright…”
“What I mean to say is, the Manor is tied to you by blood already. So it
would make sense that the tattoo could work in tandem with that blood magic.”
She brushed back a stray curl impatiently. “But then why would it work simi-
larly at Edinburgh.”
She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her temples. She heard the
snap of a book closing.
“Because I spilled blood at Edinburgh. We all did.”
Her head jerked up to him. He was staring at her with intense eyes.
“You what?”

✦ 88 ✦
 “At the first ceremony,” he said. “About a week after the Auction. When
Edinburgh was opened to us, the Death Eaters had a celebration. Just us.” His
words poured quickly from his lips. “We were to enhance the wards on the cas-
tle by spilling blood and casting protection charms. The Dark Lord made it very
clear that Edinburgh belonged to his loyal followers. It was our castle—”
“So then it follows,” Hermione picked up, jumping out of her chair, “that
the deed of Edinburgh—”
“—is in the name of every Death Eater who’s ritually spilled their own
blood there.”
“Where do initiation ceremonies take place for new Death Eaters—?”
“At Edinburgh. With blood.”
She slammed her book down on the table, punctuating the end of their
thoughts. She was breathing hard with the joy of solving a riddle, and even
though it was less than half the battle, she felt like she’d unlocked a chamber in
her own mind.
“There is no separate barrier created. The ‘barrier’ represents the estate line.
That’s one less significant problem to worry about.” She grinned, and her stom-
ach fluttered as he smiled back at her. She could kiss him, if he’d accept it.
Pop!
“Master Draco!”
Hermione jumped. Mippy stood at her knee.
“Master Draco has guests!”
Draco frowned at the elf. “What guests?”
“Guests is coming to the library now!”
Hermione jumped, grabbing Nott Sr.’s book and her notes as Draco waved
his wand to close the open books. She turned to ask Mippy to Apparate her
upstairs just when the library doors flung open.
Hermione went still as Narcissa led in two people she had never seen before.
“Draco, dear,” said Narcissa, her eyes polite but strained. “Look who’s paid a
call to see us.”
Hermione pressed herself back against the stacks, shoving the book and her
notes between two larger texts.
She blinked at the two guests: an older gentleman with sparse facial hair,
and a young woman, several years their senior. She had the brightest teeth Her-
mione had ever seen.
“Draco, you remember Professor Viktorov.”
Draco stepped forward at his mother’s prompt, shaking the man’s hand.
“Sir, it’s a pleasure. It’s been far too long.”

✦ 89 ✦
 But Hermione’s eyes caught on the girl — long silky hair, a slender figure,
and kind honey-brown eyes that were locked on hers.
Tearing her eyes away, Hermione looked down at the floor.
“And you remember Katya,” said Professor Viktorov, his voice a deep hum.
She couldn’t resist glancing up at them as Draco and Katya offered polite
greetings and kissed each other on the cheek. Narcissa cleared her throat and
reiterated what a pleasant surprise it was to see them both.
“I truly, truly thought I’d written!” said Katya, smiling at Narcissa. She
turned to Draco with a ringing laugh. “Your mother was quite shocked to see
us stepping out of the Floo!” She lacked her father’s heavy Bulgarian accent.
Narcissa brushed her off gracefully, blaming the war for lost correspond-
ence. Hermione longed for a secret door she could slip out of, but she was
trapped. She could only stand and pretend to be invisible.
“This must be your girl, then?” Professor Viktorov said, and Hermione had
the good sense not to move. His voice was surprised when he said, “You let her
near the books?”
There was a stilted pause before Draco said, “She’s reshelving. I give her
mundane tasks to keep her from bothering me.”
They hummed in agreement and continued exchanging pleasantries. At one
point, Katya put her hand on Draco’s arm and expressed her concern for him
while he was in Switzerland.
Hermione glanced up at them again. The professor’s daughter, the Puceys
had said at New Year’s — as if Katya was someone people were aware of in
relation to the Malfoy family. Mrs. Pucey had mistaken her for Katya, as if it
would be normal for her to stand so close to Narcissa and Lucius.
Her stomach turned. Was he expected to court her?
“Draco, I was hoping to see you at Edinburgh!” Katya brushed her long chest-
nut hair over her shoulder. “I’ve been for two weeks now, and I was disappointed
you didn’t come. Though, of course, I know how exhausted you must be.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I must admit, I can’t imagine you at Edinburgh,
Katya. It can be rather uncouth.”
Narcissa snorted, then quickly brushed her hair behind her ear, as if she
hadn’t made a sound at all.
A smile flickered across Katya’s face. She leaned into him and stage-whis-
pered, “I stick to the Burgundy Room.” She winked. “But you’ll come this Fri-
day? I find it quite elegant if you keep to the more conventional spaces.”
Katya’s eyes flickered over to her, and Hermione quickly looked away.
“Of course. I’ll be there this Friday.” Draco returned her smile, but his eyes
were tight.

✦ 90 ✦
 “Lovely,” said Narcissa. “Now, shall we sit for tea?” The group nodded, and
Narcissa began leading them out of the library. Draco spun back to Hermione
when he was halfway to the doors.
“Finish here, and then straight to your room.”
She nodded at the floor. The library doors closed, and Hermione was left
alone with a churning stomach and questions she didn’t dare to voice aloud.
・✦・
A deep purple slip arrived in her closet on Friday afternoon. She did her hair
and makeup like Pansy had instructed, and slipped into her dress, collar, and
shoes. Her nerves were alight with excitement to see Charlotte and Cho again,
but also with dread. It was odd to be returning to Edinburgh after so many
months. To be leered at and salivated over again. She meditated all morning,
clearing her mind so that she would be focused and prepared.
Draco didn’t speak of Katya again. It wasn’t until they were walking down
the drive to the Manor gates that Hermione asked, “How do you know Katya?”
He was silent for twelve footsteps. “It’s complicated.”
She hummed, filing it away to bring up again at another time. He gripped
her tattooed arm, took her over the threshold, and Disapparated them.
Edinburgh was bright under the moon, and even from the cobblestones she
could hear the castle alive with people. They passed through the archways, up
the side stairs, and into the courtyard. Charlotte greeted them with champagne,
and her eyes lingered on Hermione before glancing away.
As they entered the Great Hall, Hermione was almost blown back by the
noise. It was as if the normal crowd had doubled. Death Eaters all celebrating
their win against the French and the Swiss and foreign officials who were now
pledging support.
She barely had a second to register which familiar faces were in attendance
before Draco tugged her up the stairs to dinner.
The boys jumped up to greet Draco, some of them saluting him as “General
Draco Malfoy.” Adrian Pucey shook up a bottle of champagne and sprayed it
over the room when they entered.
The boys were in rare form tonight — drunk off other men’s success.
Once she was settled in Draco’s lap, Flint called out, “Draco, guess who’s
been here the past two weeks, looking for you?” At the silence, he winked and
added, “Katya Viktor.”
Goyle sat up straight, almost knocking Susan off his lap. “The model?”
Hermione tensed, nearly rolling her eyes. Of course she was a model. Giuli-
ana Bravieri stared at her across the table, and she forced her muscles to relax.

✦ 91 ✦
 Draco sipped his Firewhisky as Flint continued, “Been very interested on
when Draco Malfoy would be back.”
The boys jeered and ribbed him.
“She’s supposed to be back tonight,” said Draco nonchalantly.
“Got some balls showing up at Edinburgh,” said Warrington. “I wish the girl
I was courting had a pair.”
“Well, if you need to take a walk in the moonlight together,” Pucey called
out, “you know we’d be more than happy to look after Miss Granger for you.”
Draco sent him a sharp glare as the boys laughed.
“Speaking of Bulgarians,” Theo said, “Viktor Krum is back tonight. I saw
him walking around.”
Draco went still beneath her, and Hermione had to remember how to breathe.
“He was staring a hole through every brunette who walked in the room,” said
Theo, as Pucey jeered. “Think he may be up for another chance at betting tonight.”
Draco was muted all throughout dinner. Afterward, they settled in the
Lounge, and Hermione’s heart beat rapidly as she tried to scan the room with-
out drawing attention to herself. She noticed the absence of Cho, but her eyes
were peeled for Viktor. She thought she saw him when Charlotte dropped a
champagne glass with a loud shatter, but when the broad-shouldered man at
the gambling table turned to glare at her, it wasn’t him.
Flint and Pucey were especially raucous tonight, each drinking straight from
the bottle and grabbing the backsides of every Carrow Girl that passed.
It was after midnight when a faraway boom shook the walls and rattled the
glasses, like the cannon going off. Hermione breath hitched as she stared down
at Draco’s Firewhisky, watching it sway. Pucey turned to the group in confusion
and said, “There’s a One O’Clock Gun tonight?”
She stiffened, her spine tingling with dread. Draco’s hand came up to her
elbow, rubbing a small circle on her arm.
“I didn’t think so,” Flint said, standing to peer towards the courtyard.
The sounds of a girl screaming ricocheted off the walls. Hermione’s eyes
shot open as her head jerked, searching for the source. Draco quickly placed
her on her feet and stood. She craned her neck and saw someone on the ground
twenty feet away, the girl next to them screeching.
The walls shook again, and just as Hermione ruled out earthquakes,
a crack! came from behind her, followed by a wet, gasping sound. She twisted
around, and Draco yanked her waist to him.
A Carrow Girl lay on the ground, beginning to scream. Her arm was sepa-
rated from her body at the shoulder, laying a few feet away. Her leg was twisted
at an odd angle.

✦ 92 ✦
 Splinched.
Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth as the girl cried out, blood spurt-
ing from her arm. Hermione stumbled toward her, thinking of Dittany and
healing spells—
Draco dragged her back. “We need to go—”
Shouting from the other side of the room.
A burst of spells in the air.
And just before she could make sense of it all, Edinburgh Castle shivered
with magic, the floor shifting beneath her feet and the windows shattering as
two— three— ten people popped into existence in the Lounge.
She stepped back with wide eyes and a thundering heart, stumbling into
Draco’s chest when she locked eyes with George Weasley across a room full of
Death Eaters.

✦ 93 ✦
 CHAPTER 29

Y
ELLOW LIGHT BURST IN FRONT OF HER EYES, BLINDING HER.
A spell zipped by her ear like a bullet, and the floor rattled below her
feet. She ducked, her arms coming up over her ears, and then she was
being dragged by an arm around her waist — slipping in her heels.
She jerked her head to where she’d just seen George, but there was no flash
of orange hair.
“Granger!”
A hand on her shoulder shoved her into the wall, and she gasped as the
couch behind her exploded in a spray of fluff and velvet.
Draco crouched, yanking her down next to him. His wand extended, his
shoulders broadened in front of her. The castle trembled. The screaming
pierced her eardrums, and her eyes flitted wildly.
The girl who’d been Splinched lay unmoving on the other side of the
couches, trampled by heavy Death Eater boots.
Her mind reeled at a breakneck pace.
The Order was here. The True Order.
They were trying to take the girls out — and failing. Because of the tattoos.
Draco shot a Stunning Spell from his wand. She grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t Stun them! They’ll be taken prisoner—!”
“What, then?” he hissed. “Tickling Jinxes?”
Across the room, her eyes caught on a tall woman with tight braids and
black combat clothes surveying the dead Carrow Girl. When the woman stood,
Hermione saw she had no left arm.
Angelina Johnson.
She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled, setting Hermione’s teeth
on edge. Her voice was rough as she bellowed, “Plan B!”
The room seemed to reignite with curses as Angelina slashed her wand
through the air, marking the Carrow Girl with a black “X.” Adrian Pucey snuck
around the couch just behind her, his wand drawn, holding Mortensen as a

✦ 94 ✦
shield against his chest. Hermione gasped as Angelina whipped around and hit
him squarely between the eyes with a Killing Curse. Before his body had hit the
ground, she’d grabbed Mortensen’s arm, sliced it off at the elbow, and sum-
moned a button from her pocket.
Mortensen’s screams abruptly halted as they disappeared in a spray of blood.
Hermione’s chest seized as the wall behind her vibrated. Draco yanked her
several meters away, crouching behind an overturned table as the room swelled
with screams.
Portkeys.
Somehow, they’d made Portkeys that could penetrate the wards. And since
Mortensen wasn’t lying on the ground, Splinched… the Lots could escape with-
out their arms.
Draco grabbed her knee and pointed his wand at her heels, transfiguring
them into flats. His eyes were wide and frenzied as they flickered around the
chaos. “We have to get to a fireplace.”
He cast a basic Protection Charm around them, and they darted through the
tattered furniture and splintered end tables, sprinting across the open spaces
toward the side of the room with the booths. The smell of blood and smoke was
thick in her nostrils, and she searched the room for George, but there were too
many bodies — running, dying, screaming curses.
The back of a True Order fighter with grey-streaked hair burst into existence
just feet in front of them and they stopped dead, stumbling to take cover behind
a drink trolley. He hauled a Carrow Girl up from the floor, ignoring her screams
as he raised his wand to slice her arm.
“Not ze silver collars!”
Hermione’s head whipped around at the voice, and her eyes popped when she
saw Fleur Delacour in dark combat clothes, her hair shorn to her ears — pulling
a man from a private booth and slicing his neck as his Carrow Girl shrieked.
A sharp tug had her shrinking low again, holding her breath.
“We must find ze Carrows!”
She saw the older fighter drop the Carrow Girl and turn his wand swiftly on
Bletchley as he ran for it. The curse skidded across his shoulder blades, and he
dropped with a howl. The older man didn’t bother finishing him off. He just
moved forward, casting hexes and Killing Curses.
Draco dragged her up, pushing her to her feet to run. A buzzing filled her
ears, growing louder and louder as they dodged curses and jumped over bodies.
Gold collared girls scattered, sprinting for the exits as the soldiers moved in on
guests and Death Eaters, killing indiscriminately.

✦ 95 ✦
 They turned a corner and passed Marcus Flint on the ground, coughing a
spray of blood as Penelope pressed her hands to his chest, her eyes wild and
begging for help. Hermione could do nothing but blink at her as they ran by.
Her eyes scanned for clean exits, her throat tight with panic as Draco yanked
her down the row of booths.
She needed to get him to a fireplace. And she had to go back to find George
and Angelina and Fleur. As soon as they got her out, she could explain about
the Malfoys. They could go to the Manor and grab her research and smuggle
them out, take them all to France—
But there was no time to explain when people were casting Killing Curses at
him. She had to get him out.
Rounding the final booth, they froze in their tracks to find a pile of people
trampling each other, screaming and stepping over dead bodies — all fighting
to get through a blocked Floo. Hermione watched someone throw the powder
and cry out for their residence only to be shoved back by another, the flames
orange and unresponsive.
Hermione looked to the long corridor to the left that led to the Great Hall,
and tugged Draco’s arm as she watched two men sprint down it. There was a
fireplace there. They raced forward, legs burning, but froze as both men
promptly dropped dead across the threshold in a blur of green light. The True
Order was lying in wait.
Hermione stumbled backward, her eyes flicking over the room. They were
too exposed. She grabbed his arm and dragged him along the back wall of gam-
bling tables, towards the closed doors of the corridor leading to the Burgundy
Room. There was a fireplace there.
They were ten feet from the doors when they burst open. Draco turned into
her, shoving her back against the wall and angling himself in front of her.
Dolohov and Yaxley stood one second in the doorway to take in the chaos
before moving swiftly into offense, engaging a pair of True Order fighters.
Mulciber was close behind. Entering the Lounge with Cho, he looked
around at the smoke and spells, the bloody bodies. He pulled his wand, his eyes
wide, unsure where to start.
Hermione opened her lips to call out to Cho, to tell her to run with them.
But a smile broke on her lips, splitting her face wide and filling her eyes with
fire. Her gaze flitted around her, and Hermione saw the moment her eyes
landed on an ornamental shield with crossed swords on the wall next to her.
She stared back in shock as Draco tugged her forward, shooting a Stunning
Spell somewhere in front of them. Another spell spun from the back corner and
she yanked them to the right, watching it just miss Draco’s ear as he stumbled.

✦ 96 ✦
 Cho dodged a curse sailing by, reaching up with nimble fingers and tugging at
the coat of arms until a thick sword slid free from its decorative housing with a slice.
A yelp escaped Hermione’s lips as Cho hauled back and dug the sword through the
middle of Mulciber’s back. He gurgled a shout, crumpling to the ground.
Draco pulled her down the corridor, and Hermione whipped over her
shoulder to watch Cho yank the sword from Mulciber’s body with her heeled
foot as leverage, before swinging heavily and lodging the old sword into his
neck with a scream.
They flew into a small sitting room, and Draco clutched her to his chest as
he summoned the Floo powder. He threw the powder in the fireplace and called
out for the Manor.
The fire didn’t burst. No green flames.
“Shit!” In the blink of an eye, he was seizing her by the elbow and taking her
back out the door.
“Wait—!”
An orange light whizzed by Draco’s ear, and Hermione screamed before she
could stop herself. Someone in dark, scrappy clothes was firing at them.
Draco fought back with non-verbal jinxes, and the attacker fell back.
Stars bloomed behind her eyelids, her mind dizzy and spinning. She had to
get him out.
He dragged her down a dark corridor, and through a series of twists and
turns. They searched for fireplaces and found three burning in empty rooms,
glasses full and cigars still smoking. All blocked.
Hermione’s panic grew with every corner they turned. The True Order
wouldn’t hurt her. But Draco was running on borrowed time.
Another turn. She held her breath, praying the path would end soon — until
he turned them into a dead end. And then another.
He was lost.
She tugged him to stop, her chest tight. “The walls are weakest at the win-
dows. If the wards have been penetrated—”
“Get down.” He turned abruptly, pointing his wand at a high window on
the wall closest to them and yelling, “Bombarda Maxima!”
She ducked into his chest as the rubble flew in different directions. His grip
on her loosened, and when she opened her eyes there was moonlight on her feet.
Draco pulled her over the stone pieces and paused, quickly surveying their
surroundings. A grassy little hill on the west side of the castle. To their left were
the craggy rocks on the cliff face. There was screaming to the right, jets of red
light and purple smoke.

✦ 97 ✦
 Hermione gulped in lungfuls of fresh air, the chill of the spring wind chilling
the sweat on her skin.
They crept through the grass, their lungs panting heavily as they ran down
the hill. Draco swung back to look behind them every four steps, like clockwork.
As they approached a sharp turn into the courtyard that housed the can-
nons, Draco slowly rounded the stone wall, jerking his head around the corner
before proceeding. Hermione had a momentary flash of him in Switzerland,
creeping through the bloody ruins.
Her chest was heavy as she watched him clear the next wall, darting his head
around the corner and gesturing her forward. Whereas Ron would blunder
headfirst and trust her or Harry to cover him, and Harry would consider two
possible outcomes instead of the million more likely ones, Draco was swift and
overly cautious, precise and planned.
He’d come back to her as a soldier.
Suddenly he was pressing her back into the shadows, tugging her low and
crouching over her. She peered under his arm. Two bodies darted by, running
up the hill.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of their hiding place, turning the
corner through the gate. A boom shook the ground beneath her feet, and Her-
mione spun back to look at Edinburgh Castle just as the clocktower fell, crum-
bling sideways and exploding onto the cobblestones below.
“Malfoy!” a voice called.
She slammed into Draco as he stopped cold, throwing his arm behind him
and tucking her back.
It was Warrington, running down the lane adjacent to them. “Ditch your
girl! If they see one with you, they’ll kill on sight!” He darted past them down
the hill, heading for the main gates.
A jet of green light illuminated the darkness — he stumbled, and his lifeless
body rolled down the stones. Hermione gasped, her head whipping up to the
top of the gate where the Killing Curse had come from. There were distant
shadows against the moonlight.
Heavy footsteps hurried from behind them, and Draco tugged them back
against the stones again. Two men Hermione didn’t recognize raced by, and
just as quickly, two bolts of green light shot out from the turret, and the men
collapsed.
Draco squeezed her hand numb, breathing harshly.
“We’ll never make it out this way,” Hermione wheezed. “We have no idea
how many of them—”
A Killing Curse whizzed by Draco’s elbow, blasting the stones behind her.

✦ 98 ✦
 “It’s Malfoy! I found him!”
Her heart lurched as she grabbed Draco’s ducking head, shielding him.
“Tell George! He’s out here—”
The voice cut off with a strangled scream, quickly drowned out by a wet snarl.
Draco wrangled free, and they gaped up at the turret just as a wiry animal
lunged over it, scattering the sharpshooters over the other side as it landed hard
on the stones.
The air was thick and putrid with rotting blood.
The werewolves.
The screaming turned into garbled gasping as the creature latched onto one
of the sharpshooter’s throats, ripping into the flesh. Draco clasped his hand
over Hermione’s mouth, holding them still. She blinked up at the sky, her eyes
wide in terror. It was a full moon.
Another werewolf joined the other, sniffing at the dead bodies in the path-
way. It slunk closer to the turret and Hermione trembled, squeezing her eyes
closed. Then the air erupted. Spells and curses flew from all directions. The
creatures howled and turned their snarling jowls toward the new attackers.
Draco scrambled to his feet and yanked her upright by the wrist. “We need
to get back inside. There has to be a fucking fireplace.” He dragged her in a
sharp turn and suddenly they were racing up the steep staircase they climbed
every Friday night, leading them back to the castle.
Her legs pumped as she sprinted up the stairs behind him, hurrying while
they were still open targets. They passed the mangled and torn body of a True
Order member — one the werewolves had already gotten to. They ran past fresh
destruction to open a small door. A piercing howl came from behind her as he
dragged her in, slamming the door behind her.
She struggled to breathe as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Draco cast a Lu-
mos and she jumped, stumbling backward. Dead bodies. Five of them. Their
blood sprayed up the wall onto the royal portraits.
The room hummed with Dark Magic.
Draco stepped over one of them to the fireplace. He summoned the Floo
powder and tried to ignite the flames. Nothing.
He held out his hand for her. She extended her shaking fingers, stepping
over a man whose eyes were open, and taking his hand. His palm was cold and
wet as he tugged her around the perimeter and out of the room.
They tried four other side rooms. Two had fireplaces, but they didn’t work.
They found four Carrow Girls in the fifth room, shuddering and crying in a
corner. Draco quickly dragged her away before she could think how to help.

✦ 99 ✦
 They turned into a dining room, slightly smaller than the one the Slytherin
boys used upstairs. A thick body lay on the floor, blood pooling around his head.
Goyle.
Draco stumbled, losing his footing as he blinked at his old classmate.
Hermione heard a whimper from behind the sideboard. She peered around
the table and found Susan Bones clutching a broken champagne glass in one
hand, and a steak knife in the other — both dripping with Goyle’s blood. Her-
mione jumped as her wild eyes shot up, locking on hers. Susan pulled her knees
to her chest, rocking, closing her eyes and murmuring words Hermione
couldn’t hear.
Draco seized Hermione’s hand, and before she could beg him to help her,
they were stumbling out of the room and turning down a familiar narrow cor-
ridor just outside of the Great Hall.
The groan of injured bodies rumbled toward them, and Draco pressed flat
against the wall, edging slowly through the doorway. He peered around the
threshold, sucked a breath, and tugged her through.
Splashes of red crested high on the walls. Bodies everywhere, like mounds
of boulders hidden beneath grass, and not a single one moved. The room itself
seemed to bleed.
Hermione blinked, focusing only on the pressure of Draco’s hand as he
dragged her through the chaos. He clenched his jaw, his gaze steeled and empty
as they wove through the dead. They walked between the severed halves of a
man’s torso and Hermione nearly heaved, swallowing back her bile. Another
man was missing a head and a leg — a clean slice for each.
An untouched platter of champagne glasses on a lone side table, the bubbles still
rising. A platter of cheese and fruit on another, the grapes plump and violently red.
The grand fireplace at the other end of the Great Hall glittered at them, a
pile of bodies crumpled around it. Draco tried the Floo regardless. Blocked.
He spun back to her, his eyes flying over the room. “Maybe one of the
other sides of the castle is unprotected. Maybe we can pass the Apparition
line on the west and—”
A shadow behind him shifted. Her eyes popped as a suit of armor propelled
forward. She shoved him to the right and jumped to her left as it bisected them,
but before she could blink, Cho Chang was emerging from her hiding spot,
swinging the sword at Draco’s chest.
“No!”
Her veins crackled as she cried out, and Cho stumbled as if she’d been shoved
by an invisible hand. Hermione stared down at her vibrating fingertips, mouth
open. Draco skidded backwards, narrowly avoiding the blade, and drew his wand.

✦ 100 ✦
 “Don’t!” she screamed as Cho’s blood-splattered arms hefted the sword up,
her teeth grit in fierce strength.
Draco ducked her blow, spinning to cast a Disarming Charm. The sword
flew from Cho’s hands just as the doors to the Lounge burst open. The room
roared to life — girls in short dresses and heels screaming and tripping over the
bodies. Death Eaters trampling them to get through.
Hermione clambered over the wide chest of the overturned suit of armor
and watched as Rabastan grabbed Draco by the scruff of his collar and
screamed, “This way, Draco!”
“Get off!” Draco struggled, strangled by his own collar as he was dragged
back the way they came. She started after them, but Cho grabbed her by the
shoulders and shoved her against the wall just as a large, hairy creature bounded
in through the doors.
Hermione’s blood froze. One of the werewolves was inside the castle.
Through the mass of the running hoard, she saw Draco rip free of Rabas-
tan’s grip and spin to find a werewolf blocking his path. The terror on his face
tore through her heart. He was swept with the current as the beast prowled for-
ward, dragged away from her by Rabastan and the frightened crowd.
A noise shattered down a different corridor to the right, and the werewolf
darted after it, freeing Hermione’s path. She shoved Cho aside and raced after
Draco, but she’d barely made it three steps when a second werewolf crept into
the Great Hall. She froze, hardly daring to breathe.
The wolf stared her down and snapped its jaws, dripping with blood and saliva.
It prowled closer, sniffing the air as its paws slipped across the bloodied tiles.
Horror spiked through her chest.
Cho grabbed the sword with a clatter and seized her hand, tugging her back-
wards through the Lounge. Hermione didn’t look back as they ran, her legs
pumping as fast as her heart as the wolf raced after them, its snarling growing
louder in her ears. Her magic hummed violently. She could feel it radiating
from her skin as she whipped her head behind and raised her arm, shoving the
energy through her fingertips with everything she had.
Then it started. The corridor began crumbling in their wake, dragging down
ancient stone and artifacts and burying the wolf’s howls.
They burst into the Lounge, empty except for the dead and their separated
body parts. Several feminine arms lay ownerless, blood seeping into the carpets.
Cho sprinted with her, darting through the chaos. Her hand was slick with
blood and sweat.
Adrenaline was still surging through her veins, but her mind was returning
to her. She needed to get back to Draco. She had to get him out—

✦ 101 ✦
 She dug her heels in as Cho took her through the doorway that led to the
long corridor with the Burgundy Room at the end.
Cho pulled harder, tugging her into an unused dining room and slamming
the door behind them.
“We have to go back—”
“They’ll come again,” Cho said breathlessly. “They’ll come back for you.”
“We have to—” Hermione broke off, trying to make sense of her. “What?”
“You just need to stay in one place. The Order will find you.”
“Why?” She staggered, her muscles protesting. “Why are they here for me?”
Cho paced around the room, searching for weapons. “You’re the closest
thing we have to Harry. If anyone knows Voldemort’s weaknesses, it’s you.”
She reached for the glass vase on the table and smashed it against the wall.
Hermione flinched backward as the shards flew, and when she looked back at
Cho, she was retrieving the largest piece and handing it to her.
“Take this,” Cho said. “When the Order finds you, go with them.”
She hobbled for the door, and Hermione saw that there was a chunk taken
out of her shoulder and an odd bend to her right knee.
“Where are you going?”
She turned to Hermione, and there was a gash running down her temple
that she hadn’t noticed before.
“I’m going to go kill Malfoy. If I’m successful, I’ll leave his body in plain
sight so the Order knows it’s safe to take you out.”
Hermione felt her legs sway. Her blood went still in her veins. Her mind
swam through the reasons she could give to stop her.
“Malfoy doesn’t have to be dead. It’s just cutting off the arm. I’ve been stud-
ying the tattoos, and—”
“Studying them?” Cho’s brows drew together. “Hermione, Angelina es-
caped by killing Macnair and cutting off her arm. They won’t take any chances.”
Cho turned to the door.
“You can’t go out alone.” Hermione’s voice shook. “The Death Eaters —
Cho, the werewolves. They’re out of control—”
“I can take care of myself.”
Cho’s voice was cold.
Hermione looked at her — really looked at her. Her dress was drenched in
blood. Her face speckled in it. Her sword dripping a fresh burgundy.
She felt a chill race down her spine.
“You should wait here with me.” Hermione’s voice croaked. “The Order can
find us both and get us out.”
Cho blinked at her. “That’s not my mission, Hermione.”

✦ 102 ✦
 A splinter of wood from several doors away. Hermione jumped. The rum-
ble of voices.
“Get under the table.” Cho flipped her sword over her wrist, taking a defen-
sive stance.
“We should both hide—”
“Get under the table,” she hissed, the sound dark and coiling. Cho’s eyes
were black and intent.
The room next to theirs was forcibly entered, the door blasted open. Her-
mione listened to the wood bounce against the adjoining wall.
She looked down to the shard of glass cutting into her shaking palm. It
wasn’t a sword, but it was good enough for Susan Bones. She ducked and pulled
the tablecloth to cover her just as the door to their room was kicked open.
The clang of the sword hitting the stone wall with Cho’s first swing—
“The bitch is here!”
— Cho’s grunts and the sizzling jets of magic —
“Expelliarmus,” from a second voice.
Hermione froze as the sword thumped down heavy, several feet from the
other side of the tablecloth. She could see its shadow. She slid closer on her
belly, fingers stretching, concentrating on summoning it to her—
“You little cunt,” Dolohov growled, and Hermione felt the magic die from
her fingertips. Her blood curded in her veins, the hand reaching for the sword
snapping to her side. “Almost took a chunk out of my face earlier.”
“I watched her kill Mulciber,” the other voice said. “Like she knew exactly
what to do.”
Dolohov’s heavy boots thumped as he moved around the table. Hermione
turned her head and followed the shadow of him, terror slicing her insides with
each step. The tablecloth was just a sliver high enough that she could see Cho’s
feet hovering in the air, magically pinned against the stone wall.
Her legs scrambled as he got closer.
“You like playing with swords, love? How about we play a bit with that
sword. I’ve got a couple of ideas about where to put it.”
The sound of Cho spitting. The crack of Dolohov’s knuckles across her face.
Hermione reached out her fingers desperately, struggling to breathe. The sword
began rattling softly—
“Take her,” he ordered the other Death Eater. “We’ll have a Legilimens take
a look before we have our fun.”
The heavy handle dragged across the wood.
“What’s she got in her mouth?”

✦ 103 ✦
 The sword froze. Her stomach twisted violently as the sound of choking filled
the air, before being drowned out by the stumble of boots and harsh curses.
And then Cho Chang’s body dropped in a tangle of limbs. Her eyes were
open and staring vacantly at Hermione. White foam dripped from her mouth.
Every inch of her shook. The pill.
“Fucking bitch—” Dolohov chucked a chair across the room, and Hermione
flinched as it collided with the wall, splintering. Several sharp breaths, and the
kick of another chair. “We need to find Charlotte. The whores are in on it.”
She listened to him stomp out of the room, calling for the other Death
Eater to follow.
The door shut behind them.
Hermione lay curled under the table, her lungs seizing as she stared at Cho
Chang’s lifeless eyes.
There was an expression on her face. A smirk behind the foam. Like she’d
beaten Harry to the Snitch finally.
That’s not my mission, Hermione.
Her mind flickered through the pain, wondering what her mission was.
Hermione swallowed, and pushed herself to sit. Her body was cold and
shaking. Her bones felt brittle.
The door blasted open again in the room next to hers, the wood bouncing
off the adjoining wall.
She dragged herself from under the table, standing on unsteady legs and
pushing down the bile in her throat.
Staring down the door, Hermione grabbed the fallen sword, gritting her jaw
as she tested its weight between her hands.
Her chest was numb, her face wet. She heaved the sword up and waited for
the door to open.
The door blasted off his hinges, and before the smoke had cleared, Draco was
in the room, wand drawn, scratches down his face and cutting open his robes.
A cry ripped from her throat, her body sagging in relief. The sword fell from
her hands as she flew into his arms, clutching his face, his shoulders.
“Are you alright?” His voice shook as he held her to him, his touch as fran-
tic as hers.
“Were you bitten?”
“Just banged up.” He pushed her hair back as he tilted her jaw, searching for
bruises or cuts. “You’re fine?”
“Draco, we have to get you out — we have to” — her words tripped over her
tongue — “They think the only way to extract me is to kill you, so we have to
go — we have to find a way—”

✦ 104 ✦
 “I’ve checked every fireplace on the way here. Let’s keep going.”
She nodded and bit back a sob at seeing him alive, curling her fingers in the
torn material of his shirt. He took her wrists and kissed her knuckles, just as he
had before leaving for Switzerland.
He glanced over her shoulder and his gaze flickered. “What happened to
Chang?”
“She took her suicide pill.” Her shoulders trembled. “She — she knew they
were coming tonight.”
He brushed a tear from her cheek that she didn’t know was there, and took
her hand in his before glancing out the doorway in both directions.
They ran down the corridor, and her shoes sounded too loud as they slapped
against stones. She counted her heartbeats until they rounded the corner, dart-
ing past the entrance to the Burgundy Room after a pause. Her pulse quickened
at the sounds of yelling in the distance. The vibrations of small explosions
through her feet.
The new corridor was a Muggle hall of portraits, long and narrow.
A pair of doors to their right banged open, and a man flew through just in
front of them, slamming into the opposite wall with a sickening crack. Jets of light
and spells lit up the open room in a blaze of smoke and color. Screaming pierced
her ears. They raced past the doorway, leaving its occupants to their battles.
From down the corridor, a repetitive screaming met her ears, like someone
had wound an alarm too tightly. A girl was crying out.
“Get off! Get off me!”
Hermione’s chest seized, and she squeezed Draco’s hand. They had to help her.
He looked down at her, and she swore he almost rolled his eyes before he
tipped his head in a nod.
They turned a corner, following the screaming, and found Blaise dragging
Giuliana Bravieri’s thrashing body into an alcove. Her pale slip was stained dark
red, her hair matted with thick blood.
“LET ME GO! LET ME GO BACK!”
Blaise caught her around her middle and hefted her up, one arm holding
her shoulders to him. He caught sight of them and his eyes widened.
“Draco! Thank Merlin.”
“What happened to her?” Draco’s voice was low as he dragged Hermione
over. Blaise jerked his head as a couple of men ran by, and clapped his hand
over Pansy’s mouth as she thrashed.
“Quiet the fuck down!” Blaise’s face was pale as he struggled for his wand.
Draco cast a Silencing Charm with a quick flick of his wand, and Giuliana
Bravieri’s face reddened as she silently screamed.

✦ 105 ✦
 “Where is she hurt?” Hermione whispered, tugging her elbow free. “She’s
bleeding out!”
“It’s not her blood,” Blaise said.
A chill raced down her spine. She turned to look into Pansy’s feral eyes,
finding the same fire she’d seen in Cho’s just before she lodged a blade in Mul-
ciber’s back.
“Theo found a fireplace. The only one operating is in the dungeons. Back
entrance, first room. That way.” Blaise jerked his head in the other direction.
Draco glanced between them, his jaw tight. “Let’s go then.”
Pansy renewed her struggles, and Blaise twisted his wrist, casting a Stunning
Spell on her. She went limp in his arms.
“She has to calm down first. No one can see her like this.”
Draco stepped forward. “We can levitate her. I’ll keep an eye out—”
Blaise shook his head. “They’ll think she tried to run. I’ll take care of it, but
Draco — get out now.” His eyes were as wild as Pansy’s. His gaze shifted to
Hermione. “They’re looking for her. And you. I heard them.”
Blood rushed in Hermione’s ears. She grabbed Draco’s elbow and tugged
him in the direction Blaise had pointed. But he wouldn’t budge.
He stared down at Blaise, waiting for something. Blaise nodded, and after a
heartbeat, Draco turned with her and ran.
Twenty paces down the corridor, following a slick river of red, they found
Pansy’s father’s body — a shattered champagne glass next to him. She could
make out several places in his chest where he’d been punctured, the blood blos-
soming slowly.
She didn’t even slow down.
They flew down the narrow and winding stairs. Every now and then he’d
freeze, panting quietly as he listened for noises. Then they’d begin racing again,
the ceiling so low Draco had to duck his head. The staircase finally poured them
into a small chamber with just a few stools and a table. No fireplace. Draco
strode to the open doorway, peering around the corner before pulling her in-
side. A fireplace burned low in the darkness. The room was empty, apart from
handfuls of Floo powder scattered on the floor.
Draco ran to the jar on the mantle and tossed the powder. The fireplace
roared to life. Hermione blinked, dazed. Draco was safe. She could get him out,
but she had to stay. The Order needed her. She’d ask him to wait at the Manor
and promise she’d come back for him.
He covered her tattoo with his hand and stepped toward the fireplace. Her
feet dragged—
A shadow moved in the corner.

✦ 106 ✦
 Draco jerked around, spinning in front of her as Viktor Krum emerged from
the darkness, his wand trained on Draco.
Hermione gasped. Her legs moved without permission as she ducked under
Draco’s arm and stepped in front of him.
“Granger—!”
“Viktor, wait!”
Their voices drowned each other out, ricocheting off the walls. And then
silence, apart from the popping of the fire.
Viktor took a step forward, his eyes flickering between them. “Herminny, I
am come to save you.”
“I know,” she said quickly, her heart pounding. “Cho told me.”
His chin dipped in a quick nod. Then his eyes slid to Draco again. “Get out
of the vay.”
“You don’t have to kill him.” Hermione stood tall, lifting her chin. “You just
need to cut off my arm.”
“You vill Splinch. Ve must be thorough.”
“Viktor—”
“Move, Herminny.”
“No!” Her voice rang out against the stones. Viktor blinked, as if seeing her
for the first time. “Trust me. The Order is wrong. You won’t have to kill him.”
Something flitted across his face as he studied her. “Ve can try.” He looked
at Draco, brandishing his wand. “Release her, and I von’t kill you.”
Hermione’s throat was dry. Draco was silent behind her, his wand extended
and just visible from the corner of her eye.
She sucked in a breath, ready to rationalize with him. The Order was here
for her, and he had to return to the Manor—
Draco’s wand shook once, and lowered.
Viktor’s brow furrowed.
The doors banged open. Draco grabbed Hermione around the waist, spin-
ning her away from the blur of spells.
His grip loosened, and she writhed to find Yaxley and Rookwood in the
room. Her heart jumped to her throat as Viktor raised his hands slowly in de-
fense. Disarmed.
“Draco,” said Yaxley coolly, staring at Viktor as he pocketed his wand. “I
was wondering if you’d gotten out.”
“It’s over,” Rookwood spat at Viktor. His forehead was crusted with blood.
“All your little friends are gone.”
Yaxley took a step forward, cocking his head. “We’re going to paint the walls
with your blood tonight, Krum.”

✦ 107 ✦
 Hermione’s heart was in her throat as Viktor’s eyes darted to hers, his lips
parting. “Accio,” he whispered.
A button shot up from his pocket and into his fingertips, and he was gone.
The wall exploded from Rookwood’s killing curse.
“Fuck!”
The ground shook beneath Hermione’s feet as he shot another, and another.
She stumbled as Draco yanked her away from the eruption of debris.
“That’s enough!”
The explosions stopped, and Hermione peered around Draco’s elbow to see
Rookwood crouched on his knees, breathing deep.
Yaxley dragged a hand down his face. “These fucking Portkeys.”
Hermione’s ears were ringing, her skin vibrating, trying to get her mind to
catch up. Draco grabbed her arm and stepped forward.
“This is the only working fireplace in the castle,” he said coldly.
Yaxley glared at Rookwood, who pushed off his knees and began vanishing the
rock. He turned back to Draco. “Take your bitch home and come back immedi-
ately. We need to round up the werewolves, and then we have to interrogate them.”
“The werewolves?”
“These fucking Carrow Girls. They know something, that’s for sure. We’re
collecting them in the cells for a Legilimens. I’ve summoned your father from
Switzerland.”
“I’d wager Chang was the real conspirator,” Draco said swiftly. “I saw her
kill Mulciber and Parkinson, and I’m sure there were others. She’s dead now.”
Hermione hardly had a second for her blood to run cold before someone was
coming through the hallway, dragging a girl behind them. It was Rabastan
Lestrange. He had Charlotte by the hair. He paused in the doorway, taking them in.
Tears streaked Charlotte’s face. “Please, I don’t know anything, I swear it—”
Hermione swayed on her feet, the room spinning. Draco’s hand tightened
on her elbow.
Rabastan turned back to Charlotte with a sneer. “Think I’m stupid, do you?
You have your hand in every jar, sweetheart.”
“Put her in the second to last cell,” said Yaxley. “She should be interro-
gated alone.”
Charlotte’s eyes were wild as she begged, scrabbling at Rabastan’s arm as he
dragged her away.
She didn’t have her pill. Or else she’d already be dead.
Hermione stared at the floor to keep from fainting.
“Start in the east wing and go to the courtyard when you’ve finished search-
ing,” said Yaxley to Draco. “Tally the dead you come across.”

✦ 108 ✦
 He nodded, and Yaxley and Rookwood left, following Rabastan. The door
shut behind them as Draco wrapped his fingers around her tattoo and called
out, “Malfoy Manor,” into the fire.
His room looked smaller. The walls were tighter, darker. The wallpaper
seemed to mock her.
His hands were on her waist, her face, her shoulders, but she was too cold.
Something was clawing its way out of her throat, scratching with talons up
from her belly—
She was shaking, vomiting. Heaving, curled over.
When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the horror on Charlotte’s face.
If I get this to Charlotte, Ginny will know within a few weeks.
All I do is get whispers and notes to Charlotte. The rest is in her hands.
She knew too much. She knew everything. And even Cho, who couldn’t
possibly have access to as much information, knew she needed to die before
being interrogated.
The things that Charlotte knew could lead the Death Eaters straight to the
True Order — to Ginny. However she got her information out, whoever was
working both sides for her.
Fiendfyre, Basilisk Venom, Sword of Gryffindor.
Charlotte had gotten the keys to killing Voldemort to Ginny.
She’d failed Harry and Ron again. The True Order would have to start from
scratch, crippled and bleeding. If Charlotte’s information got out—
There was a gasping sound from somewhere. A girl was sobbing.
Hermione could only see Cho’s dead eyes, the mutilated bodies, and Susan
Bones’s bloody face.
A girl was sobbing.
Look at me.
Was it Charlotte?
“Look at me.”
Hermione’s mind bent over backwards and somersaulted down. She was
sitting on the floor of Draco’s bedroom, sobbing and gasping.
His hands were on her face.
“Look at me.”
Her mouth tasted like burnt flesh.
Her eyes focused, her mind slowed.
A lake with still waters.
A boy brushed a curl away from her eyes. His shirt was torn with claw marks.
“What do you need?” he asked. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”
She blinked once, and found Draco holding her, his long fingers tracing her jaw.

✦ 109 ✦
 “I need you to get Charlotte out,” she whispered, her voice thick and raw.
He didn’t move. He brushed a thumb through the tracks of her tears.
“I can’t remove her. Her tattoo. The suspicion—”
“Obliviate her.”
“There’s no time to search her mind.” He searched her eyes. “I’d have to
destroy half her memories. They’d know her mind was tampered with.”
A stone dropped in her chest. The room spun as she searched for an impos-
sible solution, and then ground to a halt. “Then kill her.”
She heard her own voice come as an echo, bouncing through time and space
to join her on Draco’s bedroom floor.
“Make it look like the same pill that killed Cho.”
She felt the splinter of her soul crack off and drift away, as if she herself had
been the one to cast the Killing Curse.
Draco’s eyes flickered.
“She knows everything about the Order,” she whispered. “And she knows
about me. She knows I was passing notes to Ginny.”
He blinked once, and stood. Moving to the fireplace, he called out for the
dungeons at Edinburgh Castle, and she caught the hard set of his jaw before the
green flames engulfed him and took him away.
She was alone. The clock on the mantle ticked.
Sitting, catching her breath, Hermione stared at his carpets and let her mind
work its way back to her.
Kill one, save dozens. Hundreds, possibly. If Charlotte lived, her network
would be obliterated like slicing strings on a marionette.
Dragging herself to her feet, she went to his bathroom to wash the stale taste
out of her mouth.
She jumped at her reflection. Blood on her face that wasn’t hers. Dust in her
hair and streaks down her cheeks.
And her eyes were dull. Almost as dead as Cho’s.
She rinsed with the mouthwash on the counter and wet a cloth. She washed
the dirt and blood off her hands and face, watching it swirl down the drain in
streaks of brownish red. Her arms and legs next.
She thought of George’s eyes, intent on her. Cho’s insistence that they’d
come back for her. Viktor, his arm steady and mouth hard as he emerged
from the shadows.
Whatever their aim was tonight, extracting her was part of it. She hadn’t
linked up with the True Order, but she’d gotten Draco out alive.
And then she’d sent him back there.
Hermione blinked at her reflection, her skin rubbed raw now.

✦ 110 ✦
 What if there were more True Order members left at Edinburgh, looking
for him?
What if he was caught killing Charlotte?
She gasped, her fractured voice bouncing around the marble tiles. Her Oc-
clumency shelves trembled and tumbled down to the ground.
Charlotte was going to die. And perhaps she’d sent Draco to his doom as well.
She braced herself on the counter, forcing herself to breathe.
What if he didn’t come back now? After they’d gone through hell together?
The room spun. The candles flickered. Her eyes slid closed, and she tried to
focus on a lake hidden between mountains as her tears slipped to the tile.
A noise came from the bedroom. Her head jerked up, and she whipped around.
Draco was back—
She ran out, and found Lucius — his eyes wild and his hair falling out of its
binding.
“Where is he.”
Her breath rattled in her chest. “He’s fine. He’s alive—”
“Where is he,” he hissed, stalking closer to her.
Her mouth opened and closed, words caught behind her teeth.
“They called him back to Edinburgh. He br-brought me back and then left—”
“He hasn’t checked in.”
“He just left. Maybe they just haven’t seen him yet—”
Lucius Malfoy stepped into her, grabbed her by the jaw, and held her against
the wall as he raised his wand and hissed, “Legilimens!”
A smooth knife sliced through her eyes. She panicked, shutting books and
locking them away, but Lucius was vicious.
He swept through her library, slicing through the bookshelves and flipping
through the pages of a shelf of books on Draco Malfoy.
She wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t centered herself or hidden anything away.
He cut through her memories of the night—
Smoke and spells, the werewolves. Cho lifeless on the ground. Draco pulling
her through the corridors, tucking her behind him.
He skated from Viktor to Charlotte’s wild eyes to Draco clutching her face
on the bedroom floor.
“She knows about me. She knows I was passing notes to Ginny.”
“I can’t remove her. Her tattoo. The suspicion—”
“Then kill her.”
Draco sweeping to the fireplace.
She fought, trying to kick him out, trying to close Charlotte’s book before
he looked too close—

✦ 111 ✦
 “Did you just send him into a trap?” His eyes blazed into her, his fingers
gripping her so tightly she cried out.
“No!” Her heart thumped in its cage. “I would never—”
Snarling, he sliced through her mind again.
His grey eyes locked on hers as a waltz played — his hand lifting as they spun
around each other.
Blinking through her lashes at the long, pale fingers gripping a quill across the
room, taking careful notes.
Her mother’s arms around her, laughing in the kitchen— “His hair is so
beautiful, Mum.”
Ginny quirking her brow, sitting cross-legged on her bed at the Burrow —
Christmas lights twinkling behind her head—
“Malfoy’s looking fit lately, isn’t he?”
Hermione’s fingers trembling as she smeared ink across her schoolwork —
“I—I hardly noticed.”
Hermione shook as she tried to summon her energy, to push him out — and
he sliced further inside.
At the Manor, laying on his pillow and burying her nose in his scent.
Rolling onto her toes, reaching up to kiss him as the pages of a Gainsworth
manuscript crinkled in her fingers.
Then he was releasing her, his mind withdrawing from hers and his fingers
disappearing from her chin.
She fell, sliding down the wall, her mind trying to repair itself.
“You stupid girl,” he whispered.
She panted, righting herself and struggling to stand again.
“If you love him, stop trying to get him killed.”
Her lip trembled violently. She bit down on it.
He loomed over her, pouring venom into her eyes. “If he dies tonight, I’ll
hand you off to Dolohov myself.”
Sweeping back from her, he paced to the fireplace and called out for Edinburgh.
When she could breathe again, the air was cold and biting. Her lungs felt as
if they’d frozen solid, unable to move.
That wasn’t — she didn’t—
He couldn’t die.
Panic swelled in her chest. A sob tore from her throat as she pressed her
forehead to her knees, trying to center herself. Deep breaths, one after an-
other, Occluding.
She found her lake with still waters. The water was frozen, and there was
snow on the trees.

✦ 112 ✦
 Her books mended themselves slowly, their covers gluing back together and
their pages pressing flat again.
The events of the evening took a volume for themselves. She folded in the
pages of Cho Chang’s lifeless body, her foamed lips curved in a smile. The were-
wolf that lunged at Draco, the crowd tearing them apart. Charlotte’s terrified
eyes as she pleaded with Rabastan. She bound them together and slipped the
book onto a shelf until it disappeared, determined to lose it.
The pages of Ginny’s book and Ron’s book and Harry’s book that had shook
themselves free were once again sewn shut.
When she considered herself finished, she checked the clock on the mantle.
Half-past three in the morning.
Draco had been gone for almost an hour. If he didn’t return—
She shut down those thoughts. She buried them.
She stood and moved around the room, working her tired legs and focusing
on her breath. She was barefoot, tracing the outline of the room, placing one
foot in front of the other and counting how many footsteps in circumference
the bedroom was.
The fireplace blazed.
She spun from her position at the windows to find Draco stepping out into
the bedroom, eyes searching for her. Her chest cracked in two as she ran to him.
A split second to catch the relief on his face before she tumbled into him,
throwing her arms around his shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered as he held her,
drinking in the steady thud of his heartbeat. The warmth of his skin.
He was alive.
“It’s done.” His voice rumbled into her chest.
She flinched, remembering. He’d killed for her. He’d risked his own life to
take another. Her stomach twisted in guilt.
“Did anyone see you.”
He shook his head. “They were distracted by rounding up the werewolves.”
Hermione licked her lips. “Your—your father knows. He came looking for
you. I tried to stop him, but…”
“I know.” Draco brushed a curl behind her ear. “He found me in the dun-
geons. We Obliviated the rest of the Carrow Girls.”
Her eyes shot open. The Carrow Girls. She hadn’t even thought about them—
“He…?”
“Yes.” A long pause. “He’s not happy with us.”
She took a shuddering breath. “Draco, I’m—” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry I
asked this of you. I wish there was another way, but they would have found all
of us out—”

✦ 113 ✦
 “Granger—”
“You’re sure no one saw you?” Her grip tightened. “What did you do with
the body?”
“There wasn’t one.” He pulled back and plucked a vial from his robes. She
stared at the shimmering contents, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Charlotte’s memories. She gave them to me before I removed them.”
Hermione’s lips tried to form words. “She’s not — you mean she’s alive?”
Draco nodded. He turned and set the vial of memories on the mantle.
Her knees felt unsteady beneath her. “You kept them. You saved all her
memories—”
“Just the ones of her work with the Order. She was able to bring them for-
ward without magic.” His throat bobbed as she stared at him. “I’m not sure if
they can be returned. I’ll work on finding a Pensieve, but for now, it’s done.”
He looked exhausted, but his eyes were focused. He smelled like blood
and sweat.
She studied his scratches and blood-speckled arms, and he seemed to notice.
He cast a quick Tergeo over himself and tossed his wand aside.
He was alive. He’d come home to her.
Her lip trembled.
She stepped into him, threading her fingers into the hair behind his ears.
Watching his eyes darken as she pushed up on her toes, slanting her lips over
his and pouring her desperation into him.
It felt like it had been years since they’d last kissed. Her veins sparked with
each movement, her blood thrumming to life. She needed more.
His hands brushed softly on her waist as her lips grew more demanding, and
she slung her arms over his shoulders, holding him tightly to her. She wouldn’t
let him go this time. Not without telling him—
He gasped into her mouth, and she pressed forward, tangling her tongue
with his. A hand came up to hold her face steady as he took control of the kiss,
and she moaned.
He was soft — delicate with her. She pushed her chest into his, begging him
to be alive with her.
“More.” Her fingers dug into his skin. Please.”
He breathed across her face. “We should go slow—”
“I don’t want to.”
His eyes fluttered up to hers. A beautiful shade of grey — almost blue.
“Draco—” She swallowed, trying to tell him what it would have done to her
— if he hadn’t come home again. “I missed you, too.”

✦ 114 ✦
 And those eyes flickered. He brought his lips to hers again, and this time he
conquered her, dragging her into the fire with him.
His fingers dug into her hair, the other hand slipping down for a handful of
her backside. His tongue pushed firmly against hers, swallowing her small
moans and mewls as he tilted her head just the way he wanted her.
His lips trailed over her jaw, teeth scraping and tongue laving. He kissed her
just below her ear, and she listened to her breath pant loudly over the sound of
the crackling fireplace.
He nipped her sensitive skin, and she gasped, pulling at his hair. The hand
on her arse smoothed over her hip, tugging up the short dress and inching to-
wards her core.
He ran his fingers over her knickers, and she sighed his name, rocking into
his hand. He growled at her throat and swiftly picked her up, her legs crossing
around his hips and her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
They stumbled backward as he returned to her mouth, kissing her dizzy.
She felt like she was floating when he pulled back, whispering, “You’ll tell me
when to stop?”
She blinked out of her haze, and met his eyes. They were black. She nodded,
and Draco set her down on the bed.
He tugged at her dress and it shivered off of her, her hair tumbling over her
shoulders as he threw her dress across the room. Bending to kiss her while she
sat on the edge, his hands took her cheeks, brushing his tongue over hers. A fire
curled low in her belly, heating her skin and sizzling her veins.
His hands trailed down her neck, rounding her breasts with a slight squeeze
through her bra. She shifted to sit up on her knees as she unclasped her bra,
flinging it across the room and reaching for him.
She wouldn’t let him slip through her grasp again.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, almost his height while she
kneeled on the bed. Winding his arms around her waist, he held her tight to
him and kissed her so fiercely she could hardly breathe.
His hands started wandering. And when both palms had a handful of her
backside — kneading and inching her knickers to the side — she lolled her head
back and let him kiss down her throat. One long finger stroked over her soaked
entrance and she keened. His mouth trailed down and caught her breast be-
tween his lips as his fingers slipped slowly inside of her.
Her hands were on his shoulders, nails digging into his torn shirt, her eyes
squeezed closed and her lips parted and panting. He hummed with her nipple
in his mouth, and her toes curled.
“Draco…”

✦ 115 ✦
 He released her breast and stood tall again, his fingers starting shallow
movements inside of her as his mouth claimed hers. His free hand nudged her
knees wider, and he slipped further inside of her.
She moaned as he kissed her, clutching him as he played her like an instru-
ment. She felt herself growing wetter with each pull of his lips and drag of his
palm over her side.
His hand came up to cover her breast, and she panted into his shoulder as
his thumb brushed softly over her nipple.
“Feel good?”
She trembled at the vibration of his chest. The pulse of his heartbeat beneath
her fingertips. She needed all of him.
“More…”
A sharp inhale of breath as he withdrew his finger and helped her slide her
knickers down her thighs. She tried to kick them off the rest of the way, but his hand
was already back at her core, slipping over her from the front this time. She whim-
pered and arched her chest into his hand, begging him to keep touching her.
Two fingers slid through her folds, dragging through the wetness and swirl-
ing up to her clit. He plucked her nipple with rough fingers and she gasped,
dragging her nails over his chest.
Her eyes drifted open and caught on the shredded front of his shirt. Her
fingers made quick work of the buttons. She kissed across his sternum, tracing
her lips over the shallow scratch marks.
Dittany. He needed dittany or else he would scar.
He didn’t need any more scars.
She opened her mouth to tell him, and he chose that moment to press
down on her clit.
Her hips jumped, and she sighed into his chest. His other fingers tweaked
her nipple, and she felt her thighs tremble.
She moved swiftly over the rest of his buttons, needing to see him — needing
proof he was alive, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Needing to make him burn
as brightly as she was burning.
Her hands dropped to his belt, and a ragged exhale poured from his throat
into her hair.
The hand on her breast lifted to her face, and he met her lips as he rubbed
her clit. She moaned into his mouth, leaning into him and quickly unbuttoning
his trousers. His tongue tangled with hers as her fingers dipped into his boxers
and wrapped around him.

✦ 116 ✦
 She pulled back, blinking down at him as she tried to remember what he
taught her all those months ago. Her lips parted, and she held his gaze as she
licked her palm and wrapped her fist around him again.
He moaned, his head dropping against her shoulder this time. Her fingers
moved over him, trying to twist at the end like he’d shown her, repeating the
motion when he hissed through his teeth.
“Fuck.”
His hands lifted from her body and grabbed her under the arms. She flew
through the air as he tossed her back on the mattress, her head landing on the
pillows with a bounce. She curled up to her elbows as he kicked off his boots
and his trousers, leaving his boxers on.
He paused at the edge of the bed. “You’ll tell me when to stop?”
Don’t stop.
She nodded.
He crawled up the mattress, dropping kisses on her skin — her calf, her
knee, her thigh. His eyes skated up to her face as he hovered over her core. She
bit her lip and shook her head.
“One day,” he whispered as his fingers drifted through her folds, running
up to her clit, “One day, I’ll kiss you here until your legs shake.”
Her nipples tightened and her teeth dug into her bottom lip.
She held her breath as he began rubbing her clit with long fingers, his face
still focused between her thighs. Frowning, she tugged at his hair, but he stayed
with her lower body. His free hand slid down her leg, encouraging her knee to
bend open so he could watch his fingers work.
Her cheeks flamed. She could feel his breath ghosting across her sex as his
palm rubbed her leg, coaxing her to relax.
“Draco…” She tried to reach for him again, but he nipped her inner thigh.
She pressed her hands to her face as he continued, his fingers working her
clit slowly, his lips dipping to kiss the juncture of her hip.
She should make him stop. This wasn’t— she didn’t—
Then his fingers circled her entrance, and her mind blanked. She bit back a
moan and her hips started moving of their own accord, chasing him.
She dropped her hands from her face, fisting them in the comforter as he
started sucking on her thigh, marking her skin as his. She was dizzy with the
pressure of it, losing herself with each tease of his fingers.
He lifted his head just as he began to press a finger inside of her, slow and
steady. She strained her neck to look at him. He was going too slow—
“Dreamt of this,” he breathed. “Watching you take me inside.”

✦ 117 ✦
 Her head fell back into the pillow, her toes curling and lips pressed together
as she whined.
He withdrew, and pressed back in. “Didn’t get to savor it last time.”
Her thighs started to quiver. This was too much. He sounded like he could
do this forever, but she was squirming, aching—
He seemed to read her, reaching up to rub her clit. She shifted her hips,
arching her back and mewling nonsense to his canopy.
“That’s it, Granger.”
He pushed one of her legs open wider, and she shuddered at the stretch. She
gasped when he kissed her just below her bellybutton.
“Just a little more,” he hummed, and her eyes pinched closed
Her knees curled up to her chest as her pleasure spiraled closer. His finger
slid deeper inside of her, dragging along her walls and increasing pace until it
matched the jerking of her hips.
“Draco, please—”
A low curse as he pressed harder on her clit, rubbing tight circles. She
thrashed, coiling in on herself, turning tighter and tighter—
The cord snapped, her eyes fluttering and fingers twisting in the sheets.
She heard herself moan and whine as her hips struggled to continue, to keep
him inside of her.
When the white light faded behind her eyelids, she opened her gaze to his
canopy bed. The green curtains stared down at her as Draco continued to pump
his finger slowly.
She tilted her head down and found him watching her face. She flushed.
He kissed her hipbone, his eyes dark as he withdrew his hands. He slithered
up her body and pressed kisses to her breasts, collarbones, and cheeks.
She slid her hands over his back, digging her fingers into the muscles there.
He buried his face into her neck, and her belly swooped when she felt his erec-
tion against her hip. The need for more bubbled through her, spreading like
slow-burning fire.
“You must be exhausted.” His voice was ragged, like he’d just come from a run.
She frowned at his canopy. She was wide awake.
She was alive. They both were.
“I’m not tired,” she whispered. She wiggled beneath him, coaxing him to
lift his hips. Her hands trailed down his stomach, and she felt him take a shud-
dering breath.
“Granger—”

✦ 118 ✦
 She paused at his boxers, waiting. He sighed and jerked a nod into her shoul-
der, and she reached inside. She shifted her hips as she began stroking him,
making space for him on top of her.
He breathed tightly into her neck. He wasn’t being very helpful. She couldn’t
get a good handle on him, so to speak, and she could only move her wrist so
far. But his hips jumped when she pumped him, and she felt him thrust into
her hand when she stilled.
Hermione pushed against his shoulder with all her strength, flipping him
on his back. She crawled over to sit astride him and watched his eyes flicker, his
ribs expanding as he slid his hands on her hips.
“Learning new tricks?” he rasped.
“Maybe.” She shifted until she managed to pull him out of his boxers.
“Maybe I’ve been dreaming things, too.”
Draco threw an arm over his eyes and pounded his other fist against the
mattress.
She straddled his thighs as she fisted him, drawing her hand up and twisting
at the top like he liked. Staring down at him, she wondered why he didn’t use
two fingers inside her.
Her thumb brushed over the top of him, and his muscles tensed.
She kept rubbing softly as she drank him in.
His pale skin was mottled with thick scars — some old, some new — his
chest and stomach toned, rippling beneath her attention. He was stunning, and
she needed him. If they didn’t tonight, she might not have another chance.
Perhaps he’d be called away. Or Lucius would send her away. Maybe they’d
be discovered and murdered in their beds before dawn.
But she could have this with him. At least once.
“Draco,” she whispered.
His lips parted in a sigh as she squeezed and dragged her hand down over
him again.
“Draco.” Her heart beat wildly in its cage. “I’m ready.”
His eyes blinked blearily open. “What?”
“For…everything.”
She blushed.
“What?”
His cock twitched in her hand, and she jumped.
Her ears burned as she swallowed, gripping him tightly. “I want all of you.”
He sat up on his elbows and took her hand off of him. “...What?”
She leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue sweeping sweetly into his
mouth before she pulled away. “I’m ready. If you are.”

✦ 119 ✦
 His eyes were bottomless as he stared at her, his mouth open. His throat bobbed.
“Granger, you’re not thinking straight—”
“I am,” she breathed against his forehead. “I’m tired of waiting for you to
come home.”
His pupils were black as his eyes flickered between hers.
She held still. “Should I stop?”
An almost imperceptible shake of his head, and her stomach fluttered. She
shifted her hips, positioning her core against him.
His eyes rolled back, and he dropped to the bed. “Oh, fuck.”
After a few tries, she finally slotted him to her entrance. She watched Draco’s
stomach muscles tighten as he clawed his face, breathing heavily.
He was barely inside when he grabbed her hips and flipped her on her back,
capturing her squeak with his lips.
He kissed her deeply as he pinned her beneath him, stealing her air. His free
hand roved her body, teasing her until she gasped. He was so close, the tip of
him pressing against her core.
But he didn’t push forward. She opened her thighs and wrapped her arms
around his neck.
“Please,” she whispered.
He shivered.
He kicked off his boxers, and Hermione felt her pulse flutter.
He placed a hand on her jaw and kissed her soundly, sliding between her
legs. He was thick and warm against her core, but still he hesitated.
“I don’t…” He swallowed, and brought his eyes up to meet hers. “I don’t
want to take anything else away from you.”
Her blood was warm in her veins, tripping through her heart. Her eyes
searched his as he started to shake with the effort to hold back. She felt some-
thing tight in her throat, some unvoiced words that had been lodged there for
years, struggling to break out.
“I want it to be you,” she said instead.
Draco seemed to grow dizzy with the words. He lowered his forehead to
hers and gripped himself, circling her entrance.
She struggled to catch her breath as he pressed forward. She thought of the
light in the jar on her bedside table, and how little it meant to her now, with
Draco pushing his way inside of her.
Her hands scrambled to his shoulders as he stretched her open. Her knees
locked to his sides, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
She opened her mouth to tell him to stop — to try again — he’d done it wrong.

✦ 120 ✦
 But his eyes were fluttering closed, his lips parted in silent pleasure. She fo-
cused on his breath as he panted over her, his elbows on either side of her head.
And as the pinch faded to an ache inside of her, he released a low groan that
sounded like a lifetime of agony fading from his soul.
His head dropped to her neck, and his hand slithered under her back to
press her close to him as he withdrew and pressed back inside.
She stared up at his canopy, trying not to squirm at the pressure. So she
focused on the way he moaned on every breath. The tension in her spine that
lessened each time he eased himself back in.
So this… was sex.
She pressed her lips together as he tugged her closer to him, lying heavy
on top of her.
It was alright, she supposed.
And Draco certainly seemed to like it.
His hips shifted, beginning to roll into hers faster.
Her eyes widened. That might… be nice.
He groaned into her ear, his face buried in her neck and hair. “Fuck…Oh, fuck.”
Something curled deep in her belly, and she shifted.
He stilled with a heavy breath, and pulled back to look down on her.
“Okay?” His voice was shaking, his face pink with exertion.
She nodded, mesmerized by the hair falling across his face. She ran her fin-
gers through it and he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply as he started
to move again.
It was better now. She could focus on the way it felt for him to drag across
her walls.
His mouth was heavy against hers as he pumped into her. She threaded her
fingers in his hair and angled his head, taking control of the kiss. His lips
pressed against hers, occasionally pausing, as if he forgot himself. His kisses
grew sloppier the faster his hips moved.
He began groaning into her mouth, panting on every thrust.
He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes skating over her breasts to
watch them bounce with each roll of his hips. His breath was shallow, and he
clenched his jaw.
She curled her leg higher, and he suddenly slid deeper. Hermione gasped
and Draco cursed, squeezing his eyes closed. His arms shook as he tried to keep
still where he was buried inside her.
“Oh god,” she moaned, stretched between a precipice of pleasure and pain.

✦ 121 ✦
 Draco lowered onto his elbow again, watching her carefully as his hand
slid between them. The first touch of his fingers to her clit had her relaxing
into the pillows.
“Yeah?”
She nodded, and Draco doubled his efforts, his fingers sliding between them
to massage her.
His hips started moving again, and Hermione’s mouth fell open, her toes
curling.
“Too much?”
She shook her head. “More.”
His eyes flickered over her, the black obscuring the grey. He thrust into her
again, and her eyelids fluttered.
He sighed and began rolling his hips deeply, stretching her, making her feel
there was no room left for him.
She watched his face as he watched hers, and she slid her hands down his
chest, tracing his scars.
She wanted to kiss each one of them. Forever.
His eyes closed as his hips pumped faster. His fingers on her clit sped up,
moving sloppily over her core.
Her muscles clenched as he began to fuck her in earnest, his mouth open in
awe, like she held the answers to questions he’d been asking for years.
Her back arched, and her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Fuck—I can’t—” His jaw tightened and his thrusts rocked her up the mat-
tress. The bed rattled as he pounded into her body, using her deliciously.
She scratched down his back, clutching him close as he rubbed at her clit.
Her thighs began to shake.
Then suddenly he was pulling her hands off of him, pinning her to the mat-
tress, twisting their fingers together as his hips found purchase.
Her lips parted silently when he rocked into her again. She had been close
to something, and now—
Now there was something else he was reaching inside of her.
“Oh my god.” She shivered violently, moaning. “Oh god.”
Her thighs were strained and her knees rocked up to her chest. Her arms
struggled under his grip but he just held her more tightly, panting into her hair.
“Come on, Granger.”
His cock was hitting something inside of her that made her liquefy. Her cunt
clenched down on him, and he yelled out as he fucked her through something
unyielding and otherworldly.

✦ 122 ✦
 She shook in her skin, her spirit rattling inside its cage, begging for a forever that
might intertwine with his. Her walls rippled around him, and her vision blurred as
Draco’s hips slammed to a halt, grunting and pulsing inside of her with groan.
She caught her breath, her chest slick with his sweat and hers. Her fingers
were still intertwined with his in a tangle of clenched hands.
He lifted his head and stared down at her. His eyes were bright — grey and
searching. He released her hands, and as she stretched her muscles, he brought
his fingers to her jaw, examining her face for something. Regret, maybe.
Her eyes were clear as she stared back at him, letting him see through her.
No Occlumency. No shelves. And she could see the same in him.
As he kissed her softly, it was like a new book had glided down from her
shelves, the pages blank and leather fresh. The binding cracked open, the first
page waiting to be written.

✦ 123 ✦
 CHAPTER 30

A
SHARP GASP JARRED HER AWAKE. HER EYES POPPED
open into a pitch-black room.
Her bed felt unfamiliar, and there was a person next to her — moving.
Hermione jerked upright, twisting to find Draco’s pale skin in the moon-
light. He jumped out of bed, dragging his trousers back on.
“Go back to sleep, Granger.”
Draco. Draco getting dressed.
Because he’d been naked next to her, in his bed.
Because—
A flash of light shot into the lamp at his bedside table. Blinking at the low
flame, Hermione turned back to find him lacing his boots.
“What’s wrong?”
“My Mark is burning. The Dark Lord just arrived in Edinburgh.”
Her heart started pounding in her ears. “He wasn’t there when you left?”
“No. He and my aunt were at an event in Switzerland.” He stood and buck-
led his belt. “Yaxley insisted we clean up the mess before calling him.”
Hermione’s eyes searched for the clock. Nearly five. They’d only been asleep
for maybe half an hour.
Her throat tightened with panic. Suddenly she remembered she was naked,
the sheets pooling around her hips. She grabbed for them, tucking them under
her arms, but it hardly seemed to matter.
Draco wasn’t looking at her.
He summoned a clean shirt from his closet and magicked the buttons to
close as he reached for his cloak.
“Sleep,” he said softly. He was already at the fireplace and reaching for the
powder when she started to climb out of bed.
“Draco—”
He yanked his hand back as if burned, spinning around to face her. “Go to
your room.”

✦ 124 ✦
 His voice was low and cold, nothing like the moans or whispers from just
an hour ago. She inhaled sharply—
“I don’t know what I’m walking into,” he said. “Your room is safer.”
And then he flicked his wand, closing his Floo.
He turned on his heel and strode quickly to his door. She clutched the sheets
close to her as she watched him leave, her heart lodged in her throat. He pulled
the door open and paused, turning his head over his shoulder.
“This isn’t how I wanted to wake up with you. I’ll try to return straight away
and maybe we can—”
He cut himself off, his jaw clenching and his eyes flickering into stone.
Hermione watched him shut off, rolling his shoulders and pressing his lips
together. She wanted to run to him. To hold him to her and beg him not to
go. But he had to go back. And she’d have to wait, counting the minutes until
he came home.
“Go to your room,” he repeated. “Please.” And with a swish of his robes and
the click of the door, he was gone.
Hermione stared at the door for five seconds before slipping from the sheets
and looking for her clothes. She pulled on her underthings, grabbed her shoes,
and plucked up her dress. She crept through the passage between their rooms,
and as soon as she passed through, she tossed her dress into the empty fireplace
to burn. When she spun around to face her own bed again, the previous night
came crashing down on her.
“Feel good?”
The scars carved into his chest, painting a constellation across his skin.
The way his eyes fluttered closed when she wrapped her hand around him.
“One day, I’ll kiss you here until your legs shake.”
His face as he pushed inside of her for the first time—
Groaning in her ear—
The shiver of pleasure cresting over her as he rocked into her body.
Hermione stared at the bed she hadn’t slept in last night. Because she was in
another room, making love to Draco Malfoy.
She brought her fingers to her lips, remembering the way his breath had
panted over her face, and wondered if she felt any different. She certainly felt
sore — there was a twinge between her thighs and a few muscles in her legs had
been deeply stretched — but there was something about the world now. Like a
shimmer of magic had been cast over it, or perhaps disappeared.
Peeling off her bra and knickers, she stared down at herself. There was a
dried layer of sweat on her skin — hers and Draco’s. A streak of dirt on her

✦ 125 ✦
thigh that she’d missed. Her mind was dizzy with exhaustion, but there was no
way she’d be able to sleep with Draco gone.
She drew a bath, needing to ease her muscles and wash away what was left
of Edinburgh. Sinking back into the lavender-scented bubbles, she closed her
eyes and let her mind wander.
A girl screaming. Walls splattered with blood.
Hermione bolted upright, gasping. The smell of lavender mixed with the
scent of blood and smoke until she was heaving and swallowing down bile.
She jerked to her feet and let the water drain from the tub, swirling away
with her fantasies. The world hadn’t stopped turning just because she’d slept
with Draco Malfoy. Her friends’ bodies were still cold.
She turned the tap on the right, and cold water pooled around her feet. She
sunk into it, shivering and clutching her knees to her chest. By the time she was
submerged, the smells and sounds had vanished. There was nothing but a lake
nestled between icy mountains, the waters still and calm.
Her teeth chattered as she brought each piece of information forward to ex-
amine before tucking it back into a book and sending it to the back of the library
in her mind. When her books were securely bound and her shelves tidied, she
summoned the most recent book to the forefront of her mind — the one with
Edinburgh, Cho, and Viktor.
She’d been right. Viktor was working with the True Order. And now his
cover had been blown while trying to get her out. Both he and Cho were work-
ing with that mission in mind, and they’d failed. But she hoped the Order had
other victories last night.
How many had been saved? How many had died trying to get her out?
Hermione stared at her knees. They’d been covered in blood earlier, but she
wasn’t sure whose. Grabbing a bar of soap, she scrubbed her legs over and over,
trying to organize her thoughts.
The True Order had somehow developed Portkeys that allowed them to
travel in and out of heavily-warded properties — an unheard of magic. As she’d
learned on Thursday, Edinburgh was for all intents and purposes a personal
property, sealed with blood magic by its “owners” — the Death Eaters who’d
spilled blood there. If there was a way to enter blood-sealed properties, then
why hadn’t the True Order hadn’t just Portkeyed into the Death Eaters’ estates
by now? There had to be a reason.
Plan B, Angelina had shouted.
Plan A had been to take the girls out by Portkey, their owners still alive and
their arms still intact. But they’d failed — the Carrow Girls had Splinched. The
True Order had attacked Edinburgh knowing that Plan B might be necessary.

✦ 126 ✦
 Hermione was confident that the owner didn’t need to die in order for the
Lot to escape the property, but Cho and Viktor believed otherwise. Maybe the
Order had reasoned that Edinburgh was their best chance of catching owners
and Lots together if Plan A failed.
Her head was still spinning when she stepped out of the bath. Her fingers
and toes were numb, and her blood felt like ice in her veins.
She felt a shiver of guilt as she wrapped herself in a fluffy robe, but she was
no use to anyone with hypothermia. She exited the bathroom to find Draco
bent over her desk, a quill in his hand. She froze.
“You’re back.” Relief washed over her in waves, warming her limbs.
“Just for ten minutes,” he said, and she watched his eyes flick over her bare
legs. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“What happened? Were they suspicious of you? Did they question Charlotte?”
“Not to my knowledge, no. Charlotte was interrogated by my aunt, who de-
termined she had no useful information.”
Hermione blinked, hardly daring to breathe. He was here, and he was safe.
“What are you writing?”
“I’m making you a list. Because I know you’ll ask me for one.” He turned his
eyes back to the parchment and continued writing.
Her brow furrowed. “A list?”
“Of the dead.”
A jolt passed through her skin. Her heart squeezed, and she stepped to-
ward him.
“George? George Weasley?”
“No.” His hand continued the list with a flourish. It was lengthy.
“Fleur Delacour?”
“No.”
“Angelina—?”
“Granger, just let me finish.”
She stood there with panic sparking along her veins, compiling a list in her
head of the other names that would ruin her if they appeared in his handwrit-
ing. She let him continue in silence until a sudden idea made her jump.
“Did Blaise and Pansy make it out?”
His quill paused, and he glanced up at her again. “Yes. I made sure of it when
I went back for Charlotte.” He studied her face. “I’m sorry, I would have told
you last night if I’d known you were concerned.”
She opened her mouth to insist that she wasn’t concerned about Pansy Par-
kinson and Blaise Zabini, but the loosening knot in her stomach said otherwise.
She closed her mouth and nodded.

✦ 127 ✦
 Draco finished his list two minutes later. The scroll was almost a foot long. He
handed it off to her and stared at the floor, twirling the quill between his fingertips.
Hermione’s fingers shook as she held the parchment. He hadn’t buried the
lead. At the top of the list was the name Katie Bell. Her vision blurred, but she
tightened her jaw and continued.
Three Carrow Girls that had been Splinched in the Lounge, unnamed. Cho
Chang. Mulciber, Mr. Parkinson, Warrington, Pucey, and Gregory Goyle.
Nineteen Death Eaters and thirty-one guards — none of their names important
enough to specify. Two Muggle groundskeepers. The Hungarian Minister.
Several dozen True Order members, and six werewolves — none of them
named. Sixty-eight guests, their identities “to be determined.” He’d scribbled at
the bottom of the page, 172 dead.
She took a deep breath before she looked up at him. “Voldemort must be
furious.”
“He is.” Draco’s throat bobbed. “When I was excused, Yaxley was begging
for his life.”
Her eyes widened. “Did he torture you as well? Any of you could have
called him—”
“No. It’s the responsibility of the highest-ranking officer to call for the Dark
Lord. Yaxley should have done it immediately.” He set the quill down and
leaned back on the desk. “The only reason he might be spared is that he and
Dolohov got out Minister Cirillo, Minister Santos, and all other visitors in the
Burgundy Room.” He gestured to the list. “The Hungarian Minister was gam-
bling in the Lounge at the time of the attack.”
She nodded and scanned the list again.
“But who you won’t find on that list might be more interesting.”
Glancing back up at him, she held her breath. He slid his hands in his pock-
ets, watching her closely.
“Susan Bones escaped with them. They only found her arm.”
Relief settled over her. And then she frowned. She looked down at the list of
dead again, searching.
Travers’ name wasn’t there.
“They must have thought she was Goyle’s. You’re sure she wasn’t Splinched?”
“Positive. And Travers is still alive.”
Her eyes snapped up to him. “I was right. The owner doesn’t need to die for
the Lots to escape. It’s just the arm.”
Draco nodded. “There’s something else though. Angelina Johnson and
George Weasley left the castle by way of the front gate. They were pursuing

✦ 128 ✦
several Death Eaters.” He paused, and her heartbeat quickened. “A witness
claims that Angelina fell when she followed George over the estate line.”
She blinked at him. “Fell.”
“The guard said she ‘dropped like a sack of flour.’” He swallowed, staring
intently at her. “Apparently she was convulsing.”
Hermione’s ears were ringing. “But she—”
“Got out, yes. George saw what was happening and vanished with her by
Portkey. But I thought you’d find that… interesting.”
Her eyes flitted about the room, her mind working in overdrive. Ange-
lina’s tattooed arm had been removed. She shouldn’t be affected by the estate
lines any longer.
“Was she conscious?” She twisted her fingers in the tie of her robe. “Was it
just a momentary shock, or was she still convulsing when—”
“I don’t know, Granger,” he said gently. “And to ask about it would be too
suspicious.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Maybe there’s some… trace of the tattoo still.
Some latent effect of the potion.”
“I thought the same. She was able to Portkey inside with no issue. It’s only
when she tried to leave that she collapsed.”
“Yes.” Hermione began pacing. “It couldn’t have happened when she escaped
from Macnair’s, or she wouldn’t have tried to cross Edinburgh’s estate line.”
Draco ran a hand through his hair. “Not necessarily. Maybe she just didn’t
think it would happen at Edinburgh.”
“No. They wouldn’t have risked it. Which means that the potion is still ac-
tive and showing novel properties almost a year later.” A chill ran down her
spine. “There’s no precedent for this magic. We have no idea what its long-term
consequences are, or if”— she drew a sharp breath—”if Angelina is even still
alive. We need an antidote.” She paused to look up at him. “The potion needs
to be counteracted.”
He nodded, following her logic. Pushing off the desk, he scratched a hand
over his jaw and stared down at the carpets. “There’s one last thing. On my way
out of the Manor this morning, I found the body of a house-elf on the other
side of the gates. Not one of ours.”
“A house-elf?” she frowned. “You didn’t recognize him?”
He shook his head. “He was Splinched.”
Her brows pulled together. She’d never even heard of a house-elf being
Splinched before. “He was trying to Apparate in?”
He paused. “That’s what I assume.”
She opened her mouth to ask why, and it dawned on her.

✦ 129 ✦
 Her.
The True Order had sent a house-elf to cut off her arm and escape with her.
And for some reason, the wards didn’t allow it.
“But Dobby—”
“The wards were fortified to bar non-familial elves after the events of last
year.” Draco’s jaw tightened. “I know Father did something to ours. Nott Sr.
helped other pureblood families.”
She ran her fingers over her lips, thinking quickly. If they’d sent a house-elf,
it had to be because they didn’t think an Order member could safely enter the
Manor using one of their new Portkeys. The Portkeys were only able to pene-
trate Edinburgh’s wards.
She let her mind run for several minutes before looking back up at him. He
was watching her, his eyes traveling the lines of her robe, tracing her wet curls.
He looked dead on his feet, but his gaze was glued to her.
“Did they ask where you went last night?”
He blinked and shook his head. “Father told them that I was hit by an un-
known curse, and that he had to send me home for treatment.”
Nodding absently, she let her mind drift to what he’d actually been doing
when he’d come home last night. Specifically, what he’d been doing to her.
A blush rose to her cheeks at the memory of his breath between her thighs
— the slide of their bodies together, and the press of his face into her hair.
She bit her lip and glanced at him. His eyes were focused on the modest
triangle of skin visible at her collarbones, where the robe closed. His gaze drifted
upward, pausing on the lip pulled between her teeth.
She swallowed. “About last night…”
His eyes jerked to hers, wide and guilty. She opened her mouth to continue,
but he was spinning on his heel and striding to the window.
“Don’t worry, Granger.” His voice was flat and distant. “It won’t happen again.”
Her chest tightened. “That’s not what I—”
“There were a lot of... emotions involved. I should have had more self-control.”
“Draco, I don’t regret it.”
She heard his breath catch across the room.
Last night, they hadn’t known if they’d live to see the morning. But as he
turned to face her, sunlight catching on his hair just as it used to in Fifth Year
Transfiguration, she was certain she’d do it again. They might be running on bor-
rowed time, but she’d take these moments with him while she still could. She’d
take them, because without them her shelves might crumble and bury her in grief.
Something writhed inside of her, begging for him to release it again. She
crossed the room and stepped into him, rising on her toes to press her mouth to

✦ 130 ✦
his. His arms rose to her elbows — soft, tentative — as his lips parted for her. She
brushed her tongue inside his mouth, and a small sound escaped from his throat.
Pulling away from him, she met his glassy gaze and reached for the tie on
her robe. The moment the knot loosened, he pushed her back against the wall,
kissing her deeply and running his hands over her stomach and hips. She sighed
and threw her arms over his shoulders.
The quick slide of his palms over her body awoke every memory of last
night, and her skin caught fire as his hands rounded her hips and dipped down
to squeeze her backside. She gasped into his mouth, and he moved to kiss her
neck. He pressed his hips forward, pinning her to the wall, and she could feel
the outline of him, growing harder.
His hands slipped over her stomach as she dug her fingers into his hair, and
when they settled on her breasts, he let his thumbs circle her tightly and press
down on her aching nipples.
She sagged against the wall, the robe hanging off her shoulders as he sucked
on her neck and played with her breasts. He rolled his hips against her stomach,
and she moaned.
The door banged open, and they sprang apart. Hermione yelped and spun
to face the wall, cinching her robe tight while Draco cursed.
“Lovely.”
Her heart thumped wildly as she turned to find Lucius Malfoy scowling in
her doorway. He swept into the room without waiting for permission and stood
near her fireplace.
“Father.”
“It’s good to know that if I ever need to speak to one of you, I should check
the opposite bedroom first.” Lucius’s hair and sneer were in place, but he
looked exhausted. Deep purple shadows lined his eyes as he gestured for the
two of them to sit in the armchairs before him.
Hermione glanced at Draco, who cleared his throat.
“Father—”
“Sit.” The word was low and dangerous. “I’ll only ask once.”
Hermione tightened her robe again, her heart thumping wildly. She moved to
the chair with her eyes turned toward the floor, and Draco silently did the same.
Lucius clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at them both.
“So. You’ve been playing revolution, have you? Passing notes and playing
games?” His voice trembled with anger.
Hermione said nothing, her gaze still trained on the carpets. Panic bubbled
in her chest as his footsteps came closer.

✦ 131 ✦
 Lucius paused in front of her knees, and Draco stiffened next to her. She
could count her heartbeats as Lucius tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.
“What have you been up to, Miss Granger?”
The smooth knife prodded through her mind, slicing on empty air as Her-
mione tugged her bookshelf deep into the recesses of her mind. He pressed fur-
ther, but she was ready for him now. She grunted and pushed his mind back.
There was a clatter of movement, and Hermione gasped as Lucius released
her. When the spots in her vision cleared, she found Draco on his feet, and
Lucius staring down at her.
Lucius sneered and turned to his son. “Sit down, Draco. I hardly touched her.”
Draco obeyed, clenching his jaw.
“I see you’re as obstinate and foolish as my son.” Lucius’s lip curled, his ex-
pression almost disappointed. “I’ll make myself very clear, Miss Granger.
Whatever you’ve been working on in my library stops today. You are not to set
foot in there again. If you do, I’ll know about it.”
Her mind spun as her heart dropped in her chest. She needed those books—
“Father, you can’t ban her from the library. She is my— mine, and she—”
“And the library is mine. As is every book inside of it. If a single book is
touched, I will know.” There was a long silence. “Besides,” he said, turning to
the shelves that Draco had restocked for her, “it seems she has plenty of books
to entertain herself with — which I’m sure will be very useful, seeing as neither
of you will be going anywhere for quite some time.”
A chill crept down her spine. Draco sat very still next to her.
“Father—”
“Draco was hit by an unknown curse last night.” He began strolling around
the chairs, his hands behind his back. “Its effects are still unclear, but when he
returned from Edinburgh this morning, he fell into a deep fever. We are taking
every step to see that he is healthy for the next task the Dark Lord asks of him”—
Lucius stepped around Hermione’s chair, bringing him back into sight— “but
according to the family Healer, he is in no state to be in the field right now.”
Lucius returned to his position in front of the fireplace, challenging them
with his gaze.
“You can’t be serious.” Draco’s knuckles were white clutching at the arm-
rest. “You can’t ground me—”
“Think of it more as a holiday, Draco.” Lucius smiled. “Edinburgh is closed
indefinitely, and the Dark Lord will be monitoring his followers closely for the
foreseeable future. And I trust you and Miss Granger have discovered a new
indoor activity to keep you occupied for several weeks.”

✦ 132 ✦
 Hermione’s jaw dropped in a silent gasp. She closed her eyes, wishing the
armchair would swallow her whole.
Draco sputtered to her left. “We—Father!”
“I have neither the time nor interest in your excuses. As long as Miss
Granger continues to take her Contraceptive Potions, I’m happy to have you
fixated on anything other than committing treason.”
Hermione covered her face — she could feel it burning beet red through
her fingertips.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Lucius lilted, “I have to go speak to your mother.
I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have you at home for the indefinite future.”
Hermione listened as Lucius strode to the door, wrenched it open, and
slammed it closed. The air in the room felt thick and heavy.
“Are you alright.”
She nodded, still unable to speak.
“You… er—” Draco cleared his throat. “You’ve been taking potions? I ha-
ven’t— I should have asked before, but—”
“Yes, no. No, it’s covered. We’re… yes.” Her eyes flew open and she swiftly
stood. “I need to… Um… yes.”
She darted for her bathroom, sealing herself inside and leaning against the
oak. After several calming breaths, she checked the cabinets above her sink, tri-
ple-checking that she’d taken her potion this month. And just as suspected, she
was fine. Potion taken.
As the humiliation ebbed, she focused on the pressing matter: Lucius had
barred her from the library. She was so close to breaking the tattoos. She could
feel it. And now all her resources had been snatched away. Splashing cold water
on her face, she tried to think of solutions.
She grimaced as another dilemma rose to the surface: what to do about
Charlotte’s memories. Draco had said the Malfoys didn’t own a Pensieve, so
they would have to go about finding one. And now he was forbidden from leav-
ing the Manor.
After several more minutes of stalling, Hermione peeked out of the bath-
room to find she was alone except for her morning coffee tray. She changed out
of her robe, ignoring the memory of Draco’s hands underneath it less than an
hour ago, and into comfortable denims and a jumper.
When she found no Prophet on her tray, she ventured out of her room and
down to the dining room. Narcissa sat in her chair, sipping her tea and turning
pages in the paper. She looked up when Hermione entered.
“Hello, dear.” She smiled tightly. “I’m glad that you’re safe.”

✦ 133 ✦
 “Thank you,” Hermione said, taking her chair. She wasn’t sure what else to
say, so she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“I received a message from Lucius in the middle of the night that the castle
had been attacked, but that you and Draco had made it home. I’ve been ex-
tremely worried, but thought it was best to let you both rest.” Narcissa paused,
her expression soft. “Are you alright, Hermione?”
Hermione set her coffee down and forced a smile. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I
spent a few hours Occluding, which helped quite a bit.” Hermione shifted in
her seat. “But I was wondering about the paper—”
“Feel free.” Narcissa waved flippantly at the newspaper. “Not that Skeeter
had anything useful to say, unfortunately. Every detail Lucius gave me contra-
dicted what she wrote.”
Hermione nodded. “What did she say?”
“Small band of rebels, minimal losses, Swiss terrorists.” Narcissa rolled her
eyes. “Perhaps tomorrow the Ghost will have more information, but I think this
is going to be kept tightly under wraps.”
Hermione stared at the crinkled corner of the Prophet, thinking of Cho and
Katie Bell and those who would get no obituary in their paper.
“Where is Lucius?”
“Gone again.” Narcissa pressed her lips together. “As the best Legilimens in
the Dark Lord’s army, he and my sister have been sent to interrogate recent
visitors at Edinburgh and search for possible collusion. They will be gone for
some time.” She paused before folding her napkin delicately. “But before he left,
he made it clear to me that you are now expressly forbidden from entering our
library.”
Hermione swallowed and grabbed a scone from the serving plate. “I’m sorry,
Narcissa. I’m sure he’s told you all about it, but he’s... not very happy with us.”
“A tantrum,” said Narcissa with a wave of her hand. “All Malfoy men are
prone to them.” She smiled, and after blinking at her, Hermione did the same.
But there was a tightness around Narcissa’s mouth as she picked up her teacup
and brought the porcelain to her lips. “He’s not wrong about one thing. The
next few weeks will be dangerous, Hermione. The Dark Lord is likely suspicious
of everyone in his circle.”
Nodding, Hermione crumbled the scone between her fingertips.
“But if you need anything,” Narcissa said, casting her eyes down to
the Prophet and turning a page.
The rest was left unsaid, hanging on a string between them as they drank
their coffee and tea.

✦ 134 ✦
 ・✦・
Hermione stood before Draco’s bedroom door that afternoon, hesitating
before finally rapping her knuckles against the wood. There was a shuffling be-
hind the door, and then he pulled it open, blinking at her drowsily. He rubbed
his eyes, and her gaze caught on the plain cotton shirt he’d worn to bed, and
the way his hair was still drying from an earlier bath.
“What time is it?”
She shook her head. “Er, it’s after two in the afternoon. Are you alright?”
“Just catching up on some rest. Practicing for this fictional ailment I’m sup-
posed to have.”
He stepped aside for her, and as she moved past him she remembered that
he’d had quite a trying evening, and then very little sleep due to…
Her eyes caught on the rumpled bed.
“Sorry to bolt earlier,” she said, tearing her eyes away. “I was… uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine. My father has that effect on people.”
He shut the door and turned to face her. She forced herself to focus. “Char-
lotte’s memories?”
Nodding, he moved to his bedside drawer and produced the vial of gossa-
mer memories. She took it from him.
“We need to find out who her contacts are first. We can explain what hap-
pened, and let the Order decide what to do with the rest of her memories.” A
crease appeared between her brows as she watched the threads dance together.
“The Manor doesn’t have a Pensieve?”
“No,” his voice rumbled. “My father never had use for one.”
“Do you know anyone who does have one?”
“No.” He ran his hand through his damp hair. “My understanding is that
they are hard to come by now. There were only two people who made them in
Europe, and both have gone into hiding.”
She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “There might be another way to view her
memories, but I won’t be able to research them without a library.” Her eyes swept
over Draco’s bookshelves. “I don’t want to get you in even more trouble, but—”
“You need the library. I know.”
She rubbed her temples, thinking. “Perhaps the catalog could be charmed
like the Hogwarts’ book finder. It sends books traveling to their requestors.”
“If I know my father, he also made it impossible for books to leave the library.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re right.” After a few moments, an idea sparked.
“Viktor told me a bit about the catalog at Durmstrang.” Her mind was spinning
too fast to worry about Draco’s scowl. “It’s typically freezing inside the castle, and

✦ 135 ✦
the library is far from the dormitories. The catalog is enchanted so that if you
focus on it, you can communicate with it anywhere within the castle.”
“What good is that? If it doesn’t send the book to you—”
“I had the same question. Transcription spells.” Hermione began pacing as
her voice grew quicker, more excited. “You can ask the catalog to transcribe
entire books for you. The copies would go blank when he left for the holidays,
but Viktor said he had an entire mini-library in his bedroom for the school year.
We don’t need the books to leave the library — we just need their contents.”
Draco shifted behind her. “That’s very convenient, Granger, but there must
be a special enchantment on it. The catalog at Hogwarts didn’t—”
“I know. But in Hogwarts: A History, they discuss revisions to the library
when they added the Restricted Section in the 14th century. They mention
“safeguards” to stop students from cheating or accessing forbidden material.
It’s why the catalog there is far more restricted than the one here in the Manor.
If I had to guess, the Durmstrang catalog is standard.”
She spun to him and found the hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes intent on her.
Twenty minutes later, she stood at the foot of his bed, staring at a dozen
empty journals that Draco had conjured on the floor. She peered around his
shoulder, wringing her hands.
“Remember to think clearly of the catalog. And then—”
Draco turned to her, extending his wand with a lifted brow. She cleared her
throat and took it from him. “Right. Thanks.”
Closing her eyes, she focused on the catalog. “Access Hogwarts: A History.”
Magic thrummed in her blood as she pointed the wand at the first blank
journal. “Transcribo.”
The pages shivered for a moment before the ink bloomed, rearranging itself
until she was staring down at the familiar pages of her childhood. She grinned
and tried several of the Scourer journals, making sure they would appear as well.
Draco tried a different volume on potions, and then asked the catalog to
transcribe the titles of all books with references to blood magic. Hermione’s
eyes lit up as the pages filled, one after another. Ten minutes had barely passed
before Draco had to conjure another dozen blank journals.
An hour later, she was sitting on the floor of Draco’s bedroom with books
spread out in every direction, deep into research for creating a Pensieve from
scratch while Draco looked into spells on memory transfer.
She huffed when she finished reading a two-page list of materials that were
either unfamiliar or extremely rare. “This is impossible.” Her neck ached, and
she rubbed it before looking up at him. “Will you write to Theo?”

✦ 136 ✦
 His jaw clenched as he lifted his eyes to her. “And say what, exactly? ‘Got a
spare Pensieve?’”
“We need help, Draco.” Hermione pressed her lips together. “Perhaps he
could come visit. You’re very ill with this unknown curse, and you’d like to see
some friendly faces.”
“That’s not suspicious at all,” he said, flipping a page.
“Well, I’m getting nowhere. And every hour we spend on this is one less
hour we spend on the tattoos. I can look at alternative ways of viewing memo-
ries, or you can write to a friend who may save us months of research.”
Draco heaved a dramatic sigh, just as he used to at Hogwarts, and Hermione
hid a smile when he dragged himself to his feet and out the door to post the letter.
They researched late through the evening. Draco apologized to Narcissa on
their behalf and had the elves send dinner up to them, but Hermione barely picked
at it, too caught up in her notes. She switched back and forth between tattoo re-
search and memory research, picking up one when the other frustrated her.
As the clock ticked toward one in the morning, she glanced at Draco, in his
armchair still flipping pages with a frown. Her eyelids were beginning to droop,
but she could get through the rest of this chapter on the Runes used in the first
Pensieve creation before calling it a night. She rubbed her eyes, struggling
against yawning, and read until her head dropped onto her chest.
・✦・
She woke the next morning snuggled into warm sheets with her head firmly
supported by soft pillows. Blinking awake, she stared up at a green canopy
speckled with daylight. She was in Draco’s room still.
She whipped her head to the side and discovered that half of the delicious
warmth was due to Draco’s arm across her waist and his head on her shoulder.
Her chin brushed the hair on top of his head, the strands fluttering with her
surprised breath. He curled himself tighter around her middle, bringing his
hips in contact with her thigh, and her eyes widened to feel his morning erec-
tion. The hand on her waist slid under her jumper, and she stifled a gasp.
Hermione bit back a smile. So this was what waking up next to Draco Mal-
foy was like. She brought her fingers to his hair and drifted through the locks,
relishing the feeling of his every exhale.
She felt it the moment he woke up. His fingers twitched against her stomach,
and his breath caught in his throat. He lifted his head just an inch.
“Sorry.” His voice was scratchy and deep. “I didn’t mean to…”

✦ 137 ✦
 And before she could stop him, his hand was lifting off her stomach, his hips
pulling away from hers. He leaned up on his arm and stared down at her. There
was a pattern etched into his face from where he’d slept on her knit jumper.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep here.” He shook his head, like it was no trouble. “You
didn’t have to… I mean, I could have been moved back to my own room.”
He blinked down at her. “Yes. Sorry, I should have… I just…”
And his words from yesterday morning floated back to her:
This isn’t how I wanted to wake up with you.
She bit her lip, and his gaze was drawn down to her mouth. She watched his
eyes grow heated before she pushed up on one elbow and placed one hand on
his neck, guiding their lips together.
Their mouths were tentative, brushing softly with barely-there sighs. His hand
returned to her waist, and she let out a quiet moan. Her fingers tangled in his hair,
running patterns across his scalp as his tongue slipped between her lips.
She whispered his name into his mouth and sat up, tugging her jumper off.
He watched in stupefied wonder as she leaned over him, kissing him again and
rolling him onto his back.
His hands roved over her spine, playing with her bra clasp, as if he was afraid
to undress her. She huffed and sat up again, reaching behind her back to un-
clasp it. He licked his lips as her breasts were freed.
She tossed the covers away and lifted her thigh over his hips, straddling him,
but then looked down to her comfortable sleep clothes in confusion. She’d been
wearing jeans—
“I transfigured them. I promise,” Draco said hastily.
She glanced back up at him. He was having trouble keeping his eyes off
her breasts.
“For sleeping, I just thought…”
She smiled and leaned into him again, scattering kisses over his jaw and
neck. “Just admit it,” she whispered. “You hate Muggle denims.”
He laughed softly, his hands gliding down her waist. “Only when you’re
wearing them.”
She sucked on a spot that had his fingers curling into her hips. “And why’s that?”
He hissed as she widened her thighs and pressed their centers together. “Be-
cause I can’t keep my eyes off your perfect arse in those damned denims.”
A blush spread up her cheeks, and she tucked her face into his neck. “Oh.”
He slipped his fingers under the waistband of her pajama bottoms, reaching
down to fill his hands with her backside. She gasped as he squeezed and tugged
her against his erection, rolling her body against his in slow waves. Her nipples
tightened, her breasts brushing over his shirt with every movement.

✦ 138 ✦
 “I think about your arse a lot, Granger,” he groaned into her ear. “A lot.”
She dropped her forehead to his shoulder, her fingers digging in the pillows
as he moved her body how he wanted it. Every roll of her hips dragged his cock
against her clit, tearing sighs from her throat.
She grabbed the collar of his shirt— “Take this off”—and sat up tall to help
him. The muscles in his stomach pulled taut as he ripped his shirt off, and be-
fore she could think of the next step, his lips descended on her breast.
Her fingers sunk into his hair, throwing her neck back as he kissed and
grazed at her skin. One of his hands played with her other breast, his fingers
tweaking and rolling her nipple until she whimpered.
“Please,” she begged. “Please touch me—”
He groaned with her nipple in his mouth, and the vibrations made her gasp.
His lips popped off of her skin and he rolled them over, pinning her to the mat-
tress. She clutched at his shoulders and pressed their mouths together as he
shoved her pajamas down her hips. She tried to kick them off, but then his fin-
gers were slipping through her folds and all other thoughts fled her mind.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting in a sigh. He circled her entrance
and dragged his fingertips up to her clit, his strokes light and teasing as her
thighs tensed.
“Draco, I need—”
He kissed her neck, and her mind blanked. She twisted beneath him as he
sucked bruises across her skin, adding to the collection from their first time as
he slowly worked her clit.
“More.” Her heels dug into his calves. “Faster—”
Skillful fingers began rubbing her, circling and pressing down. Her nails
raked down his back and her legs struggled to writhe.
“Like this?”
She jerked her head in a nod. “Yes. Please—”
“Fuck—”
“Yes—”
His fingers pressed down, faster and faster. Her body shook, her insides
clenching and thighs straining. The stretched muscles inside of her clamped
down on nothing as she followed the blinding flash behind her eyes into the
crystal starlight.
She floated, drifting down as Draco slowly rubbed her through her after-
shocks. He was hard against her hip, and she shivered as he ground against her.
When her breathing returned and her mind reentered her body, he was kiss-
ing her shoulder, rolling his hips into hers. He caught her lips, grunting as his
tongue tangled with hers, and she felt the spark catch again.

✦ 139 ✦
 “Draco—”
“I’m close,” he ground out.
“Draco. Inside.”
He paused, his forearms shaking as he glanced up at her. “What?”
“Please,” she whispered. “Be inside of me again?”
His lips parted, his pupils blown wide. “I won’t… I can’t last—”
“I don’t care.” She tilted her hips up. “I feel so good, I promise—”
He shoved his pajama bottoms down and fumbled to yank hers off one leg.
She brushed her fingers through his hair as he slipped between her thighs,
pressing the tip at her entrance.
“Just slow. I’m a bit sore.”
He nodded, sweat beading at his temples. He pressed forward, and she
clawed at his shoulders, gasping for air against the intrusion and the sting.
His head dropped as he groaned low and deep into her shoulder. It echoed
against her ear, curling through her belly and relaxing her sore muscles as he
pulled out and filled her again.
Her face burned at the sounds they made.
“So fucking wet.”
She kissed his jaw, and he wrapped an arm under her shoulder, pressing his
torso to hers, rocking their hips together.
He whispered curses into her ear as she closed her eyes, trying to catch her
breath. The thick slide of him was just this side of too much, but then he shifted,
and her eyes shot open as his pelvis rocked against her clit. He caught it again,
and again, until she was mewling with every thrust. His teeth grazed her neck,
biting and scraping, marking her skin.
He slid a hand between them and strummed her clit. Her legs trembled and
she writhed into the sheets.
“You don’t have to—”
“I need to,” he growled. “I need to feel it.”
Her eyes rolled back as his fingers rubbed faster, matching the pace of his
hips. She moaned and pulled her knees to his chest, and he breathed hotly
against her neck when he slid back in.
“Fuck, fuck—”
His hips drove quicker, harder, and she whined as his fingers coiled her
tighter and tighter.
“Draco. Draco, please—”
“Need to feel you—”
Her body trembled as it swelled inside her. She curled her fingers in his hair
and dragged his face to hers, swallowing his moaning. His lips were hot and

✦ 140 ✦
panting as his hips snapped deep inside of her, his fingers pressing hard on her
clit, and she shattered, crying out into his mouth.
He fucked her through two more seconds of it before he shook and moaned
low, pumping into her. She was still shivering with it as he kissed her deep,
tongue slipping along hers and teeth biting her lips.
He pulled back to stare down at her, his hair falling across his face, his skin
pale with the morning light. She gasped as her walls contracted around him one
last time, her eyelids fluttering as her cunt pulsed. His mouth opened, and he
licked his lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
Her eyes closed again as she clutched his arms, focusing on her breathing.
He slipped out of her slowly, and she moaned at the ache and the mess. He
kissed every bruise he’d left behind, apologizing for being too rough, and she
shook her head and said, “You weren’t.”
・✦・
The next few days were much of the same: she and Draco would research in
his room throughout the day, and at night, fall into bed together. Theo was
scheduled to visit at the end of the week, so they refocused on the tattoos, dis-
secting Nott Sr.’s journal line by line. Draco soon found that the quickest way
to distract her from the books was by kissing the spot under her ear, and she
soon found that there was little she could do to keep him focused when he was
wanting her. She woke up with his arms and sheets tangled around her, and if
Narcissa suspected anything, she didn’t say so.
The Prophet now listed Viktor Krum as Undesirable No. 1, printing his face
on the front page daily and calling for his immediate capture should he be
found in the U.K. On Wednesday, another small article caught her eye:
Minister Grubov of Bulgaria has been thoroughly vetted by the Dark Lord’s
interrogators, and was found innocent of all collusion. When asked for a state-
ment, Minister Grubov told the Prophet, “I am deeply saddened by the betrayal
of one of our brightest. Bulgaria remains loyal to the Great Order.”
She frowned down at the paper, wondering how Viktor had accomplished
such a deep undercover task without allies. The only other Bulgarian Hermione
knew to be at Edinburgh was Draco’s friend Katya.
Her breath caught. She’d been so wrapped up in the tattoos that she’d for-
gotten that critical detail. Katya had been the one to ensure that Draco would
bring her to Edinburgh on the night of the attack. She’d promised to be there,
but hadn’t showed up.

✦ 141 ✦
 Hermione mumbled an apology to Narcissa as she bolted from the breakfast
table and ran up the stairs. Draco was poring over a book on blood magic when
she burst through the door.
“Katya.”
He stared at her. “Sorry?”
“She was the one who made sure we were there that night, even though she
didn’t show up herself. It’s highly likely that she’s working with the Order. And
perhaps Viktor as well.”
His throat bobbed. “It’s possible, yes.”
Hermione’s lungs dragged in air. “Can you write to her and ask her to visit?
If she has ties to the True Order, we might be able to pass a message through
her. We could tell them what happened with Charlotte.”
Draco closed his book and stood, his eyes fixed over her shoulder. “Alright.”
When he returned, he was quiet for the rest of the morning and afternoon.
Theo Nott arrived on Thursday evening. As he stepped through the Floo
and into Draco’s bedroom, he didn’t seem at all surprised to find Draco per-
fectly healthy.
“Ah. That curse did some serious damage, Draco,” he said with a smirk.
“You’ve never looked worse.”
“I’m still ten times more handsome than you, so—”
“That’s enough,” said Hermione sharply. “Have a seat, Theo. Please.”
Theo smirked and plopped down in one of Draco’s armchairs, swinging his
leg up to cross at the knee. Hermione sat down in the chair opposite him, giving
Draco a meaningful look.
Draco mumbled under his breath before shuffling over to his desk, where
they’d call for a serving tray with a bottle of Firewhisky. He filled a glass with
Firewhisky and returned to Theo’s side, offering it to him.
Theo looked at the glass, then up to Draco, and said with an innocent smile,
“Ice, please.”
Draco glared down at him, and his knuckles turned white around the tum-
bler. Hermione rolled her eyes as he nodded stiffly and walked back to the serv-
ing tray to add ice.
“A strange location for a friend to pay a call, Draco,” Theo said, glancing
around the bedroom. They’d tidied up earlier, making the bed and putting away
their books. “I’m flattered, but I really don’t think introducing a third partner
will help your sex life—”
The Firewhisky tumbler slammed down on the tray, and Hermione jumped.
“We just didn’t want to be overheard,” she said with a scowl as Draco re-
turned with Theo’s glass.

✦ 142 ✦
 Theo took it with a smile. “So what’s this about?”
Draco sat down, took a deep breath, and said, “Does your father have a
Pensieve.”
Theo blinked at him. “Whose memories are you looking at?”
“None of your—”
“The less you know the better, Theo,” Hermione interrupted. “Trust me.”
He looked between them and furrowed his brow. “He doesn’t, no.”
Disappointment churned in her stomach, but she quickly recovered.
“Would you help us obtain one?”
His eyes narrowed at her. “Why? Does this have to do with the tattoos?”
“Yes.” The room was silent, apart from the swirling of Theo’s ice. “We
wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Theo hesitated for another moment, then blew out a quick breath. “Alright.
The most I can do is ask around when I’m in Knockturn this weekend.” He
eyed Draco as he brought the glass to his lips. “Owls are being monitored, so
I’ll have to visit again if I have news.”
Draco nodded. “Of course.”
“Your father won’t be suspicious?”
“No. He’s out of the country. The Dark Lord isn’t happy about Edinburgh, but
my father has sworn that his new wards will be ‘even more powerful.’“ Theo’s ex-
pression darkened. “He’s working with an old associate of his. Some Swiss bloke.”
Hermione took this in, her stomach turning at the idea of stronger wards
at Edinburgh.
“Is anyone else in hot water?” Draco asked.
“Yaxley, you know. The Carrows were next. They were negotiating with a
new Lot seller on the night of the attack, but they were expected to be at Edin-
burgh, so the Dark Lord was suspicious. He had them interrogated and tor-
tured. Your aunt cleared them just yesterday.” Theo sipped from his glass. “I
know they used Legilimency on every Carrow Girl, but couldn’t find a leak.”
Hermione drew a sharp breath, her chest loosening in relief. There was
still no suspicion of Charlotte or the other girls. But as Theo finished his Fire-
whisky and chatted with Draco, she couldn’t help but think that there was a
True Order member somewhere waiting on crucial information that only
Charlotte’s memories held.
・✦・
Hermione threw herself into researching the tattoo potion while they waited to
hear back from Theo. She and Draco holed up in his room and argued over inter-
pretations of Nott Sr.’s scribbled handwriting until their dinner had gone cold.

✦ 143 ✦
 Earlier in the week, Narcissa had informed her that Lucius had forbidden
Mippy from retrieving the Ghost. So Hermione spent the mornings poring over
the Prophet, trying to piece together what Skeeter wasn’t saying instead of what
she was. Viktor remained Undesirable No. 1 as the days went on, and when
there was no response from Katya by the following week, Hermione felt her
suspicions confirmed that she’d been working for the Order.
Ten days after the attack on Edinburgh, the Prophet reported the public ex-
ecution of Nott Sr. His crimes included “a failure to carry out orders.”
Hermione stared down at the moving picture of Ted Nott being dragged up
on a platform, his eyes wide with terror as Voldemort stepped forward.
Behind Voldemort stood the Swiss colleague that Nott Sr. had been working
with, who now would take over all his duties for protective wards, the U.K.’s Anti-
Apparition line, and offense against the French and True Order: Albrecht Berge.
Theo was there, ashen and wild-eyed. Skeeter reported that Theo would go
with Berge to the French border and apprentice under him. Berge stood beside
Theo as the Dark Lord swiftly killed his predecessor, his hand on his shoulder.
Draco paled when she told him the news, and Hermione slipped from the
room, leaving him with his thoughts. They couldn’t depend on Theo’s help an-
ymore. Not when his father was dead and he was trying to stay alive.
She wandered through the east wing, thinking. If she and Draco couldn’t
view Charlotte’s memories, locate a contact, and turn them over to the Order
somehow, then their only other option was to find a way to return them. They’d
discussed the possibility once, but trying to find an intermediary in the Order
had seemed less risky than Draco walking back into Edinburgh and attempting
to give Charlotte her memories back. But now they had no other choice.
When she returned to Draco’s room a few hours later, he brought up the
option before she did. They paused their research on the tattoo potion that day,
looking instead into restoring extracted memories.
It only took a few hours to find an answer. Hermione had found a potion
in One Thousand Magical Potions and Their Uses that was well-documented to
successfully restore memories by imbibing them. The catch was that the mem-
ories had to belong to the owner — people had tried to imbibe others’ memories
with no success. But it was a simple potion, its brew time under two hours, and
Draco confirmed that they had all the ingredients at the Manor.
Draco jumped to his feet once she found it, expecting she’d want to brew it
right away. But she told him to wait.
Even if Lucius hadn’t hinted he’d know the instant Draco tried to leave the
property, she wasn’t sure it was the right time. She was so close to figuring out
the tattoo potion. There was a certainty in her blood, like Harry’s confidence

✦ 144 ✦
when he was close to a Horcrux. She’d begun dreaming about watching the let-
ters vanish from her skin. But she needed more time.
The Dark Lord was still watching his followers, and Edinburgh was still
closed. It was an enormous risk for Draco to go there once, let alone twice. If she
was able to crack the tattoo antidote quickly, she reduced the risk by half. He
could kill two birds with one stone — give Charlotte her memories back and give
her the directions for the tattoo antidote to pass to the True Order.
When she explained why they had to wait—”It’s safer for you”—Draco
tugged her to her feet and kissed her until everything was lost to her except for
his lips against hers.
Early the next morning, Draco received word from Lucius that his “ground-
ing” was up. The Dark Lord had recently asked about his recovery. There were
rumors that a band of True Order fighters still remained in the U.K., and he
was to join half a dozen other Death Eaters in a mission to snuff them out. He
was to leave the day after next.
She hadn’t been able to speak when he first told her, staring out the window as
he assured her it was only for two weeks. He told her it would be far less dangerous
than Switzerland. He might come back even sooner, if the Dark Lord was satisfied
that the True Order had run back to France. She tried to take comfort in what he
was telling her, but saying goodbye to him again was a bitter pill to swallow.
He kissed her slowly on the morning he had to leave, pressing her into his
mattress and sliding his thigh between hers. She rocked against him as he
pinned her hands and sucked at her skin. Only when she was begging him did
he push into her, swallowing her moans as he played with her breasts, and bit-
ing down on her shoulder as he rolled their bodies together.
After he left, she Occluded for half the day before focusing her mind on the
tattoos. She had several ideas for the potion that she was ready to try, so she
took her notes down to the laboratory and set to work. The first task would be
to recreate the inky potion the Lots had ingested or been injected with, and test
it on a mouse. Once she was confident she’d gotten the potion correct, it would
be easy to create an antidote.
Her lips pressed together as she stared at the ingredients on the lab shelves.
Of course, the day after Draco’s wand was no longer available to her, that was
the day she was ready to use magic again. Brewing potions without a wand was
possible, of course, but infinitely harder.
She spent until two in the morning working at a fraction of her normal pace
before giving up. She tossed and turned in Draco’s bed that night, pressing her
face into his pillow. There were so many things she should have asked him

✦ 145 ✦
before he left. So many things she wished she had a partner for. But now he was
gone, and she was on her own. After four in the morning, she finally drifted.
Hermione slept in the next day, and breakfast was waiting for her on Draco’s
desk. She downed a cup of coffee and managed a few bites of toast before she
headed downstairs to find Narcissa. She found her in the conservatory, carefully
clipping flowers and pruning bushes.
Narcissa drifted her fingers across a blossom and smiled up at her. “Good
morning, dear.”
“Good morning. I’m sorry I missed breakfast. I had trouble sleeping.”
Narcissa paused, frowning. “I’m sorry to hear that. I can ask Mippy to bring
you a potion—”
“Actually, I— I need to ask you a favor.” She moved closer to the rose bushes
and let her practiced story rattle from her lips. “I think I’ve built a tolerance to the
generic kind. It helps me fall asleep, but I can’t stay asleep. I was hoping to brew a
new potion. You see, I found an old recipe for a Dreamless Sleep potion that—”
Plucking her wand from her robes, Narcissa extended it to Hermione. Her-
mione blinked down at it, then glanced back up to her.
“Whatever you need, Hermione.” Her tone was gentle and her gaze was warm.
Hermione gingerly took the offered wand. “I— yes, thank you. I’ll just be an
hour, if that’s alright.”
“You know,” she said lightly, “I will be spending most afternoons down here
now that spring is upon us, either pruning or enjoying a book. I would say I
won’t be in need of a wand for several hours a day… for the foreseeable future.”
Hermione gaped at her, struggling to come up with words. “Thank you,
Narcissa. I could maybe try brewing multiple versions to rotate between—”
“If it’s alright with you, dear, I’d prefer to drop the pretense.” Hermione’s
heart skipped as Narcissa clipped a perfect white rose from the bush, the long
stem littered with thorns. She turned to face Hermione as she ran her fingers
over the sharp edges. “You’re attempting to remove your tattoo, aren’t you?”
“I…” She swallowed thickly, opening and closing her mouth. “I am.” The
words hung heavy in the air. “Why would you help me… if you knew?”
Narcissa looked up at her, her eyes a piercing shade of blue. “It’s time,”
she said softly.
Before Hermione could ask further, Narcissa turned away, humming quietly
and clipping away the dead leaves.
“Thank you, Narcissa.” She stood there for a moment before she spun on
her heel and ran back to the potions lab.
Her veins pumped with magic and adrenaline as she set the cauldron to boil
and summoned the ingredients from the shelves. An hour later, as she watched

✦ 146 ✦
it simmer, her mind drifted to her theory that the Malfoys had purchased her
as insurance, should the Order win the war.
The explanation still fit, of course. But perhaps his wife was more inclined
toward rebellion than Lucius Malfoy thought.
・✦・
Hermione worked tirelessly over the next week to recreate the original tat-
too potion used on the Lots. Every morning she would wake up and have break-
fast with Narcissa before asking to borrow her wand. She’d be in the potions
lab by nine o’clock to brew a new potion, altered slightly from the day before.
By the late afternoon, when the potion had finished brewing, she’d transfigure
a mouse from a teacup and test the potion on it. She’d signed a scroll in her own
blood, just as the Death Eaters had, and a scribbled line would appear on the
mouse’s left leg.
Utilizing blood magic, she dropped her own blood into the circular ring she
drew on the laboratory floor. Every day she’d numb the mouse and monitor its
vitals as it dashed out of the blood boundary, huffing in frustration as it barely
registered a twitch. But on the tenth day, the vital graph spiked.
She gasped at the angry red spikes, whipping her head to watch the numbed
mouse creep further and further out of the blood boundary line.
She blinked, holding her breath. When she had jumped past the Manor’s
boundary and rolled down the hill, the shocks had continued sizzling her nerv-
ous system until Lucius brought her back.
The mouse’s path grew jagged, stumbling as if it were drunk. She quickly
summoned it back into the blood boundary circle. Her head was spinning as
she watched the flaring red lines on the mouse’s vitals ebb, slowly returning to
a healthy green.
Her fingers twitched with nervous energy, and her pulse pounded. This
might be it. She might have successfully recreated the tattoo. Forcing herself
not to celebrate just yet, she set to work on an antidote, focusing on counter-
acting the primary ingredients in the first potion.
A few hours later and her antidote was simmering in the cauldron, but it
wouldn’t be ready until the smoke was rising in perfect spirals, indicating the
poison in the bloodroot was neutralized. She tested her tattoo potion three
more times on different mice as she waited, perfectly replicating the results of
her first trial.
As the hours stretched on, she took small bites of the dinner Narcissa sent
to the laboratory, and fed the mice from a hunk of cheese she’d requested from
the elves. It was four in the morning when the smoke rose in perfect spirals, and

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fifteen past when all four mice ran through the blood boundary with no change
in their vitals.
Hermione rubbed her eyes, sagging against the counter. She tried again,
dropping the first mouse back into the barrier alone, and watching it success-
fully leave with no ink on its leg or shocks to its system.
She tried it with the second mouse, and had the same results — the mouse
was free.
At five a.m., she was on her fourth mouse when there was a knock on the
potions laboratory door.
She held her breath as the door pushed open, and when Draco poked his
head inside, she threw herself into his arms. He lifted her off the floor as she
pressed their lips together and cupped his face. He set her down slowly, looking
exhausted but bright-eyed. Then one of the mice caught his attention, scurrying
over his shoes and out the door.
He jumped. “What—?”
She pressed her lips to his again, smiling and winding her arms around his
shoulders.
“You’re back. Are you alright?”
“Granger, there are mice everywhere—”
“It works,” she said breathlessly. “Draco, it works. I’ve broken the tattoos.”
He blinked at her, his eyes wide in astonishment. There was a flicker of
something else, but it vanished quickly. His expression was soft as he pushed
her curls out of her face and tucked them behind her ear.
“Of course you did.”
He kissed her deeply and she grinned against his lips.
Pulling away, she closed the door and ran to the tabletop.
“I’ll show you. It’s incredible. I tried so many things, but you’ll see. This
time it worked—”
“I’m sure it does. You don’t need to prove it.” He flipped to the most recent
page of her notebook, skimming at her list of ingredients. “So, now we get this
to Charlotte.”
“Almost,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder as she stared down at
her notes. “First, we need to test the antidote on a Lot.”
His fingers froze on the pages, and he slowly brought his eyes to hers.
She bit her lip. “We need to test it on me.”

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 CHAPTER 31

D
RACO BLINKED AT HER, HIS JAW TIGHTENING.
“Test it on you.”
“Yes.” She peered inside the cauldron. “I think there’s just enough
left over for one more dose.” Spinning around, she grabbed a spare vial off a
nearby shelf before returning to the table. “Once we know that it works, we’ll
get the directions to Charlotte with her memories—”
“Granger, wait.”
She paused with the ladle dipped into the potion. He was still staring down
at her notes, flipping through the pages.
“This potion is invasive Dark Magic. It alters your biology. If anything
went wrong—”
“It works, Draco.” He remained silent, and she lifted a brow. “You don’t
trust my potion brewing abilities?”
“It’s not that.” He closed the notebook and looked up at her. “Your sub-
jects should be monitored for adverse effects. Where did these mice even
come from, Granger?”
“They’re teacups,” she said, and a blush bloomed across her neck.
Draco scowled. “Alright. Well, let’s get some real mice and—” He cut off,
his eyes widening at the wand on the laboratory table. “Is that—you’ve been
using my mother’s wand?”
“Er, yes.” Hermione twisted her fingers together. “I tried to get along with-
out one, but it was too difficult. She’s been letting me borrow it.”
His eyes snapped up to hers. “Did you tell her why?”
“No, but…” Hermione cleared her throat. “She guessed.”
Draco paled, taking a step backward. “If she tells my father—”
“She won’t. I’m certain of it.”
He began pacing, running a hand through his hair. “I have to go talk to her.
Make up some excuse—”

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 Hermione wove around the table and grabbed his arm. “You have to trust
me, Draco. She’s in support. She even told me it was ‘time.’“ He blinked, staring
at her. “I asked her why, and she didn’t want to talk about it. You’d put her in
an even more difficult position if you confronted her.”
After a long moment, he managed a nod. Hermione released his arm, her
fingers still tingling from the warmth of his skin.
Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “The point remains that it’s too
premature. We should run more tests and make sure the antidote is safe on
an authentic test subject. And have you done enough trials to know the nec-
essary dosage?”
She felt her ears grow hot. “No, not yet. I—I had just cracked it when you came
in. But of course we should try to find the minimum amount.” She rubbed her eyes,
feeling the exhaustion of the night settling over her as the adrenaline left her.
“The mice should be monitored as well,” he said. “We should check their
systems for changes every day for a week—”
“A week! Draco, we don’t have that kind of time—”
“That’s the bare minimum—”
“Three days is sufficient—”
“Five.” His tone was final.
Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched Narcissa’s wand to conjure a large
cage for the mice. Her fingers were still trembling with the excitement of her
discovery as she collected and floated them inside. She knew the potion would
work flawlessly, even if Draco wasn’t convinced yet. She began cleaning up her
workstation, clanging vials together as he watched in silence.
“Are you angry because I’m right, or because you’re wrong?”
She paused in the middle of tossing ingredients back in their jars. “You are
not right.”
And she swore she could hear him chuckle behind her.
Whipping around, she extended the wand out to him. “Why don’t you tidy
up, if you know the right way to do everything?”
His mouth twitched as he took it from her, and she narrowed her eyes. “I’m
going to bed. I’m exhausted and you’re making me angry.”
Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she turned on her heel and headed to
the door. She paused at the threshold. “And you better take care of those mice.”
She caught a glimpse of him as she left, and saw a smile tugging at the corner
of his mouth.
After trudging up the stairs, she shook off her shoes, tore off her clothes,
and slipped into bed, drifting off as the dawning sun glowed through the cur-
tains. It wasn’t until an hour later when Draco joined her, freshly showered and

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curling his body around her, that she groggily realized she’d chosen his bed-
room on instinct.
・✦・
They slept late, and when they woke, the breakfast tray on Draco’s desk con-
tained both coffee and tea. At lunchtime, Hermione went downstairs to see
Narcissa and return her wand. Draco only showed at the very end, his face pink
as his mother embraced him and kissed his cheeks.
They learned from Narcissa that Lucius would be gone for at least another
two weeks. He was still in Belgium, and was scheduled to begin interrogations
in Poland later that week.
Draco was still nervous about being interrupted, so Hermione agreed to wait
until after dinner to work on the potion. But apart from giving Hix instructions
to deliver ten field mice to his lab, Draco hadn’t said much when she turned the
conversation to the potion or the tattoos. So she began asking questions.
Draco told her that the Death Eaters had failed to locate any True Order
members on his mission. The few trails had gone cold, and the Dark Lord be-
lieved them all to be in France now. She asked him what he knew that hadn’t
been in the papers. Albrecht Berge had strengthened the U.K.’s Anti-Appari-
tion line before he left for France. He was expected to institute new wards at
Edinburgh at the end of the month. There were whispers that the Dark Lord
was planning a counterattack, but no one knew where or when. Information
was even more tightly controlled than it had been before, and the Dark Lord
was still interrogating his own followers.
They took dinner in his bedroom, and at nine o’clock, they tiptoed down to
the lab. Hix had left ten field mice in a cage, just like Draco had asked. She set
Draco to work on brewing the tattoo potion while she brewed the antidote next
to him. While they added ingredients, she explained the trials she’d done in his
absence and every step she took to reach her conclusions. He didn’t seem to be
listening, though he followed the directions in her notes perfectly. Several times
she caught him watching her as she gesticulated with the bloodroot, or when
she twisted her expanding hair off her shoulders into a knot on top of her head.
Each time he looked away quickly, wearing an expression she couldn’t place.
When she announced that they had to wait for the potion to brew, Draco set
down his ladle and swiftly pulled her close. He caught her muffled yelp of surprise
with his lips, pressing her back against the laboratory table and kissing her deeply.
He pulled away after a few moments, searching her eyes. “How long do we
have?”
“F-Four hours for the antidote, and six for—”

✦ 151 ✦
 “Perfect.”
He tugged her against him and kissed her neck, letting his hands curve over
her hips. She turned her face into his shoulder, pulling him close. She’d missed
this. Catching his lips again, she slid her hands up to his neck, letting him curl
over her. His tongue swept through her mouth, and his teeth nipped across her
jaw, his breath panting over her collarbones.
He turned her around to face the table as his hands went to the button on her
jeans. Closing her eyes, she relished the feeling of his arousal pressing into her
back as he positioned her. He reached up for the tie in her hair and tugged it loose.
“Thought about this”—he drew a ragged breath, inhaling the scent of her
curls— “every time you were at a cauldron…”
Her breath hitched, and her lashes fluttered. She tried to think about when
he might have watched her, but then he pushed her jeans down over her hips
and slipped his fingers into her knickers, and every thought fled her brain.
“Just like this.”
Her hands pressed against the tabletop, and she gasped as he slid through
her folds and circled her clit. She tried to widen her legs, but her jeans were in
the way. She threw her head back against his shoulder as his other hand slid
under her shirt to palm her breast. He rocked his hips into hers, the tent in his
trousers digging into her backside.
“Fuck.”
Her eyes shot open. She was just about to ask him what was wrong when he
said, “Your fucking arse, Granger,” and then his lips latched onto her neck to
recreate all the bruises that had vanished since he’d gone away.
She moaned as he worked her closer and closer, rubbing himself against her
as his fingers tweaked her breast and rubbed her clit. She had to lean heavily on
the tabletop when he slipped them inside of her.
But then he was pulling back, his hands disappearing from her body. She
blinked in a haze until she felt him removing her trainers and socks, helping
her step out of her jeans.
He turned her to face him, his black eyes searching hers. Her heart skipped
a beat as she rolled up onto her toes and slid her fingers through his hair, kissing
him until he moaned. She tore away to pull off her shirt and unclasp her bra.
His gaze was focused on her breasts as she reached down for his trousers, but
then he lifted her at her waist and hoisted her up onto the tall lab table.
The smooth stone was cold against her bare skin, and she shivered as he
stepped between her legs and tugged her mouth down to his.
The table was too high. That was all she could think of as his hands rubbed
her inner thighs, encouraging her to open wider as his lips caressed hers. There

✦ 152 ✦
was no way he could enter her from this angle. She pulled back to tell him just
that when he cupped her face, staring at her with blown pupils.
“Lay back,” he whispered.
She frowned, trying to figure out how this would—
“Stop thinking, Granger.”
Swallowing, she allowed him to push her down on the lab table. Once she was
resting on her elbows, he tugged her hips to the edge and started pressing kisses
to the inside of one knee. He met her eyes as his mouth trailed higher and higher.
“Oh, um…I’m not...” She felt her cheeks flame red. “Are you sure—?”
“I’m very sure.” Another kiss, this one an inch above her knee. “Are you?”
She let her head fall back, cupping her hands over her face. “Right,” she
mumbled. “Um, that’s fine, I guess. Er—yes.”
A pause.
“Tell me, Granger, how does the Draught of Peace differ from a simple
Calming Draught?”
She dropped her hands and tilted her head to gape at him as his lips moved
closer to her core. “What?”
“The Draught of Peace,” he murmured against her skin. “What are its prop-
erties?” He wrapped his arms under her thighs, curving his hands over her
knees and staring up at her face.
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, first of all, it’s much stronger than a
simple Calming—”
He dipped his head to kiss her hipbone, and the muscles in her stomach
jumped.
“Go on?”
She blinked at him as he watched her, letting his tongue swipe across the
skin he’d just kissed.
“I—I mean, of course it’s stronger. But the most notable difference is that
no Hellebore syrup is needed in the Calming Draught—oh!”
He pressed his lips directly on her core. Her legs instinctively tried to close, but
he held her open. She grabbed the edges of the table, taking a shuddering breath.
“What else, Granger? Teach me.”
The rasp in his voice sent a warmth through her belly, flushing her chest.
“Significantly less Moonstone in the Calming Draught.”
“Yes?”
“The Draught of Peace has very specific instructions, whereas the Calming
Draught is less precise.”

✦ 153 ✦
 She squeaked as his tongue slid into her folds, gliding through her most pri-
vate of places and dragging up, up, up to her clit. A moan escaped her, and her
back arched off the table.
“Shouldn’t—” Her chest heaved. “Shouldn’t we do something for both of
us? Wouldn’t you rather have sex—”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be, Granger.”
Before she could respond, he flicked his tongue over her clit, swirling and
licking as she keened. Her thighs fought against his hands, and he pressed them
open to the stone tabletop. She reached above her head and held onto the edge,
screwing her eyes shut. She was so exposed like this—
“Tell me. What else?” he whispered, his breath hot on her cunt.
“Oh god.”
“Do you add the Moonstone before or after the Porcupine—”
“Before!” She yelped as his tongue flattened against her sex, moving towards
her entrance. “Before, before, before.”
He moaned as he dipped inside, and she whimpered when he did it again,
and again. Her hips began rocking against his mouth, and her fingers raked
down her face, reaching down to cup her breasts.
“Just like that, Granger.” He licked up to her clit. “Just like that.”
Her lips parted at the thick grey stone ceiling as he kissed and sucked at her.
She was bare on a potions table with two cauldrons simmering next to her, and
she was mewling and begging him—
And then his finger pressed against her entrance, and her toes curled as he
slid inside. His lips never left her clit, sending her scrabbling at her chest until
he pulled away to ask, “How many stirs, Granger? Once you’ve added the
Moonstone?”
“Seventeen,” she panted.
“Clockwise or—”
“Counterclockwise!”
His tongue found her core again, and she jerked up on her elbows when he cir-
cled her clit, counterclockwise. His finger began pumping into her, slow and steady.
Her eyes rolled back, and when he reached the eighth circle, she strained upright to
bury her fingers in his hair. He groaned into her cunt before she collapsed.
When he reached twelve, her stomach tightened. At fifteen, her back arched
off the table, and she started to ramble nonsense. She was so close to the edge
when he hit seventeen, and then his lips locked around her clit and sucked as
he added a second finger inside of her.
She shattered with a scream, clamping down around his fingers and holding
his face to her core as her hips rutted against his mouth. She felt like she’d never

✦ 154 ✦
stop coming, her orgasm tearing its way out of her as Draco refused to relent
on her clit. His fingers curled inside of her, and she jerked up, holding on for
dear life as he rubbed at her.
It was too much. Everything was too much. She couldn’t think or breathe
or move.
Her mind saw white and her voice strangled out a cry. She felt like she’d
been flung off a high building, falling and falling with no ground in sight.
She breathed deep lungfuls of air, sucking in oxygen and letting her eyes
adjust to the world again. Her fingers were still gripping Draco’s hair, and she
tugged until his lips released her.
His eyes were dark and on fire, and she whined as he slowly withdrew his
fingers.
“I think you just killed me,” she croaked.
He laughed and kissed her thigh.
She shifted once her heart stopped hammering, and he helped her off the ta-
ble. Her loose limbs stumbled until he pulled her flush against him, wrapping his
hands around her waist. Her nipples tightened against his shirt, and her belly
swooped at the feel of him through his trousers, stiff and warm on her stomach.
He was still for a moment, his harsh breaths filling the quiet of the room. Then
he pressed his nose into her hair and mumbled, “Had to do that just once.”
She smiled into his chest.
After a beat, she reached for his buckle, sliding her other hand down to cup
the outline of him. He blew out a sharp exhale, dropping his head on her shoul-
der and moving his hands to her hips.
“Granger…” Something in his voice sent her insides coiling again.
She quickly unbuttoned him and pulled down his trousers. The sight of
him sent a rush of heat through her core. She licked her palm, and he groaned
when she took him in her hand. Her legs still felt like jelly, but his body was
wound tightly against hers, holding her upright as she began stroking him.
He growled into her neck when she remembered to twist at the end, letting
his hands wander down to fill with her arse. A delicious thought bubbled
through her, and she paused.
“Was it…” She wet her lips. “Did you like doing that?”
He laughed darkly. “I liked it, alright. Only been dreaming about it.”
Her breath caught, and she looked down at him again. Maybe one day she
could—
“Did you?”
“I… yes, I liked it.”

✦ 155 ✦
 His cock twitched, and he pulled her hand away before quickly walking her to
the lab table. Her fingers barely had a moment to dig into his shirt before her naked
back hit the stone. She gasped as he pressed their bodies close, crowding her.
“I’d do every day if I could. Twice a day.” She was just about to tease him
about why he couldn’t when his lips brushed across her shoulder. “Missed your
hands. Missed being inside of you.”
She moaned, tilting her neck back as his lips explored her, her breasts pull-
ing into taut peaks. She felt herself start to throb again as his hands massaged
her backside, sloping over her cheeks and rounding to the tops of her thighs.
When she couldn’t take it any longer, she reached down to grasp him, press-
ing her forehead against his chest. “Inside of me?”
His cock jumped again, and a drop of pearly liquid escaped, rolling into
her fingers.
He groaned and mumbled something into her hair.
Her heart beat quicker as she thought of how he’d said he imagined it —
when he was behind her at the cauldron. She wriggled to face the table, one
hand on his hip to keep him close.
She put her other hand on the table and leaned forward, her hair falling
around her elbow. “Would it work like this?”
He staggered backward, and she had a split second to feel embarrassed be-
fore he moaned and curved around her from behind. He swept her hair off her
shoulder, kissing her neck. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Her eyelids fluttered as he dropped a kiss between her shoulder
blades. “Draco, please.”
His lips lifted, and he drew a ragged breath before stepping away to push
down his trousers. She braced herself on the table and bit her lip, waiting.
The first brush of his cock against her backside had her jumping, but then
his hand was at her hip, his other pressing her to open her legs. She could tell
he was bending his knees, so she rose on her toes.
Her eyes widened as he began pushing through her folds, his other hand
pulling her hips up and out. She wiggled her hips until his cock pressed against
her entrance. He asked again if it was okay, and she nodded quickly.
This angle was different. Her jaw dropped open as he worked his way inside,
pushing deeper each time. They both gasped when he finally bottomed out. She
dropped her head down as she adjusted, her hair falling forward. He took a
shaky breath and pressed a kiss to her nape.
“Good?”
“Yes.”

✦ 156 ✦
 The first pump of his hips had him moaning. Her eyes stared at the wall as
he moved again, and again, setting a pace. She could tell he was already close,
and heat curled in her belly at the feeling of being so deliciously used. Her walls
stretched around him on every thick thrust, her fingers curling against the stone
table as he rocked into her.
His hands reached up to cup her breasts, and she mewled when he
thrummed her nipples, sending pleasure shooting through her core. Her legs
shook from standing on her toes, but his thrusts were getting faster and faster.
Heat from the potions steaming next to them spiraled inward and outward,
causing beads of sweat to drip from her temples and breasts. She felt wet all over
with Draco holding her close to his chest, her back sliding against him as he
grunted, burning her from the inside out.
The sensations he’d created earlier with his fingers seemed amplified by ten
as he pounded into her, each drag of his cock against her front wall making
stars burst in front of her eyes.
“Oh, god.”
“Granger”—his hips stuttered, and his breath was hot on her neck—”if you
come like this, I’m gonna lose it.”
She whined, pressing back against him, and he growled and nipped her ear.
She slammed her palms down on the table as he grabbed her hips, pulling her
a step back from the table and shoving her spine forward.
She let out a low wail when he began moving again. It felt like she was being
split open from this angle, his cock driving forward erratically and pushing her
towards the edge. Her thighs began trembling, her mind spinning from the ob-
scene sounds of his hips pounding into her backside, filling her completely
every time, as if he couldn’t bear to leave her body. He reached around her and
slid his fingers to her clit, and she jerked as she cried out. Every muscle in her
body pulled tight as she scratched her nails down the tabletop, trying to hold
onto something.
“Just like that. Just like that.” The words were like a prayer set to the rhythm
of his hips. “Want you to come on it—”
Her body snapped, spiraling up to that blissful place only he could bring her to.
Her throat was raw when she finally fluttered down, her arms buckling beneath her
weight. He pulled her hips back faster and faster, groaning until he collapsed.
“Fuck.”
His breath was hot on her ear as he throbbed inside of her, releasing. He
shuddered against her back, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pinning
her to him.

✦ 157 ✦
 They’d never been standing before. Usually, he’d roll off her at the end, but
now she had to lower her heels, moaning as he slipped out of her, his release
dripping down her legs.
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Good? Are you alright?” He rubbed his hands
over her stomach, reaching up to palm her breasts and rove his hands everywhere.
“Good.” She managed a nod. “So good. You?”
“Fuck,” he said, and she shivered. “You have no idea, Granger.”
They spent the next few hours wrapped in each other’s arms, waiting for the
potions to simmer.
Over the next several days, they tracked biomarkers and tested various dos-
ages of the antidote on the mice. She suspected her reconstructed version was
somehow more potent because no matter how small a dose she tried, the anti-
dote still took effect.
Draco watched each successful trial with a clipped interest, but he seemed to
grow more irritable and tense as the tests continued with no adverse side effects.
On Thursday evening, he convinced her to try an even more diluted sample
— she only placed a single drop of the antidote in a shared bowl of sugar water
she lured the mice to drink. She turned to him as the third mouse successfully
ran out of the circle.
“Tomorrow. We test it on me tomorrow.”
Without lifting his eyes from the vials on the table, he nodded slowly. He
pressed his lips together before speaking. “And then what?”
She pushed a few curls out of her face and blew out a breath. “Then we write
it all down, make the Memory Restoration Potion, and bring all of it to Char-
lotte.” She scribbled another checkmark in her notes before looking up at him
again. “Could you get access to her?”
He was silent for a moment. “And then what for you?” His eyes flicked up
to hers — a dull grey. “What’s your next move, Granger?”
She opened her mouth and closed it. “My next move?”
“Yes.” When she blinked at him, he crossed his arms and leaned against the
lab table. “Will you stay, or will you go?”
“That’s—there’s a lot of things I haven’t—” Hermione broke his gaze, wip-
ing her palms on her jeans. “Why are you asking me this now?”
“Because I’d like to know the answer.”
She took a deep breath. “Honestly, I’ve been so focused on breaking this
tattoo and getting the information to the Order that I haven’t…” Her throat felt
thick, and she swallowed. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I figured I should
wait to tackle that problem until I was finished with this one. And—I suppose
it’s solved now, so we should probably…”

✦ 158 ✦
 He was still next to her. She played with a groove in the stone tabletop.
Her chest thumped when she finally lifted her eyes to his. “You could come
with me.”
His face was a mask. “I really couldn’t, Granger.”
“You and your mother.” Her mind and her heart began to dance in time
with each other. “We’ll find the True Order, and I’ll make sure you’re both
taken care of—”
“You couldn’t ensure that.”
“I could.” Her voice shook. “I still have to think about your father, but if you
and your mother safely delivered Hermione Granger to them—”
“Don’t be naive.” She flinched at the sharp edge to his voice. His eyes in-
stantly softened. “Granger, that might have been true a year ago, but it’s not
enough anymore. Too much has happened.”
“Yes, with you helping me! Helping our side!” She threw up her hands.
“These are my friends, Draco. If I tell them everything you’ve done, they’ll have
no choice but to—”
“It’s not about that anymore. Can’t you see?” He stepped into her, gently
taking her elbows. “Did you see the paper this morning?” Frowning, she shook
her head. She’d been too busy thinking about the potion. “Canada, China, and
Tunisia just pledged support to the True Order.”
She searched his face, trying to follow his logic.
“The True Order has been traveling for months with those Portkeys. They’re
probably transporting in reinforcements as we speak.” His throat bobbed. “My
father and aunt are the two highest-ranking officers in the Great Order. If I just
stroll into France with my mother in tow, there’s a good chance your friends
won’t have a say in whatever they choose to do to us.”
His eyes flickered as she pulled free. “Don’t underestimate them. They’re at
the center of this. And I know George Weasley. I know Fleur and Angelina.
They’ll listen to me. They’ll trust me.”
She watched him clench his jaw and look down at his shoes. Unconvinced.
Her mind spun as she tried to create a plan. Leaving without the Malfoys
would be as good as sentencing all three of them to death. Draco would be held
responsible and interrogated for her disappearance. So would Narcissa and Lu-
cius. Even if she managed to get to France, she’d be wondering all the while if
Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius had been murdered. Perhaps Blaise and Theo as well.
Her heart shattered at the thought.
“Then I’m staying too.”
Only his left eye twitched. His ribs expanded.
“For now,” she clarified. “I’m staying until I can convince you to come with me.”

✦ 159 ✦
 “Granger, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“I’m giving them everything I know right now. As long as Charlotte can get it
to them, staying a bit longer won’t make a difference.” She took a deep breath and
filled two vials — one with the tattoo potion and the other with its antidote. She
grabbed the parchment and quill she’d been using to create the tattoo on the mice.
“Tomorrow at noon. We’ll go to the property line and test it.”
She left him standing alone in his potions laboratory, still staring at the
stone floor.
・✦・
Waking in her own bed at the Manor was almost disorienting. She hadn’t
meant to create distance between herself and Draco, but she needed space to
think. To plan. She’d stayed up until two in the morning, staring up at the ceil-
ing of her canopy bed until she drifted off with no solutions. But it was a prob-
lem she’d have to pick up later.
Her breakfast tray looked lonely without tea and a second plate. She sat in
the chair closest to the window as she drank her coffee and had a few bites of
toast. Then she bathed, dried her hair, and went to her wardrobe. A glance out
the windows showed a beautiful spring day, the sun high and golden, the trees
swaying softly. It was too warm for denims.
Her fingers drifted over the clothes Pansy had given her, and they paused
on the light blue sundress she’d liked all those months ago. With one more
glance at the sunshine, she slipped the dress from the hanger and slid into the
pale cotton. She put the vials, quill, and parchment in a loose bag she found at
the top of her wardrobe, and headed out the door.
Draco’s eyes flickered over her as he stepped into the hall at the same time.
He shut his door behind him and let his gaze rest on her calves.
“Going somewhere, Granger?” He lifted a brow with a tight smile.
She smiled at him, and after half a heartbeat’s hesitation, she reached to
take his hand.
They walked down the stairs together, the vials clicking in her bag. At the
base of the stairs, he tugged her toward the back.
“Better to use the northern perimeter, in case we have any unexpected guests
at the front gates. Mother’s less likely to see us as well.”
She nodded and let him lead her. They passed Hix’s bluebells and the ga-
zebo, following the same path she’d taken the day she’d tried crossing the bar-
rier the first time — when Lucius had to carry her back.
Hermione tried to start a conversation with little success, so they walked in
silence down the little lane between hedges. She felt his gaze on her as they

✦ 160 ✦
walked — glancing down at their intertwined hands, or at the side of her face.
She finally turned to give him an inquisitive look, but he simply stared at her.
They stopped a few yards in front of the opening to the grassy field. She
pointed out past the lane. “Do these acres belong to the Manor?”
He nodded. “It’s where I’d play Quidditch.”
A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined it. “What else did you get up to?”
He shrugged. “There’s a copse of trees just around the hedge. I used to hide
there with a book.”
Her smile widened, and she turned to look at him. His cheeks were pink,
but he held her gaze.
She released his hand and shrugged the bag from her other shoulder, re-
trieving the vials. One was a thick black with flecks of gold in it, just like the ink
on her arm — the tattoo potion. The other was a clear liquid — the antidote.
Glancing up at Draco, she found him staring down at the two vials with
an empty expression. She put the second one back in the bag, dropping it on
the ground.
Her pulse raced as she uncapped the clear potion, brought it to her lips, and
took a tiny sip. It was light and tasteless.
She lifted her left arm and stared down at her tattoo. Her heart threatened
to beat out of her chest as she waited, praying and hoping—
And then the letters of Draco’s initials shivered, as if they’d been shaken
free, disappearing as if carried by the summer wind.
The vial dropped from her grip as she gasped, running her fingers over the
skin. Only Bellatrix’s marks left.
Her eyes snapped up to Draco. He looked dazed, his mouth open and eyes
fixed on her arm.
Hermione whipped around to the barrier and took two large steps through it.
Nothing. She looked down at her arm. Nothing.
Victory broke over her in slow waves, and the ground reeled beneath her
feet. She’d done it. She’d broken the tattoos. The True Order would have the
solution to freeing the Lots, once and for all. They could give it to Angelina.
They could purge it from all their systems, as if it was never there.
A shriek escaped her lips before she could stop herself. A laugh burst from
her chest as she spun in a circle, throwing her arms out. Catching her breath
and closing her eyes in the sunlight, she turned to find Draco smiling softly at
her at the edge of the perimeter. She raced to him, throwing herself into his
arms and kissing everywhere she could reach.
“We did it— Draco, we—”

✦ 161 ✦
 Pulling back, she felt a pressure behind her eyes. Her vision blurred with
him still smiling at her.
She disentangled herself from his arms and raced back to the boundary
again. Again, nothing. The space on her arm where the initials D.M. used to
reside was just clear skin. There was only the word Mudblood, and Bellatrix’s
apostrophe “s.”
Turning to look out over the acres and acres of the Manor, Hermione
breathed deeply as the sun poured down on her, the wind tickling her calves.
She spun back to Draco. “Race you.”
She took off to the right without any sense of direction, laughing and waiting
for him to call after her.
But it was silent.
Her feet stumbled to a stop. Turning back, she saw Draco still standing at
the end of the lane, his hands in his pockets. Something punctured inside her,
sinking deep.
She walked back to him quickly, almost at a jog. “What is it?” she asked
breathlessly. “Draco?”
His eyes were on the fields, intent and flickering. He pulled his wand from
his sleeve and extended the handle to her. His fingers trembled.
“Take it. Go.”
Her brows twitched as she stared down at the hawthorn. “Draco—”
“There’s no reason to stay,” he said, his words catching on the wind. His
eyes refused to meet hers. “The last rumor of their location was Norwich. About
three weeks ago, there was a possible sighting of someone on the Prophet’s
Wanted list. We didn’t find anything, but it’s possible we missed them.”
“Draco, we’ve been through this—”
“You’ll find the Order somehow. I know you will. You’re brilliant.”
She watched him swallow thickly and force the wand into her hand. Her
heart clenched in agony, her mind spinning as she warred with herself. Closing
her eyes, she took a step backward and tried to think.
“You said there was no trace of the True Order in the U.K. Were you telling
me the truth?”
“Of course I was—”
“Then assuming I can’t find them, my only option is to Apparate to France
or another True Order ally that’s close enough for me not to Splinch myself —
all of whom have instituted Anti-Apparition Lines.” She took a deep breath.
“To say nothing of the fact that I’d have to find a way to pass through the U.K.’s
Anti-Apparition Line, which has apparently been strengthened in recent
weeks.”

✦ 162 ✦
 Her eyelids flew open to silence.
“Draco. I may be a clever witch, but those are enormous odds.”
He met her eyes finally. They were wet.
“Then I’ll ask Charlotte where I can take you. Once she has her mind back,
we’ll ask who her contacts are—”
“They’ll kill you if I leave and you stay.”
And there it was. The truth she couldn’t live with, for all her logic. For all
her burning desire to return to her friends and fight.
Her hands were trembling, and she curled them into fists. “Could you go
somewhere else? If you won’t come with me?”
“Yes. Yeah, I could.” He dropped his gaze to the blades of grass beneath their
feet. “The Malfoys have properties around the world. I could figure something out.”
The words fell too quickly from his lips. “Don’t lie to me.” Her voice shook,
and he glanced up at her as she swiped her cheeks. “Tell me if you’d leave. And
if your mother would go with you.”
He hesitated. “I would try to take her. But she wouldn’t leave my father.”
“Would your father go?”
And he was silent.
She took a deep breath and looked down at the wand in her hand, singing
with magic. She stepped up to him and pressed it back into his hand.
He stared at it blankly, then up at her. “I can’t ask you to stay here—”
“You’re not.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed him. His lips barely moved
against hers, but she persisted, sinking her fingers into his hair and cupping his
face. She wiped her cheeks when she pulled away, looking up at him. “It’s the
smartest plan for everyone involved. I’m staying until all of us can get out.”
His eyes searched hers, the grey walls breaking apart piece by piece until she
could find him behind the Occlumency.
“Why?” he said, voice softer than the wind.
A thousand answers of logic and love raced through her mind, but really
only one thing could pinpoint all of them.
“It’s the right thing to do.”
His eyes flickered over hers. She gave him a soft smile and took his hand,
leading him to the place where she’d dropped the bag. She picked it up and
pulled out the black vial.
He grabbed her arm when she uncapped it. “Don’t— I can glamour it—”
“Glamours fade, Draco,” she said, pulling her arm free. “We can’t risk it.”
She lifted it to her lips and drank.
Pansy was right. Like ink, curling and twisting inside her veins. Shivering,
she handed him the parchment and enchanted quill. She stared at him until he

✦ 163 ✦
took them from her, signing with shaking fingers. Blood appeared upon the
parchment as two letters etched themselves on her arm.
D.M.
Just as it had been before.
She brushed her fingers over it, watching the gold glitter under the black.
They walked through the boundary, and the letters on her arm sparkled. She
tried a quick test, and sparks flew through her veins until she wrenched her arm
back inside the barrier. The magic crackled as Draco took her hand and pulled
her away, leading her past the gazebo and back home.
That night as they undressed each other, he stared mournfully down at her
freshly inked tattoo.
She lifted his chin to hers and said, “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Kissing him soundly, she pushed him down on the bed and climbed over
him, straddling his waist as they made love — as he showed her how to move
her hips and where to place her hands. He watched her body writhe on top of
him with fire in his eyes and let her take her pleasure whatever way she wanted,
kissing her until she couldn’t draw breath with how much she loved him.
・✦・
On Saturday morning, they hatched their plans for Draco’s visit to Edin-
burgh. There were reports that the castle was vacant except for the Carrows and
their Lots, their operations suspended as they awaited Berge’s new wards.
Draco had heard that Carrows were often drunk by midday, so they decided he
should go well before dinner, in case they were incapacitated.
It took two hours for the Memory Restoration Potion to brew and simmer
with Charlotte’s memories. Draco would take the Memory Potion and the in-
structions for the tattoo antidote to Edinburgh, creating an excuse to speak to
the Carrows about buying Cassandra when Edinburgh reopened. He’d lowball
them, and they’d throw him out.
When he could sneak away, he would Polyjuice himself as a random Muggle so
that Charlotte and the girls would have no memory of Draco Malfoy creeping about
the castle. He’d find a way to isolate Charlotte — the Imperius Curse was not off
the table — and give her the potion to return her memories. If he was caught by the
Carrows, he’d claim to be inspecting the girls for a cheaper alternative.
Once Charlotte drank the potion returning her memories, it was crucial that
Draco permanently Obliviated the memory of him taking her memories in the
first place, the night Edinburgh was attacked — to cover his tracks.
It was a complex plan, but Draco seemed confident enough. And she trusted
that he could do it.

✦ 164 ✦
 They decided to have lunch with Narcissa to head off attention before he
slipped away. But on their way to the dining room, they stumbled on a flurry of
activity in the entryway.
They both froze to see Lucius across the room, freshly emerged from the
Floo. He was stepping around the elves as they tried to take his cloak from him.
“Leave me,” he hissed. “That’s quite enough—”
Narcissa stood at the bottom of the stairs with her hands folded, watching
him anxiously. “Is everything alright? I thought you’d be in Poland by now—”
“Change of plans. I’m headed to Baffin Island,” he said sharply, striding over
to kiss her cheek. “I need to drop off a few things, and then I’ll be on my way.”
Narcissa’s face fell before she blinked away her disappointment. Lucius nod-
ded once at his son before walking briskly down the hallway and turning the
corner toward his study.
Hermione’s mind whirred. Baffin Island was Canadian territory, just off its
eastern coast. Lucius was headed to Canada — one of the few countries pledg-
ing support to the True Order. Her stomach twisted violently.
Narcissa turned to the two of them with a thin smile. “Lunch is served. I’ll
be there shortly.”
Hermione walked to the dining room, her skin clammy as she exchanged
looks with Draco. Neither of them spoke until Narcissa joined them, confirm-
ing Lucius had already left with a brush to her lashes.
Hermione and Draco hurried to his room after lunch. Draco hadn’t heard
anything more than whispers about a counterattack, but he agreed that Canada
was the likely target. They were both too on edge from Lucius’s visit, and de-
cided Edinburgh would have to wait until tomorrow. Hermione spent the rest
of the day pacing in front of Draco’s chairs, quizzing him on various scenarios
that might unfold during his visit to Edinburgh while he rolled his eyes.
But all the while, she wondered what it was Lucius needed to do in his study
so desperately that he’d left his post — with barely a moment to greet his family.
Just after lunch on Sunday, when Narcissa had retired to her room, Draco col-
lected his potions, kissed her swiftly, and swept out the door. Hermione watched
his figure grow smaller down the lane, the April wind billowing his cloak.
It would be fine. It had to be.
Hermione turned from the doorway after he cleared the gates and popped out
of existence. She let her eyes drift across the Manor’s entryway, feeling an itch
across her shoulder blades as if there was something she needed to be doing.
But there was nothing.
A strange emptiness settled over her. She’d done her part. By the end of the
day, she and Draco would have aided the True Order by returning Charlotte’s

✦ 165 ✦
memories and passing along the antidote to the tattoos. They had to discuss
their next steps when he returned, but for now… she had accomplished her
mission. The thing that had consumed her for months.
There was one other problem, of course. But the impossibility of it staggered
her. Even though the True Order had risked dozens of lives in a rescue mission
in the hopes that she could help them with it.
Contrary to what Cho and Viktor might have thought, she had no clue what
else she had to offer the True Order in destroying Voldemort. Her mind was val-
uable, yes, but she’d already passed the most critical information she possessed
on that subject to Ginny and Charlotte. And by extension, the True Order.
The only other thing that was niggling at her brain was behind Lucius Mal-
foy’s closed study door.
Her feet wandered down the corridor on their own accord, turning the corner
and taking her in the direction of study. Her heart skipped as she neared the door,
her mind buzzing with the thrill of a new problem. Lucius might have left a clue
about the attack on Canada behind that door. If only she could access it.
On instinct, Hermione pressed her ear against the wood, listening carefully
for the scratching of a quill or the clink of ice against glass. She reached out to
try the handle, knowing it was useless—
The handle warmed beneath her touch, and turned.
She gaped down at the brass. With a shove, she sent the door open wide. A
flame sprang to life in the lamp on the wall, charmed by magic. She stepped as
close as she could to the location of the invisible barrier by memory, peering at
the items on his desk. She rose on her toes, squinting and craning her neck —
and stumbled forward.
Flinching, Hermione caught herself, her heart thumping in her ears. She
looked down at her feet and gasped. She’d landed well-past the door frame.
The barrier had disappeared — the one that kept her from entering the study.
Peeking her head out the door, she looked both ways along the corridor.
Upon seeing not even an elf, she spun around and darted inside.
Lucius’s desk was organized, pristine, and bare. There were no notes or trin-
kets on the polished wood, besides a small frame of a much younger Narcissa,
grinning shyly at the photographer and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
Hermione looked over his shelves, spying the empty Foe Glass, and drew a
sharp breath, trying to decide where she might hide something important if she
were Lucius Malfoy.
Something shimmered across the room, and her heart jumped in her throat.
Her shoulders relaxed as her eyes focused on the culprit — a small silver lock
sealing an ornate cabinet. The skin on the back of her neck prickled.

✦ 166 ✦
 If she were Lucius Malfoy, that’s where she’d hide something.
She drew out the drawers in Lucius’s desk, rifling through them and search-
ing for the keys. When she found nothing, she approached the cabinet and
stared down at the lock. After attempting a wandless Alohomora, she pressed
her fingers to her lips, thinking through any other options she had.
She reached forward to examine the mechanism, and as soon as her fingers
touched the silver, the tumblers turned.
She stumbled backward, her mouth falling open as the lock twisted until it
unlatched. Looking over her shoulder to make sure it wasn’t a trick, she
whipped her head back in awe as the cabinet doors slowly swung open, reveal-
ing a granite stone basin within.
A Pensieve.
Lucius Malfoy had a Pensieve.
The shelves in her mind trembled, her heart pumping so fast she could
barely think. Draco had said his father never had use for one. Had he been lying
to his son, or had he discovered a new necessity?
Memories swirled in the basin like morning mist as she stepped closer. The
threads at the surface morphed into a pale-faced man in military robes, begging
in a thick accent, “I don’t know anything! Please!”
Was that what he’d come to his study for? To leave behind a recent memory?
Hermione’s eyes caught on a set of black-tinted vials on a high shelf. Silver
threads danced inside of them. She peered up at them, but the silver cloud be-
low began shifting again, catching her gaze.
Her own face rose from the bottom of the basin, pale and terrified, before
sinking back again. Her breath left her as she stared down at the Pensieve, the
image still burning behind her eyelids.
What purpose would Lucius have to extract memories of her?
Before she could second guess herself, she gripped the edge of the Pensieve
and plunged her head into the shallow waters.
Draco’s bedroom materialized before her eyes. She landed next to his bed at
the exact moment Lucius Malfoy released his grip on her jaw and said, “You
stupid girl. If you love him, stop trying to get him killed.”
She watched herself slide down the wall, shrinking back from him. He glared
at her with ice in his eyes and threatened to hand her over to Dolohov.
It stung just as it had the first time.
He swept toward the fireplace, and Hermione was swept along with him,
arriving in the dungeons at Edinburgh. Lucius took half a second to get his
bearings before slipping through the door and striding down the long corridor

✦ 167 ✦
where Rabastan had dragged Charlotte. Hermione followed him, still tiptoeing,
as if she could be heard.
A light flickered behind a gate, and Lucius stepped quickly toward it. He
pushed the gate open with a creak, and a spell shot at him. She jumped while
he deflected, and she rushed into the room with him before it closed.
Draco was hovering over Charlotte, his wand pointed at his father with
dawning terror in his eyes.
“Father. I can explain—”
“Are you quite finished?” Lucius’s nostrils flared. “We don’t have time for
your lies.”
Charlotte’s eyes flickered between the two of them with apprehension. She
was on her knees, her arms and ankles chained to the wall.
“I—” Draco’s voice cracked. “I’m almost done with her. But I still need to
Obliviate him.”
He nodded toward her feet, and Hermione looked down to find the crum-
pled body of Jugson. Lucius curled his lip before glaring up at his son.
“There are other Carrow Girls in the cell next door. They’ve been working
with her.” Draco’s brow was sweating, and he wiped it with his forearm. “If their
minds are read, it will be clear that Charlotte’s memories were tampered with.”
Lucius snarled and spun around to Jugson. “Obliviate.” The tip of his wand
glowed, then dimmed. “Meet me there when you’re done with her.”
“Thank you, Father,” Draco whispered. “Thank you for…”
But Draco’s voice faded. The world began to shiver, as if she’d been thrust
into cold water. The dungeons at Edinburgh blurred, reforming into an unfa-
miliar dungeon. Higher stone ceilings and a crisper draft of air. Draco’s words
twisted into a eerie song, cackled by an icy voice—
“Thank you for joining us, Lucius.”
Hermione spun and found Bellatrix in tight black trousers and a cape, draw-
ing the length of her wand through her fingertips. Draco stood at her side, star-
ing down at four cuffed prisoners at his feet. Lucius in the doorway, surveying
the scene with a wan expression.
“Welcome back to Zürich,” she said with a mocking bow. “You’ve arrived
just in time. I’m instructing.”
Lucius stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “And what is it
that you are qualified to teach, Bella?”
She bared her teeth at him in a smile. “How to destroy weakness.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked to Draco. He wore his Death Eater black robes and
boots. His eyes were hollow and his skin dull. He swallowed once, but gave no
other indication of listening.

✦ 168 ✦
 One of the prisoners began shifting, turning his eyes up to Lucius. “Please,”
he said in a shaky Swiss German accent. “Please help us—”
One flick of Bella’s wand and the man was silent. Cocking her head, she
silenced the remaining men.
Lucius strolled to stand behind the prisoners, as if they were a wall between
him and his sister-in-law. “You’re interfering with the Dark Lord’s campaign,
Bella. You forget that the Great Order is a champion of the Swiss magical com-
munity.” He looked down at them. “Who are these men?”
“No one of importance,” she said. “Trust me, they won’t be missed. Just like
the rats in the Manor cellar, yes?” Bellatrix moved behind Draco and wrapped
her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. “We have to get
our boy strong. Get him ready.” She leveled an intent gaze at her brother-in-
law. “People have started to talk, Lucius.”
Hermione looked to Draco, her heart thundering.
Lucius curled his lip at her. “Then let them. Draco was not brought here to
become a common executioner. He has an excellent rapport with the new Ger-
man Minister, who’s upstairs, being forced to endure Dolohov’s company while
you’re playing your little tricks in the basement.”
Bellatrix’s features fell into a dramatic pout. “Just one before dinner? I won’t
let Antonin and the others claim that someone with Black blood can’t cast an
Unforgivable.” She lifted a brow. “As for Malfoys…”
Lucius sneered at her and pulled his wand. He flicked it to the ceiling, send-
ing a jet of light that arced into four beams, hurtling down at the four prisoners.
They fell over with silent screams as the Cruciatus Curses hit them, their eyes
rolling back and their bodies twitching.
Draco shivered once before his eyes clouded.
Lucius pocketed his wand. Bellatrix frowned and released her hold on Draco.
“If we’re quite done,” Lucius hissed, “my son is needed upstairs.”
Bellatrix smirked, strolling lazily toward Lucius. “He could have
been our son,” she hummed. She stood in front of him and let her fingers trail
across Lucius’s chest. “Think of how much stronger he would have been then.”
“Stronger, perhaps. Certainly less sane.”
Bellatrix tilted her head back to the ceiling and cackled. “We could have had
such fun together, Lucius.”
She waltzed out the door.
Hermione stared down at the tortured men, then to Draco. He was as im-
movable as a stone wall.
“Draco,” Lucius said softly. He flicked his wand and released the curse.

✦ 169 ✦
 Draco turned to him, and as he opened his mouth, the room began to shiver
again. The word “Father” was screamed from his mouth.
Bright sunlight burst before Hermione’s eyes. Everywhere she looked there
was white.
She blinked, her ears ringing with the hiss of wandwork, the sharp explo-
sions of battle, and a crash of waves.
When her eyes could focus, she found Draco and Lucius next to her, fighting
back to back — Draco casting defense while Lucius took offense.
They were on a shore. A white cliffside rose up high like a tower to her right,
to her left, a clear blue ocean, the waves crashing against a stone beach.
A spell whizzed past her face. She whipped around and saw Draco jump out
of the way at the last possible moment, stumbling several yards to the right. When
he adjusted, he looked up — almost directly at her — and his eyes blew wide.
A bolt of light burst through her chest, slamming into him. She screamed as
he fell back on the rocky beach, yelling and thrashing. Hermione spun to see
his attacker and found Charlie Weasley staring down at him with a hard jaw.
She had less than a moment to take him in before “Avada Kedavra!” was
hissed across the ocean spray. Charlie Weasley died with the ghost of a smile
on his face, just like his younger brother. Hermione turned to see Lucius already
lowering his wand and running for his son.
Hermione stumbled, her legs buckling. This was Dover. The battle at Dover
Castle that led to the escape of much of the resistance within the U.K. The battle
that resulted in Charlie Weasley’s death after hitting Draco with an Acid Hex.
She ran to Draco’s screaming body and dropped to his side, her eyes stinging as
Lucius cast a series of healing charms. His face grew paler as he tried spell after spell.
“It’s an Acid Hex,” Hermione wheezed, knowing he couldn’t hear her.
Draco cried out, and Hermione could see the bones of his shoulder before
they started to splinter away. Lucius Stunned him and dropped his head, taking
a deep breath.
“Malfoy! They’re getting away!”
Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw at Death Eater sprinting past,
only to drop with a hit from a green light to his back.
She watched Lucius’s eyes rove frantically over his son before his lips parted.
“Mippy,” he called hoarsely.
In three seconds, the elf appeared. Hermione’s shoulders shook.
“Master Draco—!”
“Take him to Dr. Xavier immediately. Once he is settled, bring Narcissa to him.”
Lucius stood swiftly, and Hermione watched him sweep down the beach,
headed for the shore as the breeze twisted around his robes and hair.

✦ 170 ✦
 Mippy and Draco were gone a moment later.
She stood on shaking legs and ran after him. Spells flew toward him, but he
beat them back, headed for the water.
She didn’t know why until the waves lapped at her ankles.
Three boats rowed out into the ocean. The one furthest away was empty.
She furrowed her brow and found the next furthest boat, just as two of the pas-
sengers Disapparated.
Her jaw dropped, her mind spinning back to a months-old article from
the Prophet. The Anti-Apparition Line. They were paddling past it until they
could Apparate into France.
There was one last person in the second boat. Lucius raised his wand and sent
a curse hurtling toward them, missing the person by inches as they Disapparated.
He walked further into the water until it lapped at his thighs. The third boat
was almost there. He cast a spell to drag it back, his whole body lunging and
pulling the weight of it. A woman screamed as the boat rocked.
It was Katie Bell. Hermione’s heart pounded.
She turned to the white cliffs at Dover and found only bodies. Lucius was
the last Death Eater standing.
The four bodies in the boat grappled for control, and Hermione watched
the water slosh. Lucius reeled back, his arm arcing overhead—
And the woman at the back of the boat turned over her shoulder, locking
eyes with him.
Andromeda Tonks. She scrambled, pointing her wand at him.
Even from here she was recognizable.
Lucius hesitated, his lips pulled in a snarl.
And from around Andromeda’s shoulder, a small head peeked, crawling up
from her arms to look back at the beach.
Hermione heard Lucius take a heavy breath, still poised to strike.
Teddy Lupin stared at him, and after cocking his head, the Metamorphm-
agus toddler changed his hair to Malfoy blond.
Lucius lowered his wand.
Katie Bell and two others popped out of existence. Andromeda and Teddy
followed.
And then there were only three empty row boats bobbing in the waves at
the beach at Dover, the only sound the crash of waves and caws of seagulls.
With a deep sigh of relief, she turned to stare at Lucius, feeling tears stream-
ing down her face. His eyes never left the spot Andromeda had been, his jaw
working just like his son’s did.
“Granger?”

✦ 171 ✦
 She jumped, looking to Lucius’s lips, confused when he hadn’t spoken.
“Granger.”
Spinning to her right, she found Draco standing next to her, in the same
clothes he’d left in earlier that day for Edinburgh. Lifetimes ago.
She gasped, and her mind reached up, up, and out of the Pensieve.
Her hands were clenched white around the basin, her breath coming in
quick gasps.
Draco was standing next to her with a furious look on his face. “What do
you think you’re doing?”
“I—I came in by accident. Well, I didn’t mean to find the Pensieve—”
“How did you even get in here?”
Her mouth felt dry. “The door was open.”
“And you just assumed that meant you had an open invitation?” he snarled,
and she cringed away from him. “No one is allowed in here, not even Mother.”
“There was no boundary spell—”
“So you thought that meant it was alright?” His brows popped off his fore-
head, his voice rising. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Merlin,
Granger. I just risked my life doing something you asked of me, and you can’t
even wait for me to come home before creating yet another catastrophe? If my
father had caught you—”
“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have. But… Draco.” She bit her lip, searching
his face. “Your father has a Pensieve you didn’t know about. I watched a few of
the memories, and—”
“Leave.” His eyes were hard as steel, boring into her. “Please.”
“But—”
“Granger, enough!” His voice echoed against the walls.
She jerked her head in a nod, and slid past him. She turned around to face
him when she was in the corridor, searching for injuries even though the Acid
Hex was months ago.
“How did it go? Charlotte?”
“Perfectly,” he said flatly. “The Carrows were half-drunk when they threw
me out, and no one saw me except for Charlotte. The potion worked, and she
knows what she has to do with the Antidote.”
Hermione blinked, licking her lips. “And did she suspect who you were?”
“No. She pressed me on my real identity, but she understood why I refused.”
“That’s—that’s incredible, Draco.” She smiled tentatively at him, but he was
still glaring at her, his fists clenched. “Thank you,” she whispered, and he shut
the door in her face.

✦ 172 ✦
 She trudged back to her room with shame and embarrassment boiling in
her gut. She shoved it aside after a few minutes, focusing instead on the selec-
tion of memories Lucius had collected. Her mind roved over the first — Edin-
burgh. She shivered at the reminder of the Switzerland memory, remembering
Bellatrix’s cackle as she skipped out the door.
But at Dover. He could have stopped a third of the escapees at the beach,
but he hesitated when he saw Narcissa’s sister.
Hermione frowned at Draco’s bedroom door, her guilt coming back to her
in waves. Perhaps he didn’t want her there when she returned, but she didn’t
care. He’d be forced to hear her apology.
She read in his chair by the fire, but she started to itch after an hour, wonder-
ing if he was watching the memories. Were there many others she hadn’t seen?
As the clock ticked closer to midnight, she picked at their dinner plates until
finally he opened the door. She quickly stood, taking in his exhausted expres-
sion and furrowed brow.
He stared at her and she stared back. When she could stand it no longer, she
blurted, “Did you watch them?”
After a silence that seemed to last lifetimes, he nodded. She twisted her
hands together.
“What about the ones in the vials? Did you watch those?”
He dipped his chin again, and his eyes lifted from the carpets. He opened
his mouth, and closed it.
“I didn’t watch those,” she said. “Was there…is there something in them
that’s bothering you?”
His throat bobbed as he studied her. “Do you remember when Goyle’s father
went missing?”
“Yes, he was never found.” She drew a sharp breath. “Or was he?”
Draco rubbed his brow. “Let me start earlier.”
She waited. He dropped his hand and tilted his head at her.
“What’s a Horcrux?”
Hermione blinked, like a hit had landed to her stomach, reeling her back
decades.

✦ 173 ✦
 CHAPTER 32

L
UCIUS MALFOY PROWLED THROUGH A THICK WOODED
area, following a small sphere of light that did little in the way of illu-
mination.
Hermione dropped into the memory next to a gnarled tree, Draco joining her
a second after. She rushed to follow Lucius as he cut through an untraveled
path, slicing branches and thickets away with his wand. Draco’s footsteps were
light but close behind her.
“Did you watch all of his memories?” Her heart beat quicker in her ribs as
she turned to look at him.
They’d barely spoken since the moment in his bedroom five minutes ago,
when he’d shaken her universe with a single word.
Hermione had shot question after question at him until he’d finally returned
to his body, telling her she needed to come to the Pensieve with him. She’d
flown out of the door and down the stairs before he could draw breath, tossing
the simplest definition of a Horcrux over her shoulder at him once he caught
up with her in the corridor. But he’d said nothing. He’d remained silent even
when he took her hand and plunged them into the Pensieve to watch the first
memory in the tray holding three black-tinted vials.
Draco’s mouth was thin as he placed a hand on her back, guiding her forward.
“No. Just some of the ones in the black vials.” They passed through a low hanging
branch like air, and Hermione froze on instinct. His hand lifted once she began
walking again. “I know my father. He separated those ones for a reason.”
Hermione nodded and refocused on where Lucius was headed.
They caught up to him a moment later, staring at the orb as it hovered be-
tween a pair of rotting tree trunks. Lucius’s eyes closed, and a heartbeat later,
the trunks parted to reveal a dilapidated shack. Lucius frowned at the residence,
shimmering in a Notice-Me-Not Charm. The ball of light winked out as soon
as he stepped through, and Hermione and Draco followed.

✦ 174 ✦
 The exterior walls and roof were covered in moss, the ceiling caving in places.
Trees seemed to have swallowed the shack as they grew unchecked around it.
Lucius swiftly moved down the overgrown path and toward the front door.
After a quick sweep for curses, he pushed the wooden door open with a creak.
He took a careful step inside, and Hermione followed him, stepping over the
carcass of a long-dead garden snake. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest
when Draco bumped into her from behind. He murmured an apology and
steered her to the right, and she blinked to take in the room.
Dust, grass, and dead rodents littered the floor. The sink was full of cob-
webbed dishes that had been abandoned years ago. Hermione’s stomach
churned. She was grateful that she couldn’t ascertain scent from a Pensieve
memory — the look on Lucius’s face told her everything she needed to know.
She turned to Draco, and saw that his eyes were glued to the solitary door-
way opposite of the sink. Just then, a large, hulking figure emerged silently from
the darkness. Hermione stumbled backward, and Draco’s hand caught hers.
Lucius whipped around to turn his wand on the man, and Goyle Sr. ap-
peared in the light of his Lumos.
He looked exactly like his son — they had the same heavy brow, clipped
hair, and thick neck. But there was something different in his deep eyes. Some-
thing that curdled Hermione’s blood.
“We’ve been looking for you, Gregory,” Lucius said. He didn’t lower his wand.
Goyle remained perfectly still, almost as if he’d been Petrified. The light
from Lucius’s Lumos cast strange shadows on his chin and cheeks.
“How did you find me?” His thin, slippery voice sent shivers across Hermi-
one’s skin. “I sent a letter to the Dark Lord requesting him.”
“I’m well aware.” Lucius’s tone was cold as he reached into his breast pocket
and produced a folded piece of parchment. “I had been looking for you for two
weeks when you deigned to send him this letter requesting that he come and
find you. Leaving behind coordinates and riddles like some kind of children’s
game.” He let the words hang heavy in the air. “The Dark Lord doesn’t have
time for your theatrics, Goyle. And neither do I.”
Goyle’s lips curled into a smile, and the sight of it made the fine hairs on the
back of Hermione’s neck stand on end. She squeezed Draco’s hand, trying to
tether herself to something outside of this nightmare. He returned the pressure.
Lucius’s eyes narrowed at Goyle, and Hermione caught a flash of apprehen-
sion before it vanished in the pale slate. He knew something was wrong.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “So what is it that’s kept you from answering the
Dark Lord’s summons, Gregory?”

✦ 175 ✦
 Goyle’s smile fell slowly, mechanically — as if turned by an imaginary wheel.
“I attempted to. But I couldn’t risk entering the castle. There would be ques-
tions — if I was seen.” His gaze drifted to a point on the opposite wall. “He must
come to me here.”
Hermione’s mouth was dry as she glanced over her shoulder, looking
around the shack. Why here?
“Who are you to request such things?” Lucius hissed.
She turned back in time to see Goyle’s expression harden. “I must speak to
him. Immediately.”
Lucius scoffed, and Goyle stepped forward. Hermione’s grip on Draco’s
hand tightened, and he angled himself in front of her.
“Why?” Lucius slowly shifted his weight to his back foot. “Why should he
take orders from you — an insubordinate servant?”
Goyle’s face swiveled to the only window, a sliver of moonlight striking
against his eyes.
“Tell him I have something he needs.” There was a stilted pause. “Tell him
I’ve been doing a bit of…” His neck cracked, and his eyes slithered back to Lu-
cius. “Soul searching.”
Hermione felt her entire body tremble. A voice murmured in her ear, but
she couldn’t focus on what it was saying. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Goyle.
No, not Goyle.
She could count on one hand the number of times she’d encountered him
during the war, but she was certain that this man was not Gregory Goyle, Sr.
Her heart pounded in a deafening rhythm as she finally blinked and looked
back to Lucius. His face was calm, but his muscles were rigid. His fingers were
turning white on his wand handle.
“I will do my best, Gregory,” he said lowly. “But the Dark Lord is out of the
country for several days on an important errand. When he comes back…”
The scenery began to shift. She focused on the pressure of Draco’s hand in
hers as the gloomy shadows disintegrated, and the world rearranged itself in a
blur of colors and patterns.
The Manor’s library materialized before her eyes, and she felt like she could
breathe again.
Lucius — the same from a few moments ago — was rushing inside, locking
the doors behind him with a flick of his wand. His jaw was tight as he stepped
up to the catalog, staring down at it. He opened his mouth — and closed it.
Hermione chewed her lip, her palm sweating against Draco’s. She’d never
seen Lucius Malfoy at a loss for words.

✦ 176 ✦
 He cleared his throat and tilted his head. “Magical possession. Cross-reference
with Dark Magic.” The catalog glowed with dozens of green balls of light. Lucius
scanned them quickly before adding, “Cross-reference with soul splitting.”
One by one, the green orbs burnt out until only a single ball of light was left.
And as blood rushed through her ears, Hermione watched Lucius follow the
green light through the stacks and up to the book she knew was waiting for him.
The three of them watched it slide out of its place on the third shelf, tucked
between two large leather books.
The only book in the Malfoy library that referenced Horcruxes. The one that
had disappeared last June.
Lucius snatched the book and turned on his heel, only pausing to erase the
memory of the catalog. As he left the library, Draco made to follow him, but Her-
mione dragged them to a halt. Her knees felt like they were about to give out.
“Sorry,” she managed. “I just need a moment—”
“It’s fine.” Draco examined her as the library doors slammed behind his fa-
ther. “He goes back to his study. All I saw was the word ‘Horcrux’ before the
memory ended.”
Hermione nodded, her head still spinning. Suddenly, the Pensieve began lifting
them up and out, back to Lucius’s study. Her legs returned to her in a jolt, and when
her vision cleared, the clock on the wall clicked toward one in the morning.
Loosening her fingers from Draco’s, she stumbled to brace herself on the desk.
She could still see the crumbling walls of the shack and hear Goyle Sr.’s slick voice.
Closing her eyes, she tried to focus. She’d been certain Voldemort wouldn’t
have tried to make another Horcrux — his soul was too unstable. But somehow…
A scuffle of footsteps interrupted her train of thought.
“So, it’s true then,” Draco whispered. “With this ‘Horcrux,’ the Dark Lord
can possess a person?”
“Not exactly.” She opened her eyes with a wince. “It’s not meant for a per-
son. It’s better suited for an object. But when your soul is split, you can share
bodies, in certain cases. He did with Quirrell.”
Draco gaped at her. “Professor Quirrell?”
“Yes. Long story.” Sighing, she rubbed her temples. “There’s a piece of
Voldemort in Goyle, which means he must have split his soul again at some
point. But when?” She frowned up at him. “And how did it get into Goyle with-
out Voldemort realizing it?”
Draco’s eyes flickered. “We need to watch the next,” he said quietly. “I didn’t
get through all of it. When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.” Forcing herself to stand, she strode to the Pensieve and peered
down at the tray of black vials.

✦ 177 ✦
 After a few moments, Draco shuffled next to her, collecting the silver
threads swirling in the Pensive and pouring them back into the first black vial.
As he reached for the second vial, dated 13 June 1998, he hesitated. “I— skipped
over certain things.”
Before she could ask, he was tipping the memories into the basin and tak-
ing her hand.
They landed at Hogwarts — or what used to be Hogwarts. Lucius pushed
open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the Great Hall. He paused at a
movement to his left.
Nagini.
Lucius’s lips pressed together as she uncoiled from a rotting table, slithering
to meet him. Lucius began walking forward, Nagini hissing at his feet. Draco
and Hermione followed.
Her eyes rose above Lucius’s head, skimming the ceiling. The books in her
mind that were filled with the happy memories of four colorful banners pulled
forward on their shelves, and the echoes of laughter swelled in her ears—
The stark torches flickered on the wall, and the laughter distorted into a
high cackle, garbling into her own agonized scream as Voldemort slashed
through her memories.
Squeezing her eyelids shut, she reached out in her mind and used what
was left of her energy to close the books that had fallen open, sliding them
back on their shelves.
They halted in front of a massive serpentine skeleton, sprawling from wall
to wall. Voldemort stood at the far window, looking out over the Black Lake
and running his fingers over the Elder Wand. Lucius approached the throne of
bones and waited. Nagini coiled around it, her muscles contracting and ex-
panding as she reared her head.
“Goyle,” Voldemort said softly. “What have you found?”
“More than I can explain, my Lord.” Lucius clasped his hands behind his
back and tucked his chin. “I... think it best that you visit him.”
Voldemort turned from the window sharply. Hermione shifted her clammy
grip on Draco’s hand.
“And why can’t he grace us with his presence here, at my castle?”
“He indicated it wasn’t safe.”
Voldemort’s lip curled, and he moved towards them. The drag of his cloak
against the stones sent goose pimples across her skin.
He stopped at the head of his throne, looking at Nagini almost affectionately
before his scarlet eyes flashed to Lucius.
“I am not an errand boy, Lucius.”

✦ 178 ✦
 “Forgive me, my Lord. But there is something else.”
The slits of Voldemort’s nostrils flared. “Go on.”
“He — was not himself.” A delicate pause. “He said he had something that
you need, and that he’d been ‘soul searching.’“
Voldemort went very still. His gaze drifted to a spot over her shoulder, pass-
ing through her, and her shelves shivered, but held firm.
“What else?”
“He is waiting for you,” said Lucius, his throat clicking around the conso-
nants. “In a run-down shack on the outskirts of Little Hangleton.”
Voldemort’s eyes jerked to Lucius. “What did you say?”
“I believe the property used to belong to a family called the Gaunts—”
With a snarl and a vicious twist, Voldemort Apparated away. Hermione
sucked in a breath, feeling her legs sway beneath her.
The Gaunts. The word rattled around her head, but slipped through her
fingertips.
Lucius remained motionless, still facing the empty throne, as if waiting for
further instructions. His fingers twitched by his side. Only the flickering sound
of Nagini’s tongue broke the silence.
After a full minute, he turned to walk out. He was as pale as a sheet.
As he left the Great Hall, the room shivered and morphed. When the world
stopped spinning, Hermione was surprised to find herself in the Manor’s entry
hall. Draco’s fingers tightened before they ripped away from hers.
She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but was distracted by
the sight of Lucius wrenching the front door open. He peered down the stone
drive, still wearing the same clothes from the previous memory — it was the
same day. His face was even paler than before.
Glancing over her shoulder, she found Draco standing behind her. He was
staring at the floor, as white as his father.
Hermione frowned. What memory was this?
“Draco—”
A crack spliced through the sky, and Hermione jumped. She looked out into
the clear evening and found a cloaked figure gliding through the Manor gates.
Voldemort.
Realization hit her like a blow to the gut. She whipped around and saw
Draco curling his fists, his shoulders curving inwards on himself.
Before she could think over the panic in her chest, Voldemort was slithering
up the steps to the Manor and meeting Lucius in the doorway.
“My Lord.” Lucius bowed. “Welcome to the Manor—”
Voldemort raised his hand, silencing him. “Fetch your Mudblood, Lucius.”

✦ 179 ✦
 Lucius inclined his head and led Voldemort into the drawing room. Her-
mione reached for Draco at the same time he reached for her. His hand was
damp in her grip.
“We don’t have to watch this.” He swallowed, his grey eyes slightly clouded.
“I didn’t last time. I can skip it forward—”
She jerked a nod. He waved his wand and they found themselves in the
drawing room. Hermione went rigid as she watched the other Draco drag her
broken body off the floor, tugging her towards the door.
The real Draco interlaced their fingers, and the pressure steadied her.
Voldemort stood at the window, his gaze distant.
Lucius’s eyes flickered from the door to Voldemort. “My Lord. I would like
to be of assistance.”
The drawing room door clicked closed, and Hermione felt like a tomb had
sealed them in. Her vision blurred, knowing that at this moment, Narcissa was
taking her upstairs, to her ruined bedroom.
Swallowing, she quieted her mind and refocused on the task at hand.
Voldemort had come to search her mind for information about Horcruxes.
Whatever he’d learned from Goyle had driven him to seek her out.
Finally, Voldemort tilted his pale head at the window. Lucius cleared his
throat, and his hands shook once as he clasped them behind his back.
“My Lord, I know there have been times in the past when I have failed you.
But I hope my devotion to serving you and the Great Order has allowed me to
regain your trust.” He took a deep breath. “If I am correct... perhaps you once
trusted me with something of this sort.” Hermione watched his fingers clench.
“With a diary.”
Her lips parted and a chill raced down her spine.
Slowly and deliberately, Voldemort turned from the window. And even though
she knew Lucius had survived this moment, her heart seized in terror for him.
“‘Assistance?’“ His face was unreadable, but the hiss shivered through the
room. There was the slightest twitch to Lucius’s shoulders.
“The Malfoys have properties all over the world. Some… off the books.” He
brushed his thumb across his knuckles. “I believe I can assist, my Lord. In keep-
ing Goyle safe.”
Voldemort stepped into him, boring into his eyes. She heard Draco let out
a shaky exhale next to her. And then—
“I must speak with Goyle again.” Voldemort swiveled and glided away, be-
fore pausing at the doorway. “You will accompany me, Lucius.”

✦ 180 ✦
 There was visible relief on Lucius’s face before he masked it. He inclined
his head, and his dragon leather shoes clipped a quick pace to follow Lord
Voldemort out.
Hermione’s lungs begged for air once the door closed, pain pricking behind
her temples. Draco opened his mouth to say something to her, but then the
room began swirling and his words vanished like air in a vacuum.
The world ground to a halt, Draco holding her around the waist. There was
a ringing in her ears as she looked around him, taking in their surroundings.
They were in the dense forest of trees again — Little Hangleton in the distance.
“Granger—”
She pushed away from him with a gasp.
They were at the Gaunt residence. Where Voldemort had hidden the ring,
one of his first Horcruxes. Of course.
“Granger.” Draco caught up to her, grabbing her hand. “We can take a
break. We can watch the rest once you’ve slept—”
“No. We have to find out what happened.”
“I haven’t gotten this far. I don’t know what happens next, and you’re ex-
hausted—”
“I’m— I’ll be fine, Draco.” She stumbled forward, and she pulled him
through the thicket until they caught up to the cloaked figures approaching the
shack in the twilight.
Her mind wobbled and whirled, like a spinning top on a rough table. Why
had Voldemort wanted to search her mind for proof that Harry was a Horcrux?
What else had he thought she’d known — and how did it relate to Goyle?
The door flew open, and Voldemort swept inside. With a slight roll to his
shoulders, Lucius followed. Draco hesitated at the door, staring back at her. She
nodded, and he turned and led her into the shack.
They filed in next to Lucius, his wand raised in a Lumos, and followed his
and Voldemort’s gaze across the room. Goyle had his back to them, facing the
opposite wall, as if he hadn’t moved since he was last left alone. When he
turned, his eyes were trained on Voldemort. His lips stretched in a smile, like
he’d found a puzzle piece he’d been missing for years.
“Find the answers you were looking for?”
“Some of them.” Voldemort tilted his head, appraising him like one might
a new pet. “How long have you been inhabiting this host?”
Goyle stepped into the glow of Lucius’s wand. He tilted his head in the same
manner, and Hermione felt her skin crawl. “It was several days after the Final
Battle. I was disembodied, wandering the forest next to Hogwarts when Greg-
ory Goyle stumbled upon me.”

✦ 181 ✦
 Voldemort’s eyelids closed, and his nostrils flared. “Goyle remains alive?”
“For now.” His leer sharpened, his features grotesque and inhuman. “One
might say he’s— sleeping. He offered little resistance when I overtook him.”
Voldemort curled and uncurled his long fingers. “And before that? What do
you remember?”
“It’s unclear,” Goyle said, his eyes glazed in memory. “I remember some-
thing like being sealed away — buried alive. It took years to become aware of
myself again. The more I felt you, the more I pushed to claw my way out. But
then, just weeks ago, I was abruptly cast out.”
Red eyes flew open, narrowed into slits. “Where?”
Goyle’s eyelids fluttered. “It was dawn in a forest. I saw a dead boy before I
vanished amongst the trees.”
The room was silent, apart from the pounding of Hermione’s heart.
“And before then.” Voldemort’s voice was a whisper, almost a caress. “What
is the last thing you remember before you were sealed away?”
“The death of the girl. And the baby’s cry.”
Hermione let out a strangled gasp. Draco jerked his head to look at her, but
she was staring at Goyle in horror, her air coming quickly.
It couldn’t be...
“Lucius,” said Voldemort, hissing around the name. “You claim to know
what Goyle is?”
He turned his gaze on Lucius, and Hermione watched him take a deep breath.
“I believe the word is… ‘Horcrux,’ my Lord.”
Voldemort prowled a wide circle around the room. “And how did you come
to know this word?”
“I found a book in my library…” He cast his eyes down. “I should not have
looked into it without your permission, my Lord. Forgive me.”
“Destroy that book.”
Lucius nodded, his eyes still downcast.
“You’re wrong, Lucius,” said Voldemort, a twisted melody in his tone.
Lucius’s eye twitched, but he gave away nothing.
“You see, our friend here — Goyle”—Voldemort’s voice was dripping in
amusement—”is not a Horcrux at all.”
Lucius glanced up. “My Lord?”
“No.” Voldemort halted a step away from Goyle, looking him up and down.
“But he came from one.”
Goyle swiveled his neck to meet him, like a hinged puppet.
Voldemort spun away and resumed his pacing. “You are aware that I have
created several Horcruxes. But it seems that one was… unintentional.”

✦ 182 ✦
 He swept within a breath of them, and it took everything in Hermione not to
shrink away. Her legs felt like jelly as her mind clicked, details locking into place.
Draco tugged her closer, shifting a shoulder behind her.
“Years ago, this unintended Horcrux attached itself to my enemy, marking
him as my equal.” His lips twisted, as if he now found the prophecy amusing. “My
soul grew stronger in his body as my powers grew. And I presume he learned the
truth. When he surrendered himself in the Forbidden Forest, he must have be-
lieved the Horcrux would be destroyed when I killed him. Instead, it was re-
leased.” Voldemort turned his gaze on Goyle. “Until it found a new host.”
Hermione’s lips parted, black spots popping in her vision. Like she’d been
plunged into dark, icy waters, forced to sink slowly to the bottom as the surface
remained still.
The Horcrux inside of Harry.
Voldemort hadn’t created another one by accident. It was the same one that
had been inside of Harry.
Harry had learned about it somehow. And he’d thought he could kill it by
sacrificing himself.
But it hadn’t worked.
Her breath was caught in her chest, like a dead weight growing inside her.
Harry had died for nothing.
Voldemort was still talking, but she couldn’t hear him anymore.
Something warm wrapped around her shoulders as they shook, and she
jerked her arms, twisting to escape. She spun and Draco was there, trying to
hold her, speaking to her.
Her lungs seized for air, but she couldn’t draw breath. Her heartbeat rattled
a crescendo in her chest. She tried to focus on Draco’s grey eyes, but all she
could see was emerald green.
The walls of the shack started to shift, closing in on her, getting tighter and
tighter until they pressed on her like the sides of a coffin—
And then it was all darkness.
・✦・
Her eyelids blinked open with the whisper of “Rennervate” in her ears. She
jerked upright, and someone caught her by the shoulders. Her vision adjusted as
her lungs sucked in air, and when she looked up, she found Draco hovering above
her, his green canopy curtains stretching high overhead. She was in his bed.
“Granger,” he said, and she realized he’d been calling her name.
Her throat was dry, and she licked her lips. “What happened?”

✦ 183 ✦
 His expression was pinched. “I had to Stun you.” He lifted a hand to brush
her curls from her face. “You were having a panic attack.”
She drew a sharp breath, pressing her eyes closed. Her shoulders trembled
beneath his fingertips as the memories crested, flooding through her.
A stab of despair rippled through her chest.
Harry.
He’d found out somehow. He’d learned the truth about the Horcrux inside
of him. Something in Snape’s memories must have confirmed it.
Her eyelids burned as tears slipped free, curving down her face. A warm
hand wiped them away.
Her best friend was dead, and she hadn’t let herself think about how or
why. She’d buried him amongst her shelves without having all the answers.
But now his book had flown open, the sheets torn and the spine splintering
as the pages scattered.
She bit back a sob as the grief sunk in her throat, coiling like black tar
around her ribs.
He’d walked to the Forest with purpose. He’d laid down his wand, closed
his eyes. She hadn’t been with him. He’d been alone.
Harry had died doing what he thought was right, but he’d failed. The
Horcrux lived on. And he’d died in its place.
A sob tore from her throat, and she shrank away from the hands clutching
her. She focused on her shelves, pressing her hands into her eyes until the tears
stopped falling.
There was an inhale next to her — and then the rattle of porcelain. She
opened her eyes to see Draco bringing a cup and saucer to her. Her head was
stuffy, but she recognized the faint smell of chamomile. She concentrated on
breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.
“What happened?” Draco asked softly. The bed dipped as he sat beside her.
“What am I missing?”
She sipped the tea, but it tasted like ash on her tongue. Handing back the
saucer to him, she wiped her cheeks again and tried to push her emotions back.
“Harry had a Horcrux inside of him. A Horcrux Voldemort never intended
to make. I’d guessed this some time ago, but I never told him. Or anyone else.”
Her eyes fell to her lap. “That’s why he walked into the Forest. He was sacrific-
ing himself to kill it.”
The mattress shifted, and she heard Draco’s throat click.
“He believed it would kill the Horcrux, but it didn’t. It freed it.”
The room blurred as she lifted her eyes to his. She blinked, and found him
watching her carefully, his fingers inches from hers.

✦ 184 ✦
 “Harry died for nothing,” she whispered. “It accomplished nothing.”
All the people that had died, all the friends that had been put up to Auction.
And Harry’s death had been pointless.
She started crying again, her lungs fighting against her ribs. Draco flicked
his wand and brought a Sleeping Draught to her lips. She twisted away.
“It’s four in the morning, Granger—”
“There’s another vial of memories—”
“They will still be there in the morning.”
She fell back into the pillow, allowing her body to sink back into the mattress
as he tipped it down her throat. Her eyes started to close, and Draco turned off
the light and slid onto the bed behind her, curling his shoulders around her and
pressing his face into her hair. She listened to him breathe until sleep dragged
her under.
・✦・
She woke with Draco still wrapped around her, his warmth comforting her
for all of five seconds before her blood ran cold. Her body flinched with the
memories of the previous night, jolting him awake.
“Sorry.” Her voice cracked as she turned to him.
He rubbed his eyes and looked her over, reaching to tuck a curl behind her
ear. “How are you?”
She rolled to her other side and checked the clock on the mantle. Ten in
the morning.
“I’m better,” she lied. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them closed. “I
need to watch the rest of the memories.” She sat up and threw the covers off.
“Granger, it’s important for you—”
She spun to him. “Nothing is more important than this.”
A strange look crossed his face. She swallowed, forcing her shoulders to relax.
“Sorry, it’s just…” Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find
the words. “This matters more than anything, Draco. It’s bigger than all of us.”
His expression went blank again, and he reached for his wand on his
nightstand. He waved it in her direction, and her pajama bottoms were trans-
figured back into denims.
She glanced down at them. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He was silent for a moment, watching her slip back into her shoes. “So this
is what you three were up to during seventh year. Looking for Horcruxes.”
She nodded. “Dumbledore told Harry everything he knew about them.
Voldemort made six Horcruxes. He split his soul using dark magic, and sealed
it inside six things that held significance for him.”

✦ 185 ✦
 Draco tossed off the covers and stared at the opposite wall. “They keep him
alive, don’t they?”
“Yes. As long as a piece of his soul exists, he can’t be destroyed. Not even
with the Killing Curse.” Taking a deep breath, she dug her fingernails into her
palms. “The night he tried to kill Harry as a baby, his soul fractured again. And
somehow it lodged itself inside the only living person in the room.”
“Potter.” Draco twisted to face her, his jaw tight. “And now Goyle.”
“Goyle’s only a temporary host,” said Hermione, rubbing her brow. “But
I’m certain Voldemort has made a new Horcrux to seal it in.” She pressed her
shaking fingers to her lips. “Did he say anything about what he was going to do
with it? In any other of the memories you watched?”
“I only saw what you did.” Draco stood up and went to his closet, pulling a
jumper over his head. “I didn’t get any further last night before I came to find
you. I went to the library and through my father’s study to see if he’d hidden
the book somewhere.”
“We should start at the end of the memory you had to pull me out of. He
might have said something—”
Draco shook his head as he tugged on his belt. “It was ending as I pulled you
out. All he did was tell my father to wait for further instructions.”
Hermione swallowed her disappointment. “Well, hopefully we’ll find the
answer in one of the other ones.” She shoved aside the pounding in her head.
They had to get back to the Pensieve.
“So…” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aside from Voldemort him-
self, there are seven other pieces of his soul keeping him alive? Including the
one in Goyle?”
“No. There’s only two left.” When Draco’s brows drew together in confu-
sion, she said, “The other five have been destroyed.”
He blinked at her. “Destroyed.” His voice was soft and far away.
“Yes.” She crossed the room to his door. “It’s just his snake and the piece
that attached itself to Goyle. Once those two are gone, he’ll be mortal again.”
She opened the door, but a hand on her elbow stopped her. Frowning, she
turned around. Draco’s face was impassive as he pointed to the breakfast trays
waiting for them on his desk.
“You should eat something.”
“Draco, there’s no time.”
“Granger—”
“We can eat later.” She stepped through the door and moved swiftly down
the corridor. Pausing at the staircase to wait for him, she turned back to see him
emerging from his bedroom with two pieces of toast in his hand. He offered her

✦ 186 ✦
one with a lifted brow. Huffing, she shoved it into her mouth as they took the
stairs down.
She hesitated once they reached Lucius’s study, but then she remembered it
was no longer barred to her. Draco moved past her and she quickly followed
him inside, shutting the door behind her. The Pensieve was left exactly where
it had been six hours ago.
He scooped the last memory from the basin back into the vial dated June
13th, and Hermione tipped the final black-tinted vial into the Pensieve — dated
nearly three months after the first two. Their eyes met as she grabbed his hand,
and together they tumbled into the next memory.
They dropped into the Gaunt house as Lucius stepped inside. Lucius closed
the door behind him, his eyes fixed to the left of her feet, and Hermione yelped
when she found the corpse of Goyle Sr. on the floor next to her. Draco steadied
her when she stumbled, gaping down at the body.
His skin was blanched, his purple lips hanging open in what might have
been a scream. And with a sickening lurch to her gut, Hermione saw that Goyle
Sr.’s eyes had been blue — not the deep brown from the previous memories.
“Lucius,” said Voldemort. He turned from his place by the window.
Lucius’s eyes flickered up to Voldemort. “You were successful, then, my Lord?”
“Yes,” he said, the hiss bouncing around the walls. “I have extracted the pre-
cious piece of my soul, and sealed it in a proper vessel. And now we must see
that it is secured.” He slithered to Lucius and slowly extended his hand. His
long fingernails sent Hermione’s stomach roiling again. “Which is why you are
here, my slippery friend.”
A crease appeared between Lucius’s brow, but it was gone in the blink of an
eye. He reached into his robes and produced a handkerchief that hovered in the
air, unfolding to reveal a golden rope. Voldemort’s eyes locked on Lucius’s as
they both reached for a side, and with a tug, Hermione and Draco were swirling
alongside them.
They landed on rocky ground in the middle of the night. A looming moun-
tainside rose up behind them. The moon was absent in the sky, and the stars
were hidden behind clouds.
The hair on Hermione’s arms prickled.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Draco’s eyes darted around the landscape. “I’ve never been
here before.”
Lucius straightened his robes and lit the path with his wand. His boots
crunched through the gravel as Voldemort followed, his cloak trailing silently
behind him.

✦ 187 ✦
 “I trust I have your full confidence in this location,” said Voldemort. His
voice was low, but the layer of threat was unmistakable.
“Yes, my Lord. I have spent these several months not only building allies in
the Romanian government, but ensuring that no one knows of this property’s
existence. I have investigated the records personally. And I have strengthened the
wards and protections surrounding it.” His grey eyes glittered as he turned over
his shoulder to look at Voldemort. “This property won’t be found. I assure you.”
Romania. Hermione looked around at the dark mountain range, trying to
identify anything that could pinpoint exactly where they were.
“I hope you are right, Lucius. For your family’s sake.”
Dread washed over her like a slow-breaking wave. She chanced a glance at
Draco. His eyes were wide, but his mouth was hard. Lucius dipped his chin and
continued walking.
They started uphill, taking a cragged dirt path. Lucius took an abrupt right
turn around a large stone, and led them away from the passage.
“I am honored that the Malfoy family can once again be useful to you, my Lord.”
Lucius slowed his pace to step in time with Voldemort. “I will not fail you again.”
Voldemort hummed. “I have been pleased with your performance, as of late.
But should you become complacent in the future...”
“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius quickly. It was silent under the starlight
for a long moment before Lucius spoke again. “If I may speak freely…?”
“Go on.”
“I see a bright future for Draco. He is well-respected by his peers and supe-
riors, and he has a way with words. I would hope he can serve you to that effect
as he matures. Perhaps one day, even as Minister.”
Hermione turned over her shoulder to where Draco was steps behind her.
His eyes were glued to his father and Voldemort.
She thought of Lucius’s memory from Switzerland — pushing him toward ac-
companying the German Minister instead of torturing the prisoners with Bellatrix.
Voldemort slithered onward through the dark path between hills and said,
“We’ll see.”
Lucius nodded, and Hermione’s stomach bubbled with guilt as she won-
dered if she might agree with him. Even if both options made her nauseous, it
was better to imagine him in an office than a battlefield.
The path narrowed, and Lucius stopped in front of a smooth rock face.
“Here, my Lord.”
Hermione squinted, trying to memorize it, but in the darkness, everything
was interchangeable. Draco stepped next to her, his eyes still on his father.

✦ 188 ✦
 Lucius tapped his wand to the center of the wall, and it shivered, breaking
apart with a rumble until a door appeared in the stone. He turned to Voldemort.
“Only a Malfoy can pass through.” He pressed his wand to the center of his
palm and sliced across the flesh. Dark blood dribbled down his wrist as he of-
fered his hand to Voldemort.
Voldemort lips twisted in the semblance of a smile as he lifted the Elder
Wand and cut a thin slice into his index finger. He summoned Lucius’s blood
from his palm, the red droplets arcing up and landing on his pale skin, mixing
into his blood. He sewed the cut closed, and Lucius did the same.
Lucius moved to the entrance, but he froze when Voldemort placed a hand
on his shoulder.
“You will wait here,” he whispered, and Hermione saw Lucius try not to
flinch as his bony fingers pressed harder. “I alone will hide the object and cast
my wards.”
Lucius jerked a nod, and he stepped back to allow Voldemort to enter.
With a wave of his wand, Voldemort slid open the stone wall, like a boulder
moving to the side. He slithered inside, disappearing in the darkness, and Lu-
cius drew a ragged breath.
The mountains of Romania warped, the memory ending. The Pensieve
pushed them up and out.
When her feet were firmly planted on the study floor, Hermione braced her-
self on her knees, sucking in air.
Lucius Malfoy had carefully saved the location of Voldemort’s Horcrux.
Her ears were ringing when she finally looked up at Draco. His mouth was
open, his eyes staring vacantly at the titles on his father’s shelves. She blinked
down into the Pensieve, seeing the mountains rise up to the surface of the
swirling memories.
She was now one of four people in the world who knew the location of
Voldemort’s final Horcrux. And now she had to decide what to do with it.
She collapsed into Lucius’s leather chair and closed her eyes, trying to think.
When she finally opened them, her gaze lifted to Draco. His fingers were toying
with a thread on his sleeve, his eyes still far away.
There was so much she’d already asked of him. Charlotte, returning her
memories, disobeying his father. Even if he agreed to get another message to
the Order about the Horcrux in Romania, she didn’t know how they’d destroy
it. They might not even be able to get past the wards.
Hermione looked down at the mahogany desk, breathing deeply as resolve
washed over her. It needed to be her. Getting this to the Order and hoping they

✦ 189 ✦
would be successful from afar was a risk she couldn’t take. Horcruxes were hers.
Hers, Harry’s, and Ron’s. Dumbledore had entrusted it to them.
Ginny and Charlotte didn’t know what she did. With this new Horcrux in
Romania… there was only her. And Draco.
Her eyes traveled up to him. Just days ago, she’d promised him she would
stay until they could all get out. But there hadn’t been a Horcrux then. Her logic
was screaming at her to down the tattoo antidote, take his wand, march out the
Manor gates, and head straight for the mountains in Romania. To roll back the
stone and kill the Horcrux, just like he’d killed Harry. But her heart was begging
her not to disappear. All three Malfoys would be tortured and killed. Her breath
choked her, and she forced her thoughts aside.
Narrowing her gaze at the desk, she wondered why Lucius Malfoy would
hold onto these memories. The only reason she could think of was that he
needed them… for insurance. Just like her. If the True Order captured him or
his family, what better insurance was there than the location of Voldemort’s
final Horcrux.
Draco abruptly turned on his heel, striding to the Pensieve. A muscle in his
cheek twitched as he began collecting the threads and dropping them back in
the vial. Putting things away, like they hadn’t been touched — hadn’t cracked
her world open.
Her heart beat faster as she watched him. She needed to convince him. If he
could find a way to get his mother and himself to safety, she could go to Roma-
nia and destroy the Horcrux. She wouldn’t go without ensuring their safety, but
she needed to go.
He set the black-tinted vials back on their shelf and closed the cabinet doors.
She ran through the conversation in her mind, curling her sweaty palms
into fists.
Draco, I have to do this. Don’t try to stop me, please.
The lock on the cabinet clicked into place, and she watched as Draco ran his
fingers down the dark wood.
We need a plan to get you and your mother to safety. He won’t be happy, but
we can leave a note for your father. But he knew the defeat of the Dark Lord was
a possibility. That’s why these memories were kept. It has to be.
Draco turned back to her, looking at her with a tight jaw. His eyes flickered
over her, concern in his gaze. She felt tears blur her eyes.
I know I said I was going to stay, but this is more important than all of us.
This is why Harry died, and I can’t let that stand. I have to go. I have to do this,
please don’t stop me—
“How do we destroy it?”

✦ 190 ✦
 She blinked, her sight clearing as he looked up at her — grey eyes inquisitive,
open. Trusting.
“What?” Her voice cracked on the word.
“It can be destroyed, like the other ones, yes? We can destroy it?”
Her heart beat quicker.
We.
She took a sharp inhale, like cresting the water’s surface after drowning.
“There are a few options, but…” Her eyes flickered over him, searching him.
“You would… you would help?”
He tilted his head, frowning. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? To go?”
She felt her heart lodged in her throat. “I guess I didn’t think that you would
go with me — that you would go against Voldemort.”
He stepped closer and bent to his knee in front of the chair. His hand raised
to her cheek as a tear fell down from her lashes. “I didn’t know there was an-
other choice. I didn’t know he could be killed. It didn’t even cross my mind.”
She sniffed. “And that changes things?”
His grey eyes looked up into hers. “There has to be something better than
this.” His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “When I heard that he’d won
and that Potter had died…” He swallowed and took her hand. “I thought it was
an immovable fact. And now you’re saying it doesn’t have to be this way.”
Another tear splashed down onto his fingertips. She bit her lip, her blood
pounding in her veins. “Draco, if you do this, there’s no way the Order won’t
pardon you.”
He searched her eyes. “That’s not why I’ll do it.” He pushed a curl behind
her ear, and as she stared back at him, he leaned up to press a kiss to each of her
eyelids, temples, and cheeks.
When he reached her lips, she slipped off the chair and into his arms, wind-
ing her fingers in his hair. He pulled her into his lap and wrapped himself
around her, kissing her softly. Her lips tried to follow him when he broke away.
Holding her close to him, Draco looked into her eyes and said, “How do
we kill him?”

✦ 191 ✦
 CHAPTER 33

“B
ASILISK VENOM, FIENDFYRE, THE SWORD OF
Gryffindor.” Draco pushed off his father’s desk and crossed the
room, staring at the opposite wall. “You’re sure there’s nothing
else that can destroy a Horcrux?”
Hermione’s fingers slid from her lips. “As far as we know, yes. The book
your father confiscated only listed Fiendfyre and basilisk venom. The Sword is
a special case.”
“But it’s missing.”
“Yes. Since last May.” She chewed the inside of her cheek.
Draco nodded, and she watched his ribs expand. “Fiendfyre is the riskiest
option. If the fire isn’t contained, the mountain could collapse.”
“That’s fair.”
Draco turned around. “So our best option is to find a rare snake that can
apparently kill us on sight.”
Hermione lifted a brow. “Actually, we only need to get to the basilisk skele-
ton in the Great Hall. Its fangs still contain the venom even after—”
“They’re gone.”
The air left her lungs. He sighed, running a hand down his face. “When the Dark
Lord first brought the skeleton into the Great Hall, he removed and destroyed the
basilisk’s fangs. Rabastan saw him do it. I heard him mention it to my aunt.”
A prickling coldness ran down her spine. “Alright. Well, that’s not an option,
then.” She collapsed back into Lucius’s leather chair and rubbed her temples, try-
ing to think. “A fang might have survived the fire last year. But I highly doubt it.”
Draco’s footsteps shuffled closer. “Sorry?”
“It’s just…” She dropped her hands and looked up at him. “Ron and I had
several fangs, but we lost them all to the Fiendfyre.”
“In the Room of Hidden Things? With Crabbe?”
“Yes. He unwittingly helped us kill a Horcrux in that room, actually.”
Draco’s brow furrowed. “Which one? The ring?”

✦ 192 ✦
 “No, Ravenclaw’s diadem.” She leaned forward and tapped a finger against
the desk. “Dumbledore destroyed the ring with the Sword of Gryffindor in sixth
year.” Another finger. “The diary was Harry with a basilisk fang. Ron killed the
locket with the sword, and I destroyed the cup—”
She blinked at her five fingers against the wood. A heartbeat later, she jerked
out of her chair.
“What—”
“I destroyed the cup with a basilisk fang in the Chamber of Secrets.” Blood
raced through her veins as she spun to him. “Draco, I think it’s still down there.
One of the fangs.”
He gaped at her. “Don’t you think he would have found it?”
“No. The rest were attached to the skeleton, so he wouldn’t have looked far.”
She could hear the words as though Harry was speaking them— “His arrogance
makes him careless.”
“Granger—”
“I dropped a fang into the water. I remember it clearly now.” She stepped
into him, grasping his arms. “There’s a basilisk fang still in the Chamber of Se-
crets, Draco. That’s how we’ll destroy this Horcrux.”
His eyes flickered as they searched hers. “Granger, you can’t be positive that
you dropped it in the water.”
“I can.” A smile broke across her lips.
She released him and rushed to the locked cabinet. The silver lock fell open
at her touch, and the doors swung open, revealing the Pensieve inside. Lucius’s
memories swirled at the disturbance.
Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll show you.”
Draco stared at her before nodding, like snapping out of a trance. He moved
next to her, scooped the jumbled memories into a vial, and offered her his
wand. Hermione tapped it to her temple, summoning thoughts of the Battle of
Hogwarts and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. Tugging the thread from her mind felt
like a snake’s tongue in her ear, but soon enough she had the silver memory
dangling from the tip. She dropped it in the Pensieve, and her eyes met Draco’s
as she took his hand.
They dropped on solid ground together. But a vice locked around her heart
the instant her vision cleared.
Ron.
Her stomach swooped violently. She watched with shallow breath as he
crouched to place the cup on the wet stone floor in front of her past self. His
blue eyes lifted to hers, and she watched herself stare up at him as he stood.
He was even taller than she’d remembered.

✦ 193 ✦
 The basilisk fang gleamed in his open palm, speckled with blood and dirt.
“Go ahead,” he said.
His voice. It had been a year since she’d heard it. She’d forgotten how it had
deepened to resonate in his chest.
She watched her younger self refuse, insisting that he should be the one to
do it. Her face was pale and grim.
“This one’s yours,” Ron said. “I did the locket. You should do one.”
Ron stepped closer, and Hermione watched herself take the fang with shak-
ing fingers. He smiled at her, tentative and encouraging, and she felt it wash
over her like sunlight.
There was a hollowness inside her, but the sight of Ron seemed to ease it.
His freckles and his hair — the little details she’d tucked away so she wouldn’t
feel the loss of them.
Something shifted near her elbow, and she glanced to see Draco at her side.
His face was unreadable as he watched the figures in the memory. He’d let go
of her hand, she realized.
Hermione’s cheeks flushed as she turned to face the front again. The ache
in her chest twisted, sinking heavy in her gut. It felt wrong — to have them both
in this moment.
Her breath hitched as her younger self dropped to her knees, raising the
basilisk fang high and plunging it into the Horcrux. Her heart lurched in her
chest as the cup let out an agonizing scream, like steel scraping against steel. A
great wind struck up, twisting around them and billowing giant waves in the
water as the ground rattled beneath their feet. Ron dropped to a crouch behind
her, his eyes wide and his hands gripping her shoulders.
And then silence — apart from the slap of the waves against the chamber
walls. A black tar oozed from the cracked gold.
She watched herself scramble to her feet, startling as her right trainer kicked
the basilisk fang — watching it skid across the stones and slip into the water
before spinning around to Ron.
“There!” Hermione ran to the edge of the stone walkway, pointing down at
the murky waters. “It fell just there! Draco, did you—”
She whipped around, and found him staring at her and Ron. They were
embracing.
Her mouth went dry, her feet frozen underneath her.
Finally, her past self lowered on her toes, letting her arms fall to her sides.
Ron’s hands dropped from her hips as she stepped away. There was an awkward
silence before they began laughing, babbling about how well the other did and
grabbing more fangs.

✦ 194 ✦
 The two of them walked past her, towards the basilisk skeleton, breathless
and pink. Hermione remembered how her skin had started buzzing then, spur-
ring her to kiss him in the Room of Requirement just minutes later.
Hermione blinked at their backs. It felt though she was two separate people
in that moment — as if her past self had become someone else, living some-
where Harry and Ron and Ginny were happy and safe. But even if
she could connect the two paths, she’d leave half of herself behind.
A throat cleared behind her, refocusing her thoughts. She spun around.
“Did you see it? It fell just here.”
Draco nodded, his expression cool. He waved his wand, and they lurched
up and out of the Pensieve. Hermione stumbled to the desk when they were
firmly planted in Lucius’s study, leaning against it as she steadied herself. Once
Ron was safely tucked away in her mind, she found Draco shutting the first
door of the cabinet, Lucius’s memories already back inside the basin.
“Wait,” she said. Draco’s hand paused on the second door. “Maybe we
should look around the Pensieve memories a bit. See if there’s anything useful.”
“I have no interest in viewing my father’s memories, Granger.” His fingers
slid down the wood. “I’ve seen enough previews. I’ve already lived most of them.”
“I understand, but there might be—”
He snapped the cabinet door closed. “They’re a distraction. We should be
focusing on the Horcrux.”
“Al—alright.” Her logic begged to differ, but her heart told her not to push
him on this. “That’s fine, Draco. We’ll focus on the Horcrux.”
The lock sealed itself with a twist of his fingers, and he turned to face her.
Hermione shifted her weight to tuck a curl behind her ear. “We have to find
a way to get into Hogwarts.”
“We are not going anywhere, Granger. Only one of us has access to the castle.”
He reclined against the cabinet. “Tell me how to get into the Chamber of Secrets.”
She stared at him. “You can’t go alone, Draco. I can’t ask that of you—”
“You didn’t.” He crossed his arms. “I volunteered for this, remember?”
She frowned at the tightness in his posture. “It’s a sink in the second floor
girls’ lavatory. You need to speak Parseltongue to it.”
“And how did Weaselbee manage that?”
Hermione blinked at the sharp edge in his voice. His sneer. He was upset about
what he’d seen in the memory, and she’d been too focused on her grief to notice.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to choose her words carefully. “Ron picked
up a bit of Parseltongue he’d heard from Harry. It was blind luck, truly.”
Draco pushed off the cabinet and rolled his shoulders back. “There’s a jour-
nal on Parseltongue in the library. I’ll check when it’s time.”

✦ 195 ✦
 She nodded slowly. “And when will it be… time?”
“We’ll have to wait for an opportunity.” He scratched his jaw. “I can make
an excuse to visit the castle, but it will need to be when the Dark Lord is guar-
anteed to be out of the country.”
“And when will that be?”
“I couldn’t say.”
Hermione huffed, standing up tall. “There has to be a quicker way. We can’t
wait indefinitely—”
“Granger, if I’m caught, how would you like me to explain to the Dark Lord
what I was doing in the Chamber of Secrets?” He glanced away from the fin-
gernails he’d been studying. “What excuse would you suggest?”
Her blood began to boil at his condescending tone, but now was not the
time to argue. “We can come back to this later.”
“We can come back to all of it,” he said. “You should eat something more
than toast today.”
She glared at him. “Fine.”
They closed up Lucius’s study and headed to the kitchen to see what they
could scrounge up before dinner. Hermione’s mind was furiously running
through possible ways to sneak into the Chamber of Secrets sooner rather than
later while Draco brooded next to her.
They both froze when they turned the corner to the entry hall and found
Narcissa waiting for them. Her lips twisted down in displeasure.
“Mother.” Draco moved forward reluctantly, and Hermione followed. Her
blood pumped faster with each step.
Narcissa folded her hands when they stopped in front of her, her eyes fixed
on her son. “I was awoken in the early morning by a Floo call from your father.
He was anxious to know why someone opened his study yesterday.”
Hermione’s knees wobbled, and she stifled a gasp. Of course Lucius would
have wards. They should have known.
Draco was silent next to her. He slid his hands in his pockets.
Narcissa lifted her chin. “I told him it was me. That I was looking for a few
documents for one of our accounts. And I promised to close it up in the morn-
ing and not enter again.”
Hermione felt her heartbeat in her fingertips.
“So tell me, what were you doing in his study?”
“Mother—”
Narcissa’s gaze slid to Hermione. “Are you passing information to the
True Order?”
“Yes,” Hermione said quickly.

✦ 196 ✦
 “Granger, enough,” Draco hissed.
“It’s true.” Hermione bit her cheek. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Just yesterday
Draco had been at Edinburgh giving Charlotte the instructions for the antidote
potion. “I’m sorry, Narcissa. I was the one who went inside his study in the first
place. If there’s anyone you should be angry at, it’s me.”
“Thank you, Hermione.” Narcissa seemed to steel herself, her shoulders
dropping. She stepped closer to her son.
“Draco, your decisions are your own. But you must know what it would do
to me if...” Her voice trembled. “Please just promise me you’ll be careful.”
Draco’s throat bobbed. He nodded.
With a flick of her fingers, Narcissa produced two newspapers flashing
“SPECIAL EDITION” in red at the top. She handed them to Hermione, and
turned away with a brush of her lashes.
The sound of Narcissa’s heels clicking away receded, and the floor shifted
under her feet as Hermione looked down to the paper on top — the Prophet.
TERRORISTS DEFEATED IN CANADA
by Rita Skeeter
Draco dragged the second paper from her fingers — The New York Ghost —
as she read on.
Late last night, The Dark Lord’s forces struck a cell associated with the terror-
ist organization known as the “True Order.” The insurgents were hiding on the
large, sparsely populated Baffin Island off the eastern Canadian coast.
“A resounding success,” Albrecht Berge told this reporter. “Our enemies’
wards were no match for the Fog, an ingenious new magic which will help defend
and protect the interests of the Great Order.”
Generals Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange oversaw the operation, along
with Berge and his apprentice, Theodore Nott, Jr. They observed the deployment
of the Fog from a small island off the coast of Baffin. The Fog was successful not
only in penetrating Baffin Island’s wards and Anti-Apparition Line, but also in
destroying a weapons base seeking to undermine the Great Order.
Berge and his apprentice will return to the U.K. to erect new wards at Edin-
burgh later this week.
That was all.
She tore through the pages, but found nothing that could help her piece to-
gether what had happened. Another resounding victory with no details. Flip-
ping back to the front, she stared at the picture of Berge on the cover, his eyes
obscured by round, dark-lensed glasses.

✦ 197 ✦
 Thanking Merlin that Narcissa had defied Lucius’s orders about the Ghost,
Hermione reached for the other paper, pulling it from Draco’s limp fingers with
ease. She thrust the Prophet into his hand before reading.
TEN THOUSAND DEAD IN BAFFIN ISLAND MASSACRE
by Gertie Gumley
Hermione reached for the stair banister next to her, needing to brace herself.
Her head was swimming with dread.
The Dark Lord Voldemort has made his first strike on the western hemisphere,
targeting Baffin Island off the coast of Canada. In a devastating blow to the di-
verse magical and Muggle Inuit communities who reside there, Albrecht Berge
released his newest Mass Death Magic on the island — a fog-like mist that spread
rapidly, wiping out thousands of lives in mere minutes.
Early reports suggest the mist was released shortly before midnight from Res-
olution Island, just off the southern tip of Baffin. It spread northwest, cutting
through the city of Iqaluit until an explosion blast just south of Nettilling Lake,
reportedly where a True Order’s military base had been stationed for several
months. According to a source in the Canadian Ministry, this base was develop-
ing International Portkeys and other weapons to fight against the Great Order.
Roughly one thousand True Order members, recruited from the indigenous com-
munities in Baffin and other Canadian provinces, are presumed dead. The re-
maining casualties are civilians.
Although sources speculate the True Order weapons base was the main target,
the mist also succeeded in penetrating the wards around the Canadian mainland,
spreading across the Hudson Strait into the coast of Quebec and wiping out sev-
eral small Muggle communities there. The estimated poison radius is 130 miles,
over 30 times greater than the gas used in Switzerland.
It is unclear whether the Great Order is planning further attacks on Canadian
soil, or whether they intend to deploy their Mass Death Magic on France. Sources
say that the Spanish Minister Santos, Belgian Minister Peeters, and Italian Min-
ister Romano have all privately objected to the deployment of the weapon at their
French borders while this “mist” is still unreliable in its navigation.
The office of President Harrison declined to comment, but my source inside
M.A.C.U.S.A. stated that Harrison has scheduled a meeting with Canadian Min-
ister Martin later today.
The room spun. Hermione clutched the railing as her knees buckled, lowering
herself to sit on the bottom stair. The pages of the Ghost fluttered to the marble.
Draco collapsed next to her on the stair, throwing the Prophet on top of
the Ghost. He put his head in his hands and drew a ragged breath. Hermione
did the same.

✦ 198 ✦
 “Draco...” She shook her head, brushing away a falling tear. “We can’t wait
any longer. We have to help stop him.”
There was a long silence. “Give me a few days,” said Draco finally, his voice
flat. “We’ll think of something.”
She nodded, staring at the picture of Berge on the front of the Prophet. Berge
shifted, his lenses reflecting a horizon consumed by silvery green. Hermione
squinted as someone’s shoulder moved behind him — Theo’s.
“Theo’s name is in the papers next to Berge’s.” The sentence came out in a
single breath.
Draco’s hands dropped to his knees. “And?”
“Berge is now the greatest threat to the True Order. If he’s a target, Theo is
too. He’s a monster by association.” Her skin began tingling, and she looked up
to Draco. “If Theo is taken — or killed — who knows what will happen to Oli-
ver. We should think about getting him the antidote.”
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.

✦ 199 ✦
 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 revis-
ited 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, what-
ever 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.
Avoiding her was just another way to punish himself. And ruin her sleep
in the process.
She threw the covers off in a huff and sprang out of bed, marching across
her room and through the passageway into Draco’s.
He was sitting up in bed, reading a book. His mouth fell open when she
stomped inside. Without a word, she threw back his comforter, crawled over him
to snatch his wand and turn off the light, and plopped back on her side of the bed,
tugging the sheets up. There was a long stretch of silence before she heard him
close his book with a sigh, and felt him curl up against her in the darkness.
Waking with the dawn, she found her irritation had vanished. The sound of
quiet breathing filled the room, and she turned over carefully. She spent the
next hour memorizing Draco as he slept, studying him in ways she’d never been
able to before.
When he stirred just before seven, she ran her fingers up and down his bare
chest until his eyes fluttered open. As his gaze focused on her, a wariness flick-
ered in the grey.
Hermione bit her lip, brushing his hair from his face. “Let’s not talk about
your father,” she whispered.
His ribs stopped expanding for a moment.

✦ 200 ✦
 “You’re helping me.” She propped up on her elbow, tracing his scars. “That’s
all that matters.”
Hermione waited. And then— the slightest dip of his chin.
His pupils darkened as her fingertips dipped lower, cementing her morning
plans. She moved over him, kissing him and reaching for his morning erection,
and he flipped her on her back before she could draw breath. He sucked at her
neck, her breasts, her thighs until she was begging him to end her agony. She
came twice on his tongue. And then he pressed inside of her, panting into her
neck and nipping his teeth across her throat with heady words of praise as she
lay boneless under him.
・✦・
She waited listlessly for two days, tearing open the Prophet and Ghost,
searching for news. Both gave her little valuable information, though Gumley
at least castigated President Harrison for his continued silence. On Wednesday,
she and Draco spent most of the day brainstorming ways to sneak into Hog-
warts, with little agreement. On Thursday, she was in her tub, meditating.
When her skin had pruned and her hair was half-dry, there was a familiar
knock on her bathroom door.
“Come in.”
Draco pushed the door open and leaned on the frame, a weary expression
on his face.
The waters in her mind rippled, and she sat up straight. “News?”
He shook his head. “The post, actually.”
Her eyes fell to the envelope in his hand. The opened wax seal was pressed
with a black Dark Mark. “What is it?”
Draco tugged the card out of the envelope and stepped to the edge of the
tub, holding it out so she could read it.
The Dark Lord requests your presence at a celebration honoring
THE VICTORY AT HOGWARTS
Sunday, 2 May 1999
at seven o’clock in the evening
Hogwarts Castle
She felt dizzy as her brain whirred, scrambling to process the information.
2 May was ten days away.
The water sloshed as she shifted to her knees, looking up at him. “You’ll go
with me to get the basilisk fang? On that night?”

✦ 201 ✦
 “No.” Draco took a step backward, tucking the invitation away. “You will
stay at the party with Mother. I will go.”
Anger sparked in her veins, tensing her muscles. She wouldn’t be kept to the
side in this — he needed her.
Forcing her shoulders to relax, she said, “You can’t go alone, Draco. You’ll
need someone to help you—”
“I know.” A heavy sigh poured from his chest, and he reached for her towel.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving in half an hour.”
She stared at him blankly as he handed it to her. “What? Where?”
“To see Blaise.”
She opened her mouth, but he was already slipping out the door. Her shock
began hardening beneath her skin. Blaise could help him, but so could she.
Stepping out of the tub, she quickly dried herself off, threw on some clothes,
and raced through the passage to his room just as he came in through the door,
holding a vial in his hand.
The sight of it startled her. “What is that?”
He lifted it into view — the tattoo antidote potion. “I grabbed some from
our supply.” She frowned at him, and he added, “For Giuliana.”
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Quite right.” Her mind spun to another long-for-
gotten thought, and she grabbed his arm. “We need to get one of these to Oliver.
We can go to see him directly from—”
“Granger, we can’t do that.” His eyes drifted across her face as she gaped at
him. “There’s no Pansy who can pretend to be Wood. If someone discovered
that he escaped while Theo was away—”
“I’m not suggesting he escape. We can just give it to him so if something
does happen to Theo, he at least has the option to—”
“And you really think he’ll stay put at Nott Manor once he can leave?”
“Yes, I do.” There was a long pause. Hermione let her fingers fall from his arm.
Draco shrugged tightly. “Agree to disagree, then.”
She felt something itching at her as he stepped around her and paced to
the fireplace.
“Oliver loves Theo. He wouldn’t gamble with his life. Even if it meant sacri-
ficing his own freedom.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t know that.”
Her lips parted as she searched for words. She did know that.
Before she could think of how to explain, Draco was reaching for the jar of
Floo powder at the fireplace and tilting his head to the side. “We can talk to
Theo the next time we see him.”

✦ 202 ✦
 Hermione let out a short puff of air and shoved her thoughts aside. This
wasn’t about Theo’s feelings, or hers. This was about destroying the Horcrux.
When she joined him at the fireplace, he tossed the powder into the grate, called
out, “12 Grimmauld Place,” and tugged her into the whoosh of the flames.
The drawing room at Grimmauld Place looked much the same, if not tidier. She
focused on her breathing as her eyes roved the room. The mossy curtains were
clean and free of Doxies. The creaky sofas she, Harry, and Ron had slept on last year
were freshly aired and covered in fashionable throw pillows. There was a book on
the coffee table with a title in Italian, a silver bookmark laid in its final pages.
Draco’s hand released hers with a squeeze. He moved to the doorway just as
a girl with honey-brown hair peeked around the corner, her eyes sharp and as-
sessing. Hermione jumped, then blinked at her in recognition.
Daphne Greengrass.
“Draco,” she greeted in her deep voice. “I thought I heard the Floo.”
“Daph.”
She clasped his arm and kissed his cheek, and her eyes slid over Hermione
with a wary distaste that she recognized from school. “Granger.”
Draco stepped slightly in front of her. “Daph, can I speak with Blaise?”
She lifted a brow in a perfect imitation of Pansy Parkinson, and said, “I
don’t know. Can you?” With a spin of her heel, she swept from the room,
calling out for Blaise.
Draco rolled his eyes and gestured Hermione forward, and they followed
her around the corner into the first floor landing. Daphne strolled past a bed-
room that Hermione and Ginny had slept in when they were younger, and Her-
mione squeezed her eyes shut as a sharp stab of grief rippled through her. She
concentrated on a lake with still waters, and when she refocused, she found
Blaise appearing from the dining room on the landing below. His gaze flickered
from Draco to Hermione.
A smirk crossed his lips. “Look what the lion dragged in.”
A creak on the stairs above, and Hermione turned to find Pansy descend-
ing toward them from the landing above. She paused. “What are you doing
here, Granger?”
Before Hermione could respond, a voice from downstairs called to Blaise.
“Guests?” Giuliana Bravieri swept quickly to Blaise’s side, staring up at
them. Her cheeks looked fuller since the last time Hermione had seen her, but
she still moved like a child, birdlike.
Hermione looked up at Daphne, standing next to them, her brow still
arched. Her neck tilted to Pansy, frowning at her from the stairs above. “You
all live here?” Hermione’s eyes dropped to Blaise again. “With Blaise?”

✦ 203 ✦
 Blaise scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah. Welcome to my little
harem.” He seemed less than enthused.
Daphne snorted and disappeared into a nearby bedroom with a sharp click
of the door. Pansy began descending the stairs, and Hermione heard Giuliana
ask Blaise what a harem was in a low whisper.
“Blaise.” Draco jerked his head in the direction of the drawing room. “Can
we talk?”
Blaise let out a long-suffering sigh. He began climbing the stairs to the first
floor landing, and Draco ushered Hermione back inside, guiding her to the
couch. She stiffened at the thought of the last time she’d slept on it, but Draco’s
hand on her back centered her. He sat next to her at the end closest to the fire-
place, and Blaise took the claw-footed chair beside him.
There was a split second of silence before Pansy barged through the doors,
sinking into the chair across from Blaise as if it were exactly where she was
expected to be.
Draco cleared his throat and said, “Some privacy, Pans?”
Pansy had barely let out a scoff when Giuliana filed in, and a vein throbbed
in Draco’s temple as he watched her perch on the coffee table next to Blaise.
There was a movement in the corridor, and Hermione glanced up to find
Daphne hovering in the doorway, her arms tightly crossed.
“Something’s wrong,” Daphne said. “Why else would he bring her?”
Draco rubbed his forehead. “Nothing’s wrong, Daph. I just need to speak
to Blaise—”
“What is she talking about?” Giuliana scooted closer to Blaise. “What is wrong?”
Blaise’s shoulders lifted, and he shook his head. “I have no—”
“We’re not leaving, Draco.” Pansy crossed her legs, tapping her fingers on
the armrest. “Out with it.”
Four pairs of eyes fixed on him, but still he said nothing. Hermione fought
the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her denims.
“I believe there is a change on the way,” he finally said. “A shifting of the winds.”
Pansy’s tapping ended with a thump. “If you have something useful to say,
now would be a good time.”
“Where is this ‘wind’ shifting, exactly?” Daphne’s voice was tight, and Her-
mione watched her fingers clutch at a locket around her neck.
Giuliana turned over her shoulder. “A wind shift? Pansy, what—”
Blaise sat very still, his eyes boring into Draco’s. Hermione watched his
dark pupils dilate and retract, and felt Draco relaxing next to her — his walls
crumbling away.
“Girls,” said Blaise, cutting through the chatter. “Leave us.”

✦ 204 ✦
 Giuliana flinched, like she’d been slapped. Pansy coolly picked at her finger-
nails. “Why?”
Blaise massaged his brow. “Because Draco’s going to get us all killed.”
Draco glowered at Blaise while Pansy and Daphne exchanged unimpressed
looks, as though this was just another Friday evening in the dormitory.
“Come get me if something interesting happens.” Daphne sniffed and
pushed off the doorframe, disappearing with a flip of her hair.
Giuliana began arguing with Blaise in Italian, and Hermione leaned into
Draco’s ear. “Where is Daphne’s sister?”
“Montreal, with her parents.” Hermione turned her head to look at him.
“The Greengrasses have been ‘on holiday’ there since last June.”
Her gaze drifted to the empty doorway. “Why did Daphne stay behind?”
Draco nodded his head to his right. And Hermione’s gaze snapped to Blaise,
gesturing with his hands as he spoke.
Her mind clicked with old memories of them passing through the hallways
together. It made sense that Daphne would stay for him. But then why were
they acting like total strangers?
Draco let out a slight cough. “Giuliana.” The girl broke off, turning to him
like a doe caught down the barrel of a rifle. “I need you to distract Kreacher for
us. Can you keep him busy?”
She whipped her eyes back to Blaise, almost asking for permission. He nod-
ded, and pinched the bridge of his nose as she left the room.
Pansy uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her eyes locked on Draco.
“Pansy—”
“You owe me this.” Her tone was soft, but it echoed around the walls
with finality.
Draco’s throat clicked, and he flicked his wand to cast a Muffliato at the
doorway. He turned to Blaise. “He can be killed.”
Blaise settled back in his chair. “By you?”
Draco hesitated. “It’s complicated.” He turned his chin in Hermione’s di-
rection, and some of the tension in her spine eased.
“There are steps,” she said. “A certain sequence of things we need to do in
order to kill him. The first is getting a basilisk fang.”
A snort from their left. “You’re going to kill the greatest Dark wizard that
ever lived with a basilisk fang?”
Hermione ran her tongue along the inside of her teeth. She was still hesitant
to tell anyone else about the Horcruxes. Every new person who learned the
truth was another liability.
“Pans, we can’t tell you anything else.”

✦ 205 ✦
 Pansy stared them down through lidded eyes. “Fine. You need a basilisk
fang. What is Blaise supposed to do about it?”
Draco swiveled to face Blaise again, pushing to the edge of the sofa. “Help
me get one from the Chamber of Secrets. There’s one down there.”
Blaise tossed his head back and laughed. Spots of pink appeared on
Draco’s cheeks.
“So you want me to go sneaking around Hogwarts with you when the castle
is crawling with Death Eaters, and help you break into one of the most impen-
etrable chambers in the castle—”
“Not all that impenetrable—”
“—and grab a fang to... smuggle out of the castle? Or do you intend to stab
him right there over dinner?”
Draco gritted his teeth. “All I’m asking is for your help creating a distraction
so I can get away for twenty minutes. I can get the fang myself, but I’d prefer if
someone was watching my back.”
Irritation bubbled in Hermione’s chest. “I already told you I could help you!
Clearly we’re wasting our time—”
“Not now, Granger—”
“What grand Gryffindor scheme have you fallen victim to, Draco?” Blaise’s
eyes narrowed at him, and then slid to Hermione.
Hermione crossed her arms and pressed her lips together. Draco’s feet
shifted on the carpet.
“Things are changing, Blaise,” Draco said. “I’m sure the True Order will
mount an attack soon, given what just happened in Canada. And they won’t
hold back this time.”
His words pelted against her skin like hail.
“If the Great Order falls, my father falls, and so do I.” Her heart thumped
harder as the silence stretched. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
Her vision blurred. She wouldn’t let that happen to him.
She wouldn’t.
“But the Dark Lord…” He glanced at her. “He will not fall. He will survive
and start again.”
Hermione blinked several times, tucking her fear and grief into the closest
book on her shelf. She nodded. “It’s true. He can’t be destroyed unless we can
get our hands on basilisk venom.”
Blaise stared her down, looking as though he were biting something back —
as if his throat was working around words he wanted to hiss at her. She stared
blankly back at him.
He tore his gaze away. “What’s your plan?”

✦ 206 ✦
 The room was still. And then Draco licked his lips. “I just need twenty
minutes during dinner—”
“There’s no way you can be gone for twenty minutes.” Hermione jumped as
she turned to look at Pansy, her lips curled in distaste. “Lucius will be seated
next to the Dark Lord, his wife and son on his other side. There’s no good ex-
cuse for the prolonged absence of Lucius Malfoy’s son.”
“She’s right.” Blaise leaned back in his chair with a lazy smirk, all traces of
tension gone. “Draco Malfoy can’t disappear. But I can.”
“No.” Draco’s voice was harsh. “I can’t ask you to go in my place. It’s far
too great a risk—”
“Oh, fuck no.” Blaise let out a chuckle. “I’m not going in your place. I’ve
barely signed on. What I’m saying is that we have a year’s supply of Polyjuice
Potion downstairs.”
“Blaise, quit being coy,” Pansy snapped.
“We create a distraction that sidelines me — a bit too much to drink, per-
haps — and I take the potion pretending to be you while you run off to the
Chamber of Secrets.” Blaise broke into a grin at the dawning horror on Draco’s
face. “Come on, mate. Let me be you for an hour.”
Draco swallowed thickly. “It’s an option. We can discuss others—”
“Nope.” Blaise popped the “p” and tilted his head. “I’m only agreeing to put
my life on the line if I get to play Draco Malfoy for twenty minutes. I’ve been
preparing for this role my whole life.”
“It doesn’t sound like the worst plan,” Hermione said quietly. She glanced
up at Draco. “If I’m being honest, it’s probably less risky than anything I could
attempt. Blaise knows your mannerisms inside out.”
Draco’s fists slowly uncurled on his knees. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
“Fine.” He rolled his neck. “A few more things. Can you call Giuliana back?”
The mirth drained from Blaise’s face. He cleared his throat and stood from
his chair, moving to the hallway to call for her. Giuliana was in the doorway
seconds later, staring up at Blaise with doe eyes. She followed Blaise as he re-
turned to his chair and perched on the coffee table again. He grimaced as she
brushed her knees against his, and Hermione’s lips parted in silent realization.
Giuliana was infatuated with him.
Blaise quickly stood, offering Giuliana the chair so he could stand. She pro-
tested a bit before agreeing, a blush staining her cheeks. She asked him a ques-
tion in Italian, and Blaise jabbered a response, waving his hand at Draco. Giu-
liana shifted to face them.
“Giuliana,” Draco said, “What do you know about that tattoo on your arm?”
She said nothing, but a wrinkle appeared on her nose.

✦ 207 ✦
 Draco’s eyes flickered between her and Blaise. “I’m not sure if you remem-
ber, but it activated when you were first delivered to Blaise at his home.”
“I remember. It felt like lightning.” Her voice was soft — timid.
“That’s right,” said Draco. He bounced his knee once. “It binds you to cer-
tain properties, locking you in. Like at Edinburgh.”
A shadow passed over Giuliana’s face, and her shoulder jerked. She reached
to brush her fingers across her arm, where Blaise’s signature was scrawled in
black and gold.
“Granger created a potion to remove the tattoo.” Draco pulled the vial from
his robes, and Hermione felt Pansy’s eyes on her when he lifted it in the light.
He handed the vial to Giuliana slowly, as if she would bolt at any minute. “So
you can be free.”
Giuliana looked down at the contents of the vial, and her lip trembled. “Free?”
“Yes,” said Hermione. “Free.”
Giuliana turned it over in her fingertips.
Hermione’s chest ached as she turned to Pansy. “Even though your tattoo
was never activated”—her eyes flicked down to Pansy’s scarred flesh— “it’s still
a good idea for you to take it as well.”
Blaise stared at the vial over Giuliana’s shoulder. “Impressive, Granger.”
“Blaise—” Draco glanced around the room, and his throat bobbed. “I don’t
know how much longer England will be safe. You should take Giuliana back to
Italy as soon as you can. As long as she stays in hiding, Pansy can—”
“I don’t want to go!” The room jumped as Giuliana scrambled to shove the
vial back into Draco’s hand. “I’m not leaving him.”
There was an eerie silence as the four of them stared at Giuliana. A tear
streamed down her cheek, and she impatiently brushed it away.
“Giuliana,” said Blaise softly. “Your mother misses you. I promised to bring
you to her when she got to Egypt—”
“My heart is here, with you,” said Giuliana, her voice thick. “Why would I
go anywhere else?”
Hermione’s stomach squirmed, her cheeks hot. She felt like a voyeur, watch-
ing a tragic play she hadn’t paid a ticket to see. Pansy’s eyes closed in resignation
as she rubbed her temple, like this wasn’t the first time she’d heard this. Draco
sat perfectly still — his wide eyes never leaving Giuliana.
“Giuliana, we’ve talked about this,” Blaise whispered, kneeling down in
front of her. He took her hands in his. “I am here to protect you. I do not have
feelings for you. You’re confused—”
Giuliana’s eyes filled with tears. Her voice broke as she began weeping,
speaking in Italian.

✦ 208 ✦
 Pansy stood abruptly and jerked her head toward the corridor. Hermione
followed her quickly, looking over her shoulder to see Draco dragging his feet,
his eyes still frozen on Blaise and Giuliana.
“Told you,” Pansy whispered when Draco finally joined them.
He blinked at her, dazed.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, prying the vial from his fingers. “They go through
this twice a week now.” She pushed her fringe out of her eyes and uncapped the
vial, preparing to toss it back.
Hermione startled back into her body. “You only need a bit,” she said
quickly. “You should save some in case Giuliana changes her mind.”
Something almost like pity crossed Pansy’s eyes as she stared at her. She
stoppered the vial and turned to Draco. “You’ll need a dress for her.”
Hermione’s mouth fell open as they both looked at her. “It won’t be like
Edinburgh? It’s formal again?”
Pansy snorted. “Granger, you’ll be sharing a table with the Dark Lord. You
can save the négligée for another night.”
Draco jerked a nod. “Yes. So, Pans, if you—”
“I have the perfect thing,” said Pansy with a grin. “Anything else?”
Draco winced and ran a hand through his hair. “Well… Granger will need
a wand…”
Hermione glanced up at him. She would need one — she hadn’t even
thought about it. They couldn’t ask Narcissa after what had happened.
Pansy lifted a brow. “And you want…?” She barked out a laugh and waltzed
down the stairs, calling out, “Daph, Draco has something hilarious to ask you.”
Draco cursed under his breath.
・✦・
A very awkward ten minutes later, they were arriving back to the Manor
with Daphne Greengrass’s wand. She’d never seen Draco stammer so much in
one conversation. Daphne had finally handed it over in exchange for a promise
that he’d give her up-to-date information about any future attack on Canada,
especially near Montreal.
The next several days, Hermione tried to get comfortable with Daphne
Greengrass’s wand. It was a 12 inch mahogany with unicorn hair, and quite
inflexible. It barely responded to her the first day. It almost needed to be wooed.
Their days quickly became filled with planning. They spent hours arguing
with Blaise and Pansy through the Floo, and ended up agreeing on a version of
Blaise’s original plan. Once Draco had the basilisk fang, Blaise and Pansy would
help them leave without being seen.

✦ 209 ✦
 The next step of the plan — destroying the Horcrux — was trickier to reach
an agreement on. Hermione didn’t speak to Draco for a full day until he finally
conceded that she, not Blaise, had to be the one to come with him. The follow-
ing day, Draco worked on how to transport them over to Romania while Her-
mione tried to strengthen her atrophied wandwork.
At night, she and Draco would use books transcribed by the library catalog,
researching what kind of wards and curses Lucius and Voldemort might have
used to secure the Horcrux at the Malfoy property. Draco had gone white when
she told him that there were Inferi in one location, but to his credit, he’d
clenched his jaw and said nothing.
“How will we be able to find it?” Draco asked one evening. “It could be
anything.”
“We’ll know,” she said, flipping a page. “Trust me.”
They took a break from countercurses later that evening, and Draco found
a book on Parseltongue. With Hermione’s help, he quickly mastered the correct
sibilant sounds to say, “Open.” She didn’t need a Pensieve to remember the way
it had fallen from Harry’s lips.
A few days before the anniversary party, Draco went to Grimmauld again
for Blaise’s birthday gathering, at which he promised her that they would final-
ize their plans. Hermione took that evening to herself, practicing defensive
spells in a cleared guest room, and getting used to pulling Daphne’s wand from
its position on her thigh.
If Narcissa suspected anything, she kept quiet. They shared meals with her
and she told them what she knew about Lucius’s whereabouts — Hungary, at
the moment. Since the Hungarian Minister had been killed the night of the at-
tack on Edinburgh, his replacement had taken a tepid public stance on the
Great Order. Lucius was overseeing the transition.
Hermione couldn’t help but feel that Voldemort’s army was disorganized.
Draco hadn’t been called on a mission in weeks. She scanned the Prophet and
the Ghost daily, seeing the same names over and over. It seemed like the entire
world was holding its breath. For what, she was too afraid to ask.
The day of the anniversary party loomed closer, and along with it, a tightening
knot of dread in Hermione’s stomach. One year since Harry had died, since she’d
last seen Ron. Since she’d seen the ghost of Fred’s laugh, or the way Remus and
Tonks had reached for each other in death. Those had been the worst hours of
her life. And now she would be attending a gathering to celebrate them.
Draco was the first one to point out that she would need to Occlude longer
than she ever had if she hoped to survive the evening. She’d have to temper
every reaction, bite back every comment, and allow herself to simply exist in a

✦ 210 ✦
sea of murderers and rapists with a smile on her face. She’d have to be passive,
demure, and obedient. And watch her friends be the same.
On Sunday morning while Draco was still asleep, she slipped into a silk robe
and wandered back to her own room to examine the dress Pansy had promised
to deliver that morning. When she crossed the secret barrier between their bed-
rooms, something on her dresser flashed a deep green, pausing her steps.
It was a necklace of emeralds and diamonds, resting on a black velvet neck-
lace bust. Her eyes widened as she studied the intricate detailing and webbing
across the neck, the sprawling jewels over the collarbones. She skated her fin-
gers down the cool teardrop emeralds, their surface cut and smooth. It was col-
lar-like, but also opulent and expensive.
“It’s a bit much, I know.”
She turned over her shoulder to see Draco leaning in the passage, his hair
sleep-tussled and his pajama bottoms tugged on low over his bare stomach.
“Where did it come from?”
He pushed off the wall and sauntered to her. “It’s an heirloom.”
“It’s…” She stared back at it, struggling to find the words. “A bit more than
I’m used to.”
“You might have a heart attack when you see Pansy’s dress, then.”
He moved to her side and reached for the necklace. The gems clicked against
each other as he unclasped it and lifted it up off the bust. He gestured toward
the long mirror, and her heart skipped as she joined him in front of it, lifting
her hair up off her neck and twisting it into a pile on her head.
The necklace floated over her, sprawling across her collarbones as he fit it to
her neck. He closed the clasp, and she felt the metal warm to her skin. She took a
deep breath and lifted her face to the mirror. It felt like an extension of herself,
the emeralds and diamonds branching out across her neck like a tree taking root.
Draco pushed a loose curl back, and pressed a kiss to the spot behind her
ear. She felt it ripple across her skin.
“You can do this,” he whispered.
She met his eyes in the mirror. “I know.”
Somehow, she did.
His hand was resting on her hip — the presence soft and steadying at first,
but growing warmer, sending molten heat curling through her veins. Her dress-
ing gown was thin and silky, and as the heat of his palm sunk into her skin, she
watched her nipples tighten into hard peaks.
Draco’s gaze slid down from her face, dragging across the gems on her
throat and the curve of her breasts. He pressed his lips against the shell of her
ear. “Do you like it?”

✦ 211 ✦
 She examined herself in the necklace. The light from the stones illuminated an-
gles and shadows on her face that she hadn’t seen before. Draco’s other hand
dropped to her waist, sliding around her stomach and pulling her body against his.
She quirked a brow at the feel of him behind her. “You certainly like it.”
He smiled into her hair and said, “That’s not what I asked.” His fingers
tripped along the silk, inching closer and closer to the sash at her waist.
Tilting her neck from side to side, she watched the emeralds glitter. The di-
amonds seemed to sink into her skin, and she tried to imagine an occasion she
might choose to wear jewelry like this. And as his fingers slid through the silk
sash, unknotting it and slowly parting the robe to reveal her bare skin, she won-
dered if the occasion could be Draco.
His eyes were hot and dark as the robe glided over her taut nipples, separat-
ing and revealing her naked body to him in the mirror. Her eyelids fluttered as
he dragged the silk down her shoulders, letting it hang from her elbows as he
traced a path back up her arm to the diamonds.
He fingered the jewels, spreading them to lay properly across her chest,
drifting his fingers low and brushing her breasts in teasing sweeps. She felt him
hard behind her, his erection digging into her lower back, and she squeezed her
thighs together in anticipation.
“I like it,” she said, and his eyes lifted to hers, pupils blackened.
His hand pressed firmly across her stomach, his fingers splayed over her
ribs. With a lick to the spot behind her ear, his hand trailed upward, slipping
between her breasts to circle the edge of the center emerald. His other palm
cupped her breast as she gasped, rolling her nipple.
A flush broke across her skin as she watched his fingers work her in the
mirror. There was no room to be embarrassed when she was so aroused, wear-
ing nothing but jewelry, a robe dripping from her elbows as Draco slid his
hands over her body and thrust his hips into her backside.
She closed her eyes as his hand traveled lower and lower, reaching her core.
Her head fell back on his shoulder as his fingers worked her clit, circling and
pressing just the way she liked. He tipped her chin to his and kissed her as his
fingertips pushed her legs wider. She moaned softly against his lips, opening
her mouth and thighs for him.
The heat in her stomach bloomed. She lowered her silk robe to pool at their
feet and turned in his arms to face him. He opened his eyes slowly and glanced
appreciatively over her front, and then at the mirror to look over her back. He
licked his lips.
“You like mirrors?” she teased.

✦ 212 ✦
 He kissed her neck, letting his fingers slide over her hips and drag slowly
over her spine. “I like not having to choose which half of you to look at.”
She hummed and pushed up on her toes to kiss him. It must have
done something to her backside because suddenly he groaned and filled his
hands with her, squeezing and running his fingers closer and closer to her inner
thighs. His tongue swept into her mouth as she arched her breasts into him, the
necklace brushing against his clavicle.
The diamonds and emeralds clicked together as she ran her hands over his
chest and shoulders. Each sigh and gasp shivered through her, reminding her that
she was someone who could stand naked in front of Draco Malfoy in nothing but
jewels and make him moan. She could make him just as dizzy as he made her.
The heat beneath her skin burned brighter as she pressed her hands to his
shoulders and gave him a coy smile before shoving him back on her mattress.
He caught himself just as she climbed over him, his mouth open as she prowled
up his body to straddle his hips and kiss his neck.
She dipped her fingers into his pajama bottoms, and he watched her in awe
as she pulled them off and took his cock in her hand, the necklace swaying be-
tween them. He placed his hands on her thighs as she stroked him, his stomach
muscles tensing and his breath coming quickly.
Holding his gaze, she sat up tall and positioned him at her entrance. His eyes
rolled back in his head, and his hands snapped to her hips as she slid down on
the length of him. It was still a stretch, but she threw her head back with a heavy
moan as her body accommodated him until she couldn’t take any more.
The part of her brain that would usually tell her that she was doing it all
wrong was turned off. There was just Draco’s hot eyes on her. His fingers
thumbing her nipples, and trailing the emeralds.
Grabbing his hands, she pinned them down into the mattress on either side
of his head, bracing herself as she leaned over him, beginning to roll her hips.
She watched as his lips dropped open, his fingers gripping hers tightly as his
breath panted across her face.
Her body moved in tune with the clatter of thousands of Galleons against
her chest. The coil in her tightened, the familiar tension winding through her
as her hips ground against him, her clit aching to be touched. She released one
of his hands, but he beat her to it, his thumb swiping quickly over her clit as she
gasped his name.
She started to tumble, her limbs seizing and insides squeezing his cock. She fell
forward with a cry, the emeralds digging into his skin as she flew apart like crystals.
His arms wrapped around her back, gripping her tightly as his hips thrusted
up into her, not even pausing while she clenched down around him. Curses

✦ 213 ✦
poured into her ear as he fucked her blissed body from below, holding her close
and breathing hot air over her skin.
Their bodies slid over each other as he sped up, his pace growing erratic,
and every deep thrust dragged over a spot that made color spot behind her eyes.
He tugged at her hair, arching her chest to him, and locked his lips over a breast
just as his cock pummeled her in the perfect way—
“Draco—”
She shivered again, keening as she splintered like light refracting through
diamonds, blinding pleasure rippling through her core. He came while her
mind was still fracturing, grunting against her breast as his body seized, his cock
pulsing inside of her while her walls fluttered.
Her bowed spine slowly pieced itself back together, and she lay boneless
against his chest as he panted into her hair.
When she could form words again, she lifted her head and met his eyes. “I
like the necklace. A lot.”
He smiled up at her, sweat glistening across his forehead and said, “So do I.”
Laughing, she leaned down to kiss him.
・✦・
Two hours later, they removed the necklace. Hermione slipped into the tub,
and practiced her Occlumency for several hours until Pansy arrived to do her
hair and makeup.
Pansy was silent with concentration, which Hermione appreciated. She
started on her hair, and Hermione focused on still waters. She closed books,
tidied up the shelves like it was a bookshop, pushing the spines to align with
each other until every book was closed, locked, and hidden.
It seemed like only seconds later that a girl with crisp black hair was telling
her to stand, to come with her to get dressed.
Hermione followed. A wardrobe opened. A gown of diamonds and beads
hung heavily, glinting against the setting sunlight.
The girl helped her into the gown and put a necklace on her.
Hermione’s body was heavy.
Someone attached something to her thigh and helped her with her shoes.
A boy in dark robes met her at the door, his hair light and his eyes grey. He
didn’t say a word to her as he led her down a staircase to two other people. A
man and wife. Blond.
As if through a haze, her body descended stone steps, down a gravel drive.
A moon shone overhead.

✦ 214 ✦
 When the four of them appeared before an iron gate, a black castle in the
distance, a hooded figure swept down over her, mouth gaping and trying to
suck warmth from her—
But it found none.

✦ 215 ✦
 CHAPTER 34

A
WIND DANCED ACROSS HER SKIN.
A line of carriages waited, led by dead horses.
The pale-haired boy lifted her up the step and guided her into a seat.
Two other companions followed.
An older couple. They murmured to each other, their eyes darting towards
her and away.
Her dress was a thick weight on her shoulders.
With the clicking of hooves, the carriage lurched down a path toward a cas-
tle. A cloud reigned over it — a skull and snake.
The carriage curved around a lake, and the moon shone from its placid waters.
As the castle loomed closer, Hermione focused on her shelves. Her fingers
drifted across a book with warm sunlight beaming on a courtyard, and two boys
walking with her to class. She pushed it deep in the center shelf, next to a book with
screams and rubble and a dark-haired boy hanging lifeless in a half-giant’s arms.
The dead horses came to a stop. Their carriage door opened, and a hand
extended to her. She took it, and cold fingers twitched in hers as she descended
the first step. Her eyes followed the hand up to a rounded face with gaunt eyes.
A shelf in her mind groaned. The boy mouthed her name and a book came
tumbling down, its pages fluttering open to missing toads, clumsy potions, and
stuttered invitations to balls—
Neville.
She felt her lungs collapse, black spots in her vision. And then a warm hand
on her back— urging her on.
Drawing a sharp breath, Hermione dropped to the final step of the carriage.
She squeezed Neville’s hand before she released it, taking in his sun-weathered
face and split lip. He wore long black robes, belted with a gold rope. His bruised
eyes searched hers.
“That’s enough gawking, Longbottom.”

✦ 216 ✦
 Neville jumped as though he’d been kicked. He swiftly stepped backward,
limping to the next set of carriages. Draco pressed his hand to her hip and
steered her in the other direction, moving them toward the courtyard. Lucius
and Narcissa had already swept ahead of them.
Hermione tried to refocus, but each step she took from Neville was like an
icicle in her chest. Her friends were being starved and beaten. And she was
dripping in diamonds.
She felt the weight of her dress dragging her down, her knees buckling. Draco
paused, gripping her elbow and pressing his lips to her ear. “You can do this.”
The words wove through her.
“Pull back a bit.” His thumb rolled a slow circle on her elbow. “So they know
you’re still in there.”
She dipped her chin in a nod, and after a sharp breath they continued walk-
ing. Hermione centered her attention on the warmth of his hand, preparing her
mind for the onslaught of people she was about to encounter.
They were here for the True Order tonight. And Harry needed her to finish
what he’d started.
By the time they entered the courtyard, her waters were calm, and Neville
had been tucked in the deepest book on the center shelf.
A crowd mingled, their laughter drowning out the low music. Draco lifted
two champagne glasses off a floating tray, and Hermione blinked, accepting it.
“Draco,” a slick voice called out. “Good to see you.”
Hermione remained still at Draco’s side as Marcus Flint sauntered over to
them. Penelope followed a pace behind, wearing a simple black dress cinched
with a golden rope. Marcus nodded at Hermione. “Granger. You look as en-
chanting as ever.”
Hermione tipped her head in acknowledgment, tapping her fingers against
her champagne flute.
“Flint,” said Draco coolly. “All better, I take it?”
Penelope looked up at Flint as he detailed his recovery, her eyes misty with
some unknown emotion. Hermione filed it away, allowing her gaze to wander.
She skated over Narcissa and Lucius, deep in conversation with Rookwood
and his wife, and a group of laughing men she recognized from the gambling
tables. Under the lantern light, she found several other Lots standing near their
owners — each of them in a simple black dress with gold rope. Hermione’s
heart pounded as eyes flickered in her direction.
Draco extricated them from Flint with an excuse and a hand on her elbow,
and Hermione tried to relax her posture as she leaned into his ear.
“I’m overdressed.”

✦ 217 ✦
 “No. You weren’t given a dress code.” She heard him swallow. “You’re sup-
posed to stand out.”
A shiver danced down her spine, but before she could think about it more,
he was directing her to greet Blaise, Theo, and “Giuliana.” Oliver Wood stood
two feet behind Theo, his eyes cast downwards. He looked healthier since Her-
mione had seen him last, but his eyes were lined with dark shadows. Both he
and Giuliana wore black robes belted with a gold rope, though Giuliana’s were
shorter and lower-cut.
“And a ‘happy anniversary’ to you, Draco,” said Blaise, twisting the cap off
a flask. His eyes flickered over Hermione, and he gave a low whistle before tak-
ing a swig. “You look like a million Galleons, Granger.”
She inclined her head in thanks, folding her hands in front of her.
“Feels good to be back at Hogwarts, doesn’t it?”
“Mate, keep your voice down,” Theo hissed. Hermione saw him rub his
wrist anxiously. “This is not the night to be drunk off your arse—”
“This is precisely the night,” Blaise slurred.
“Blaise.” Draco’s voice was stern, and Hermione looked up to see his eyes
hard as ice. “Get yourself together.”
Blaise looked like he was about to laugh, but he seemed to straighten up.
“Right you are, General.” He held Draco’s eyes as he slowly lifted his flask and
took another swig.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. Hermione’s eyes darted to a nearby
couple, glaring at them.
“I need to speak with Minister Egger. I’ll see you both inside.” Draco steered
her away, and turned back over his shoulder with a hiss. “Behave yourselves.”
Hermione took a calming breath as they glided across the courtyard, push-
ing away her thoughts of the evening’s plans. She curved her lips in a demure
smile as Draco greeted the Swiss Minister and his wife — the one Draco had
been seen standing behind in the Prophet while he was in Switzerland. As they
stood and chatted, shifting around the growing crowd, Hermione chanced a
glance around the courtyard.
Lucius and Narcissa were now speaking to Selwyn and his wife. The Swiss
Minister paused to retrieve a fresh glass of champagne, and Hermione caught
a glimpse of Theo walking with an unfamiliar man. The man pressed a spindly
hand on Theo’s shoulder as he directed him toward the archways, with Oliver
following from a respectable distance. They stopped to greet a pair of diplo-
mats, and the skeletal man turned — Albrecht Berge. Hermione’s eyes dropped
to the stones again.

✦ 218 ✦
 She spotted Dolohov’s profile across the courtyard, scanning the crowd.
Slughorn bumped into him before they could lock eyes, and Dolohov snarled
as sherry spilled onto his shoes. To her left she found Hannah Abbott, standing
a few steps behind Runcorn from the Ministry, her face pale. Runcorn was
speaking lowly to Minister Cirillo as her eyes drifted over Hannah.
Draco was interrupted by Minister Santos and his wife. Hermione acknowl-
edged them with a pasted-on smile, and when they moved past introductions,
she glanced around again.
Rita Skeeter was speaking with Pius Thickness, her eyes drifting over his
shoulder to watch Yaxley’s conversation with the Austrian Minister. Hermione
found Rabastan Lestrange next, laughing with Flint and Penelope. Her stomach
jolted, and she swiftly scanned the crowd for ginger hair. She found none.
In a dark corner on the opposite archway, Hermione caught a flash of lupine
eyes — Fenrir Greyback, standing with another large, vicious-looking man. A
heavy volume shuddered — one containing pages of blood-matted blonde curls
and Lavender’s vacant blue eyes. Dropping her eyes to the stones again, she
took deep breaths.
Draco suddenly excused them and took her arm, dragging her quickly
through the crowd. Hermione barely had a moment to orient herself when
Draco stopped in the arched entryway — just as Katya Viktor reached the stairs.
“Katya.”
Hermione watched Katya’s shoulders stiffen before her beautiful face lifted.
“Draco, darling!” She stepped up to them and kissed Draco on the cheek,
her eyes quickly skimming over Hermione as she pulled away. “I had so hoped
to see you tonight!”
“It’s been too long.” He seemed taller as he stared down at her. “I had hoped
to find you at Edinburgh last month, but of course…”
Katya’s eye twitched, and she quickly shook her head in sympathy. “What a
mess that was. I know we’re not supposed to discuss it”—she glanced over her
shoulder— “but I was so glad I had caught the flu that morning. Thank Merlin
you were safe.”
She flashed her bright teeth at him. Draco held her gaze, and the seconds
stretched until he returned her smile.
“Nothing made me more relieved than hearing you’d stayed home. But
Katya—” Draco abruptly dropped Hermione’s arm and took Katya’s elbow,
leading her into the Entrance Hall. He jerked his head for Hermione to follow.
“I’ve been sending letters. I do hope you’re not still ill.”
His tone was icy, like his father’s. Hermione watched Katya’s ribs expand in
her sapphire dress.

✦ 219 ✦
 “I’ve been away, unfortunately!” She let out a nervous laugh. “But I’m so
glad I ran into you, truly—”
“Perhaps I could come by this week.” Draco’s feet halted. “How’s Tuesday?”
“Oh, Tuesday is no good, I’m afraid. I’ll be—”
“Wednesday.” Draco’s tone was firm.
Katya hesitated, her eyes dragging up to his. “Wednesday is perfect, Draco.”
She smiled. “I’ll be at home.”
“Wonderful.” Draco released Katya’s arm. “I so look forward to it.”
Katya managed another smile before turning away, stepping up to the heavy
wooden doors. They swung open, and she walked into the Great Hall, her shoes
clicking faster than necessary.
The doors swung shut, sealing off the noise. Hermione moved next to
Draco. “Be careful,” she whispered. “She’s afraid of you.”
“She should be,” Draco said darkly. “She sent me to die at Edinburgh. If it
forces her to see me, it’ll be worth it.”
Hermione swallowed.
A tinkle of bells sounded through the courtyard, and Hermione jumped at
the sound. She closed her eyes, drawing deep breaths through her lungs. The
guests were being summoned to dinner, and she and Draco would join them.
With a hand at the small of her back, Draco swiftly led her through the doors
and into the Great Hall.
A swell of noise met her ears. The Great Hall was only half-full, but Hermi-
one had never seen this many people in it. The room seemed to go on forever,
magically expanded to twice its usual size. Hermione gripped the stem of her
champagne glass as they walked past tables set with elegant tablecloths and lav-
ish centerpieces, the silver glittering in the light of the candelabras. The banners
were gone and the ceiling was without stars.
An elderly man with an Italian accent called out to Draco, and they paused.
Hermione barely registered the feel of his dry lips against her knuckles before
Draco led her away.
She wondered how many people were here tonight, celebrating Volde-
mort’s victory.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Lucius and Narcissa walking parallel
with them, down the main aisle. All four of them headed towards a table at the
end of the hall.
Eyes skated over her face and neck, and Hermione let her gaze drag across
them in turn. She kept her spine straight and her lips curved, as if she, too, were
cut from stone.

✦ 220 ✦
 To her right, she saw Minister Santos and his wife were taking their seats
next to Minister Cirillo. To her left, Minister Thicknesse and Dolores Um-
bridge seemed to be in deep conversation. Umbridge wore a gown of pink se-
quins and lace, and as they passed, her eyes met Hermione’s with a coy smile.
They reached the end of the aisle. Lord Voldemort stood at the center of the
High Table, his thin lips smiling. He wore green robes of crushed velvet. Bella-
trix stood at his right in brocaded black. Her eyes narrowed at Lucius and Nar-
cissa as they climbed the steps.
The room felt cold. Hermione focused on her heartbeat as she and Draco
cut to the left and followed his parents.
“Lucius,” said Voldemort softly. “You and your family are very welcome.”
“Thank you, my Lord.” Lucius and Narcissa inclined their heads, and once
they straightened, Voldemort gestured to the chair across from him. Lucius
pulled out the chair across from Bellatrix, and Narcissa settled in it silently. Lu-
cius took the chair to her right, directly in front of Voldemort.
Draco stepped forward, and Hermione kept her head lowered as he paid his
respects to Voldemort and his aunt. He pulled out the chair to the right of his
father, looking pointedly at the chair next to him. Hermione approached the
table, expecting him to sit, but he seemed to be waiting for something.
“Mudblood Granger,” Voldemort hissed, and Hermione’s pulse skyrock-
eted. “You do not have a greeting for me?”
She quickly dropped into a low curtsey. “Of course, my Lord. Forgive me.”
Bellatrix tutted her disapproval. Draco’s knuckles went white on his chair.
“Thank you for allowing me to attend tonight, my Lord.”
There was a stilted silence. Then Voldemort hummed his acknowledgment,
and Hermione felt like she could breathe again.
She waited with her head down until Draco pulled his chair out, and fol-
lowed suit, her heart still thumping in her ears.
People murmured and laughed around her, the table groaning and chairs shift-
ing at both ends. Hermione kept her lips curved and her eyes fixed on her cham-
pagne, letting the noise blend together like bubbles in a flute. The chair to her right
pulled out, and she looked up to see Theo bowing to Voldemort. Oliver stood with
another Lot against the opposite wall, their heads down and hands folded.
Blinking, Hermione glanced over her shoulder. The tables were packed, the
Great Hall nearly full. And all around them, black robes with gold belts lined
the walls like sentinels. She was the only Lot allowed to sit at the table.
Her mind rippled, but before she could calm it, a melodic voice dripped like
honey across her ear.
“My Lord. I am honored to sit at your table.”

✦ 221 ✦
 With slow movements, Hermione turned in her chair to take in Ginny Wea-
sley, sparkling in silver and dripping in diamonds. Avery bowed next to her, his
hair slicked back.
Hermione’s eyes fell to her napkin. Draco shifted in his seat.
“Ginevra.” Voldemort’s voice was low and amused. “What a jewel you make.”
“You flatter me, my Lord.”
Voldemort laughed softly, and a freezing chill whipped across Hermione’s
still waters. She lifted her eyes as Avery and Ginny walked around the table, and
caught Bellatrix’s lips twisting as they passed.
A chair dragged in front of her, and Hermione watched Avery and Ginny
take their seats — Avery to the Dark Lord’s left, in front of Draco, and Ginny
directly across from Hermione.
Hermione’s eyes dropped to her glass.
The conversation began flowing again. The jewels across the table sparkled,
drawing her in. Hermione studied the pale bubbles in her flute until her mind
was somewhere blue and deep.
The Great Hall filled with sound, boisterous and grating.
A palm slapped the table, and a group of men laughed.
A man across the table whispered in a girl’s ear. Her hair was red.
The pale-haired boy next to her cleared his throat. “More champagne?”
Hermione drifted back into her body. “Please.”
Draco ordered her glass to fill itself. Hermione reached for it, sipping as she
turned to take in the rest of the table. On the other side of Ginny, Rookwood and
his wife had taken their seats. They were speaking loudly to the Selwyns, who sat
on the other side of Theo. Further down, Crabbe Sr. and Yaxley sat across from
one another, staring down into their whisky glasses. Hermione’s fingers dragged
across her necklace as her gaze moved to her left, where Lucius and Narcissa were
speaking lowly to Voldemort and Bellatrix. Rodolphus Lestrange was to the right
of Bellatrix, his younger brother next to him. Hermione scanned the Lots on the
surrounding walls, but Ron was nowhere to be seen.
At the opposite side of the table, the Carrow twins, the Travers, and Jugson
were just settling in.
There was an empty seat next to Narcissa, and just as Hermione zeroed in
on it, a thick hand tugged the chair backward, its legs scraping against the stone.
She followed the arm up to see Dolohov’s eyes focused on her. He dropped his
gaze to Narcissa, greeting her with an arrogant smirk.
Hermione turned back to the table, clearing her mind and erasing the feel-
ing of Dolohov’s eyes on her.

✦ 222 ✦
 “Theodore,” Avery said. “Brilliant work in Canada.” Theo nodded and swal-
lowed his champagne, his fist curling tighter around the stem. “Lucius and Bel-
latrix as well”—Avery waved his hand toward the two of them— “Congratula-
tions to you all.”
“Thank you, Aron,” Lucius hummed. A pause. “I do hope you and Berge are
working hard on the Fog, Theodore. I look forward to seeing a report on your
improvements this week.”
“Improvements?”
Bellatrix’s voice raked across Hermione’s skin. She blinked to see Bellatrix
tilting her head at Lucius, her finger circling the rim of her glass. “How so,
brother? Did it not successfully penetrate the True Order base?”
“No one disputes that Baffin Island was a success.” Lucius’s tone was soft and
condescending, as if lecturing a child. “But it also had…unintended effects.”
Voldemort simply watched them, his fingertips pressed together.
“The death of filthy Muggles.” Bellatrix pouted and leaned forward. “You
care for Muggles now, Lucius?”
The table was deathly still. Draco wiped his palm on his trousers.
“I care for desired results. Unless the Fog can be controlled, not a single one
of our allies bordering France will allow us to release it from their boundary line.”
Avery coughed. “A fair—”
“They don’t have to ‘allow’ us anything.” Bellatrix’s lips were twisted in a
snarl. “The Great Order must take. All your delicate maneuvering has boiled
down to nothing more than inaction. If not for Brecht and me, we’d still be
rotting in Switzerland—”
Voldemort lifted his hand sharply, silencing her. “Enough. I’m sure between
the two of you, we will have infiltrated France by the end of the week.” His
scarlet eyes flashed to Theo. “Do work hard this week, Theodore. I trust you
won’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Theo jerked a nod next to her. His fingers shook against the
tablecloth.
“Lucius. Draco will go to France when the time comes to deploy the weapon.
He’s seen more offices than battlefields lately.”
An amused cough from down the table — Dolohov.
“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius. He cleared his throat.
Bellatrix smirked and settled back in her chair. Hermione saw Narcissa
reach for her water.
The conversation bubbled up again. Draco’s ribs rose and fell sharply next
to her. Hermione focused on her breath, filing away her emotions.

✦ 223 ✦
 A high-pitched laugh burst from the other side of Theo. She blinked to see
Selwyn’s wife and Rookwood’s wife laughing together.
The chatter resumed. Hermione watched Rookwood’s wife lean over her
place setting and whisper, “You did hear that the Hungarian Minister isn’t here,
didn’t you? Gustus says he declined—”
Her husband placed a firm hand on her wrist, glaring at her.
“Anyway.” Mrs. Rookwood sat up straight again, fanning her face and look-
ing around the room. “Is it warm in here? Elf!”
With a crack, a small elf from the kitchens appeared at her side. “Yes, missus.”
“Do you not have Cooling Charms? And also, there are no nuts in the feast,
correct? I have a deathly allergy—”
Hermione’s vision blurred as she stared at the elf, wobbling beneath the
weight of the heavy chain around his neck. He squeaked his reply and she tore
her eyes away, studying the back wall.
When her mind was clear again, she reached for her flute. Avery was speaking
to Draco. Bellatrix was leaning into Voldemort’s ear, murmuring something, and
Hermione watched him nod. Rookwood and Selwyn had Theo’s attention.
Taking a sip of her wine, Hermione let her eyes pass over Ginny. Her skin
was painted and her hair perfectly coiffed, just as it had been on New Year’s
Eve. She was looking over Hermione’s left shoulder, watching the Great Hall.
“Rabastan,” Avery called down the table. “Where’s your boy? I’m sure
Ginevra was hoping to see her brother tonight.”
Draco set down his glass. Hermione filled her lungs, counting each heart-
beat. Ginny didn’t so much as blink.
“I wanted to bring him, but… he got a bit mouthy this morning. He was in
no fit shape.” Rabastan chuckled into his glass, and Bellatrix joined him, licking
her teeth.
“Shame,” Voldemort said. “But I suppose some horses take years to break in.”
The empty smile on Ginny’s lips twitched.
Voldemort abruptly stood from his chair. A moment later, someone in the
back of the Hall started clapping, the sound building like a wave before crashing
against the shoreline. Hermione turned over her shoulder and found a thou-
sand people on their feet, applauding for the Dark Lord. Her books shivered.
Voldemort smiled, and lifted his hands to silence them. He cast a Sono-
rus with the Elder Wand, gazing upon the crowd. When he finally spoke, it was
a quiet vibration against Hermione’s skin — a poisonous whisper in her ear.
“Welcome, my dear friends. We gather here to celebrate the victory over our
enemies — exactly one year ago today.”
The clapping started again. Cheers from the back.

✦ 224 ✦
 “You have placed your trust in me, and I will prove myself worthy of it. We
will not rest until every witch and wizard bows to our most noble and sacred
cause: preserving the purity of the magical blood we have been entrusted with
for millennia.”
The applause swelled, pummeling the walls.
“The strides we’ve taken to bring this new world to order have been fraught,
but worth the sacrifice. The past century cannot compare to what we have ac-
complished together in the last year. And as I look upon the faces of our part-
ners from across the world, I know soon, all wizard-kind will stand with us.
“Our rearmament is running according to plan. With the help of Colonel Al-
brecht Berge”—Berge stood from his seat next to Umbridge, nodding to polite
applause— “we have powerful new magic at our disposal to protect our interests.”
Berge took his seat.
“My friends, soon enough we will no longer live in the shadows. We will no
longer cower beneath Muggles or cater to their barbaric whims. Make no mistake:
our goal is not the triumph of the Great Order, but the liberation of wizardkind.”
The windows rattled with noise. Hermione picked up her goblet, water
splashing onto the table. She set it down again.
“In honor of your hard work and sacrifice, I am pleased to announce that
my gift to you — Edinburgh Castle — is ready to reopen at last.”
A murmur cascaded through the Hall. Draco’s shoulder twitched next to her.
“To continue our celebrations on this, the anniversary of our great victory,
the revels at Edinburgh will resume immediately. I invite all of you there to-
morrow evening, and I expect every man, woman, and Lot to attend.”
Ginny closed her eyes. Hermione blinked, refocusing. They would go to Ro-
mania tonight, and be expected back at Edinburgh tomorrow.
“Today’s generation carries the fate of wizardkind. And we will be victorious
if we are of one mind, and one intent: magic is might.”
“Magic is might,” the crowd chorused.
Voldemort picked up his glass, and there was a shuffle as his audience did
the same.
Bellatrix stood swiftly, her chair dragging against the stone. “To the Dark
Lord’s power!”
“May he reign forevermore.”
Hermione drank her champagne down to the dregs as the Hall burst into
deafening applause. Her ears were still ringing when it ended.
The feast appeared on the tables a second later. A clatter of serving spoons
joined the chorus of conversation.

✦ 225 ✦
 Ginny’s face was white as she grabbed Avery’s plate, filling it with pheasant
and roast vegetables. A book in Hermione’s mind trembled, falling open.
A happy day at the Burrow, her plate in her lap and her knees touching Ron’s
on the couch — Fred calling, “Oi, Gin! Get me a plate while you’re up, will you?”
— and a sharp retort from the kitchen: “Do I look like a house-elf?”
Hermione flinched, shoving the memory aside. She swiftly snatched up
Draco’s plate, reaching for the roast beef and parsnips, her hands dancing
around Ginny’s. When it was piled high, she set it in front of him and waited,
twisting her fingers in her lap.
Silver scraped against china as the guests began eating. Draco paused on his
third bite, tilting his chin in her direction. Hermione served herself a few
spoonfuls. Ginny followed her lead.
A voice in the back of her mind told her to stay present. A louder one said
it was too dangerous to leave her guard down across from the Dark Lord.
Hermione stared at her water glass, watching the ripples in the surface as
glasses were lifted or fists pounded down. The echoes of movement lulled her
back until a book closed on the Burrow.
Draco spoke to Theo on the opposite side of her. She kept a smile on her
face as she grazed her fork across her plate. Ginny’s glass filled again every time
she took a sip.
Soft hands moved a fork and knife, attached to pale wrists encircled in
diamonds.
Hermione chewed her potatoes.
All freckles on the girl were gone. Blue veins popped beneath her pale skin,
her red curls wild and loose around her shoulders. A large hand curled around
the back of the girl’s chair.
Hermione set her fork down.
The hand threaded through the girl’s ginger waves, twisting locks around
its thick fingers.
Hermione tore her eyes from Ginny and Avery.
She ate her vegetables.
She nodded politely.
She smiled when men laughed.
Minutes or hours later, the plates were cleared, and the tapping of wands on
glasses chorused through the room.
Draco turned in his chair, and Hermione followed.
A man in gold robes made his way down the line of tables, smiling broadly.
Memories sparked — bags of gold, identical grins, an amplified voice calling
out bets, a quick glance at her backstage—

✦ 226 ✦
 Hermione tucked it all away, and watched as Ludo Bagman came towards
the front. Even from here, his smile looked strained.
“My Lord,” said Bagman as he swept into a low bow. “When you tasked me
with hosting our entertainment this evening, you honored me.” He turned to
the hall. “And the night has only begun, ladies and gentlemen, I assure you!
After dinner, we have a surprise waiting for you on the Quidditch Pitch.”
The crowd tittered, and Ludo nodded, his forehead shining with sweat. “But
first, the Dark Lord has asked me to oversee something special this evening. Some-
thing that aligns with the spirit of our celebrations. A story! One that will live in our
traditions for years to come: the Dark Lord’s Triumph over the Boy Wizard!”
Ludo threw out his hand, and the doors to the Great Hall flew open. Two guards
entered, dragging a small person behind them. Their boots marched in perfect
unison as the room rippled with murmurs. Hermione craned her neck, but she was
only able to make out the person when he was tugged to the front of the room.
A boy, no older than fourteen, wearing a Gryffindor uniform. He had jet
black hair and a wiry frame.
Black spots appeared in her vision.
The guards shoved the boy to Bagman’s feet. His eyes flitted wildly about
the room, his breath quick and frenzied. He looked at the people around him
like he’d never seen anything like them before.
Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat wouldn’t close. He was a Muggle.
“There was once a young boy who thought he could challenge the Dark Lord
Voldemort. His name”—Bagman produced a pair of round glasses from his
pocket— “was Harry Potter.” He shoved the glasses on the Muggle boy’s nose,
and Hermione could see from here that one lens was splintered. Harry’s glasses.
The crowd screamed as Hermione turned back to her dinner plate, dragging
lungfuls of air. Bellatrix cackled, clapping her hands. A slow smile spread up
Voldemort’s pale face.
“This boy—” Bagman’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “Thought
he was untouchable!”
A chorus of jeers and boos. Hermione forced herself to turn and watch. The
boy had been Leg-Locked, his face was red and mouth open as Bagman circled
him. He’d been Silenced.
“He was arrogant and foolish. But above all, he was dangerous.” Bagman
dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. “He encouraged the mixing of magical
blood. He befriended blood-traitors and Muggleborns.”
At this, Bagman swiveled toward the High Table and gestured to Hermione.
The guests hissed as they turned their eyes on her.

✦ 227 ✦
 Draco crossed his legs and shifted his chair, partially blocking her from
Ludo’s view.
“He hid behind the skirts of witches and wizards far more powerful than him-
self. In his futile resistance, he caused an unspeakable loss of magical blood.”
A fork clattered across from her.
“And so,” Bagman continued, “on a May morning one year ago, the Dark
Lord challenged this cowardly, dangerous boy to a duel.”
The Muggle boy fell over, struggling against his Leg-Locker Curse. The
crowd roared with laughter.
Bagman blinked down at him and stepped to the side. “My Lord, he’s all yours.”
All eyes turned on Voldemort. He smiled, standing from his chair.
Bile rose in Hermione’s throat as Voldemort slithered around the table.
Draco’s chair dragged further in front of her.
Voldemort descended the steps to stand before the shivering boy. “Harry
Potter. The Boy Who Lived.”
A boom of laughter, and Hermione’s gaze drifted above the crowd.
Voldemort slashed his wand through the air, and the boy staggered to the
left. Hands shoved him back in the aisle.
There was a lake with still waters. A mountain range surrounded it. The
waters were deep with hidden secrets, but the surface was calm.
Jets of purple and red burst in her vision as a small body writhed and shook
on the floor. The audience cheered, pounding the tables.
Her mind was a library. Shelves upon shelves of novels and journals and
biographies. She found an empty shelf—
“STOP IT! STOP!”
Hermione’s chest seized, and she cupped her hand to her mouth—
But the voice hadn’t been hers.
Her head spun around. And there stood Ginny Weasley, her lips trembling,
a tear streaming down her cheek. Her silver dress shimmering under the silence
of a thousand eyes.
Voldemort turned from the boy slowly, uncoiling like a snake. “Stop?”
A knife clattered somewhere.
Ginny’s hands clenched the sides of her dress, her eyes wide. Avery
blanched next to her.
Voldemort’s cloak dragged across the stones as he swept towards the High
Table, twirling his wand between his fingertips.
Hermione jolted her chair back. Her body dragged itself to its feet, the
weight of thousands of gems pulling her down. Draco’s hand swung to pull her
back — not quick enough.

✦ 228 ✦
 “What Ginevra means is that you’ve gotten it wrong, my Lord.”
She heard the gasps of the Hall. A movement to her right — Lucius Malfoy
gripping his son’s elbow. Hermione stepped forward, concealing them from
view. Voldemort tilted his head, giving her his full attention.
“I knew Harry Potter better than any person in this room.” Her voice
bounced against the stone walls of her childhood, throaty and unfamiliar. She
lifted the corner of her mouth in a smirk. “You’ve not let him beg. Was he not
sobbing? Pleading for his life, like the coward he was?”
A still silence.
And Voldemort’s lips pulled into a grin.
“A fine point, Mudblood Granger. What a clever pet you’ve become.”
The release bubbled through the crowd. Hermione concentrated on nothingness.
Voldemort’s lips curved with cruel amusement before he spun back to the
boy. Folding her hands, Hermione watched as the boy was forced to stand. An-
other flick of Voldemort’s wand, and the boy’s weeping filled the room.
Voldemort silenced the crowd’s jeering with a raised palm.
“Beg,” he said softly. “Beg for your life, Harry Potter. Beg me to spare you
and take your friends instead.”
“Please,” the boy sobbed. “Please—”
Voldemort arched his wand high over his head and hissed, “Avada Kedavra!”
A jet of green light slammed into the boy’s chest, his body flying backward.
The Great Hall erupted as Harry’s glasses clattered to the ground.
Draco pushed her in her chair just as her legs gave out. The High Table
stomped and shouted with the crowd. Hermione’s smile was still stale on her
face when they finally sat.
Hermione watched them slip Harry’s glasses onto the boy’s nose, and re-
move the body from the Hall. When she turned back to the table, a girl with
fiery red hair was sitting across from her. The girl’s shoulders shook.
The snakelike man returned to his chair, and the crowd began to stand and
mingle. People approached the table. Conversations drifted through her ears.
“Excellent work with the Mudblood, Draco. I can hardly recognize her.”
“Thank you, my Lord. It was a pleasure to break her—”
The man next to the redhead excused himself, and the snakelike man beck-
oned the girl into his chair. His fingers slipped into her hair as he murmured to
her. The redhead nodded, her eyes cast downwards.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I will be better, I promise…”
There was a commotion while she stared at her pudding. A familiar laugh
and then a crash. A stall of conversation. A murmur—
“Theo, watch her. I’ll take care of this.”

✦ 229 ✦
 And the pale-haired boy next to her rose from his seat. She reached for her
champagne glass. She drank. The quiet boy to her right murmured to it, and it
refilled.
She took a bite. Sugar swam in her mouth.
The chair next to her pulled out. The pale-haired boy dropped into it.
“Apologies, my Lord. It was Blaise’s birthday two days ago, and it seems he
hasn’t sobered up since.”
The boy ate two bites of his pudding.
People came to the table for conversation. She listened without hearing.
Some stood from the table. Some sat back down.
Against the wall stood two boys in black robes and gold belts. They stared
at her, and glanced away.
“Let me see what’s keeping him. I summoned an elf to brew up a Sobering
Potion—” The pale-haired boy left again.
Hermione looked at the two boys on the wall again. The red-haired girl ate
her dessert quietly. The pale-haired boy returned, muttering something to the
man on his left.
A bell chimed, and the snakelike man stood, thanking his guests.
A man in gold robes stood up next. “Now, if you’ll follow us down to the
Quidditch Pitch, I’m sure Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, and the Norwe-
gian Ridgeback we’ve procured will have quite the show for us!”
The names meant something to her, but it vanished amidst the crowd’s screams.
The snakelike man glided across the room, nodding at those who bowed
and accepting a kiss to his knuckles from others.
The boy next to her guided her to her feet. She followed him down the steps,
toward a dark-skinned boy and an olive-skinned girl.
“You’ve embarrassed me enough for one night, Blaise. I’m taking you home
before I regret thinking of you as a friend.”
The other boy hiccupped.
She was led around a table, and through a side door. She walked slowly in
her heels.
Home. They would head home now.
She could rest.
She could take off the heavy dress and heavy necklace.
The four of them turned into an alcove — someplace familiar.
“Muffliato.”
The pale-haired boy turned to her and took her face in his hands.
“Granger.”
She stared into his grey eyes. They were endless.

✦ 230 ✦
 “Granger.”
She wondered who he was talking to.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her temple, his fingers running
down her jaw.
He was warm. He was soft. She felt light.
And like breaking the surface — like she’d been drowning under still waters
— Hermione gasped for air. Her body was heavy with jewels, and her knees
buckled. He caught her.
“Draco—” Images flooded through her, choking off her oxygen. Hot tears
rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed, heaving.
Her vision blacked. When it cleared, she was leaned back on the wall, Draco
enveloping her in his arms. Her breaths grew sharp again, and she struggled as
she thought of Avery’s hands in Ginny’s hair and Harry’s shattered glasses and
the boy’s limp body—
Draco held her jaw in one hand and tipped something inside her mouth.
The effect was instantaneous. Her heartbeat slowed. Her muscles released.
Her lungs expanded. She met Draco’s concerned eyes and took a deep breath.
His jaw trembled, and he tucked a curl behind her ear.
Behind him, Blaise averted his gaze. “Giuliana” was watching with her fin-
gers pressed to her lips, tears shining in her eyes.
A few more heartbeats, and a throbbing pain started below her left eye,
stretching quickly around the back of her head. Hermione whimpered as the
pain pressed against her skull. She screwed her eyes shut, and then Draco was
pouring something down her throat for pain relief.
She gasped, her lungs stabbing her with every tight breath.
“You did very well, Granger,” said Blaise, after a few minutes had passed.
“It was eerie.”
She nodded, her tears pouring silently down her cheeks as the pain ebbed.
“Draco—” Pansy hesitated, her voice thick. “We should leave soon.”
All of the things she had to bury in order to survive the evening rose up,
pressing on the back of her eyelids. Hermione blinked her eyes open, her vision
focusing on Draco. He nodded at her once, and his mouth was hard as he
tugged her to stand.
He’d gotten the fang from the Chamber of Secrets. The Polyjuice plan had
worked with Blaise. And now they were headed to Romania.
While Hermione tested her legs again, Blaise stepped up to Draco. “Make it
count, Draco,” he said lowly. He pushed something small and wrapped in a
handkerchief into his hand. “This cost me more than my vineyard.”
“And you’re sure it works?”

✦ 231 ✦
 “The man who sold it to me made an Unbreakable Vow, so— yes. It’ll take
you through the Romanian border.”
Draco pocketed the International Portkey, and glanced over Blaise’s shoulder.
Hermione wobbled, exhaustion seeping through her veins. Draco was at her
side a moment later, holding out another potion — Pepper Up. She gulped it
down and found his eyes on her. She nodded at him through the steam. Before
she could think of what to say to reassure him, Pansy shoved him aside to fix
her hair and makeup.
The steam finally stopped, and Pansy frowned at Hermione through Giuliana’s
eyes before spinning around and returning Blaise’s wand. He tucked it in his robes.
“Let’s get you home, Blaise,” said Draco coldly — resuming his part.
Blaise’s shoulders relaxed, and he stumbled out of the alcove, Draco at his
heels. Hermione and Pansy followed.
Guests were still lingering in the Great Hall. Blaise stumbled into Mrs.
Selwyn, and she clutched her hand to her chest when he winked at her and
slurred a hello. Draco dragged him away, tossing an apology over his shoulder,
and pushed him into a corner of the courtyard to collect himself.
Once the coast was clear, the four of them disappeared around the archway,
turning toward the Wooden Bridge.
Hermione started to feel like herself again, the three potions in her veins work-
ing in tandem as they moved quickly down the bridge. Blaise tripped over the
wood, and Hermione drew a sharp breath when she realized where they were
standing. Her mind was too raw for Occlumency, but she couldn’t let her memories
of Harry and Ron with her on this bridge snake their way in. They had a Horcrux
to kill tonight. She quickened her pace, focusing on the burn in her muscles.
A mighty roar bellowed in the distance, and the four of them froze as the
night sky lit up with flames.
The dragon.
Hermione dug her fingers into her palms. The pain centered her. Draco
glanced behind them as sounds drifted up the bridge — the delighted cries of
the crowd entering the Quidditch Pitch.
Blaise staggered to look out over the bridge and whined, “I wanted to watch
the dragon.”
“Then you should have stopped at your second Firewhisky,” said Draco,
yanking him off the railing. He led them swiftly down the pathway, turning
over his shoulder every four steps.
The mouth of the bridge appeared, and Hermione’s breath caught. She
could just make out the edge of the Forbidden Forest where they would slip
past the Hogsmeade Gates.

✦ 232 ✦
 The knot in her chest loosened as the end of the bridge grew larger in her
vision. But a shadow stepped out from behind the final wooden archway, its
black eyes and dark curls glinting in the moonlight.
“Leaving so soon?”
Hermione stumbled and Draco stopped cold as three jets of turquoise light
arced through the bridge, illuminating Bellatrix’s twisted snarl. Hermione’s lips
parted in a silent scream as one hit her square in the stomach, immobilizing
her. Two grunts behind her — Blaise and Pansy.
Panic and dread swelled inside her, overriding her Calming Draught—
“Aunt Bella,” said Draco softly. “I’ll return shortly. I’m just taking Blaise
home before he embarrasses himself further—”
“Don’t lie to me!”
The shout ricocheted down the wood, curling up Hermione’s legs and
around her ribs.
Fire erupted again, and the crowd cheered. The light cast shadows on Bella-
trix’s face before it died out.
“You’re up to something,” she sang, waltzing closer to Hermione. “Disap-
pearing twice during dinner?” She tutted. “One might question your breeding.”
“Blaise was sick.” His voice rose as he tried to head her off. “I was only
assisting—”
“Out of my way.”
Bellatrix halted before her, standing so close that their chests were almost
touching. Hermione’s eyes shot open in terror, her heart pounding beneath her
petrified muscles.
“It’s terribly suspicious, Draco.” Her eyes narrowed, her stale breath on Her-
mione’s face. “You are lucky the Dark Lord was preoccupied, tending to his
little Ginger Snap.” Her fingers snapped in front of Hermione’s eyes.
“But something tells me,” she said, circling her, “that whatever is going
on”—her hand slid across Hermione’s waist, tugging her back against her
body— “has to do with her.”
Hermione stared at Draco as he watched his aunt, his head tilted, his arms
hanging at his sides. His eyes empty, betraying nothing.
A loud cackle in her ear, and Hermione’s heart leapt in her throat. “I saw
you at the dinner table, ready to jump in front of a curse for her. Something
about this little bitch has you cock-whipped, nephew.” Bellatrix dragged her
hand over Hermione’s waist and hips, slipping lower, between her legs.
Draco jerked forward, and Bellatrix raised her wand with her other hand.
“Ah, ah!” He halted, and Bellatrix chuckled in Hermione’s ear. “Maybe she has
a golden cunt to match her—”

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 Bellatrix froze against her, her breath puffing on Hermione’s neck. She gasped.
A second before Bellatrix moved, Hermione realized what it was.
“Accio!”
The wand in Hermione’s thigh holster zoomed out from under her dress
and shot into Bellatrix’s hand.
Hermione began fighting against her invisible bindings as blood rushed
through her ears, knowing it was useless—
She stepped around Hermione as flames soared overhead. Her expression
was black with rage. “You’ve given her a wand?”
Draco swallowed. “I can explain.”
“Are you allowing her magic?”
“No. Aunt Bella, of course not—”
“Then what is this?”
Her voice echoed down the Wooden Bridge, crashing into a swell of noise
from the Quidditch Pitch. Draco stared at her with empty eyes.
Bellatrix took a step forward. “I’ve turned the other way one too many times,
Draco. You have no idea, the things I’ve done for you and your mother. But
this is treason.”
The blood in Hermione’s veins turned to ice. Draco’s eyes flickered, and
Hermione saw his fist curl at his side.
“I’m needed in Hungary promptly tonight, or else I’d consult with your par-
ents. As the matter stands, the seriousness of the situation calls for immediate
action.” She began circling him, just like she had Hermione. “This can’t go on,
Draco.” She paused behind his ear, her eyes locked on Hermione. “You’ll dis-
grace your entire family. You will all be killed. My sister—” Her jaw worked,
and she pulled back. She finished the circle to face him. “But we can do it my
way. It can be quick.”
Draco’s throat bobbed.
“Perhaps she tried to run, and you had no other choice. I’m sure your little
friends would be more than willing to testify.”
“Bella—”
“I’ll get you another one,” she whispered. “A Muggle girl who looks enough
like her. This one has poisoned you.”
Hermione’s muscles screamed, her blood whipping beneath her skin. Her
bones felt like they would splinter under the pressure—
“That’s not necessary.” Draco’s voice cracked. “I have this under control—”
“You’re still weak,” Bellatrix hissed. “I’ve been more than patient with you,
Draco. But there’s still too much of your father in you. Your weak, lovesick
heart will destroy this family.”

✦ 234 ✦
 The crowd cheered, and when Hermione blinked, she saw Harry and Luna’s
faces behind her eyelids.
“Keep on this road, and by this time next week, your Mudblood will be the
one tortured and killed in front of a crowd. Or worse”—she leaned into him—
“your mother.”
Draco took a shuddering breath. Hermione’s heartbeat faded in her ears.
“I’ll be damned if I let that happen. So say goodbye, Draco.” Bellatrix spun
back to her, her eyes glittering. “Feel free to look away. I know the Killing Curse
doesn’t suit your delicate stomach—”
A green light splashed along the wooden arches. Bellatrix’s eyes centered on
her, frozen in time, until with a push of the wind, she collapsed forward at Her-
mione’s feet, revealing Draco with his wand outstretched — the tip smoking.
He stared at his aunt’s body, and then back to her. Hermione’s limbs tingled,
and it took her a long moment to realize she wasn’t Petrified any longer. Be-
cause Bellatrix was dead.
Draco had killed her with a curse to the back.
There was a movement behind her, and Blaise was suddenly beside her, gap-
ing down at the body.
Hermione still couldn’t breathe. A hollow wind whipped through the
bridge, disturbing the black curls at her feet. Fire arced through the sky again.
“She—she said she was going to Hungary, right?” Hermione turned around
to see Pansy cupping her forehead. “Maybe there’s time. Maybe n-no one will
miss her right away.”
Hermione had never heard Pansy Parkinson stammer.
Draco still hadn’t lowered his wand.
Hermione’s legs propelled her forward. She bent down and snatched the
wand Bellatrix had taken from her. She turned to the woods and cast a Presence
Revealing spell in each direction. They were alone.
“You need to go.” Blaise stepped over the body. “Pansy and I will take
care of this.”
Draco’s fingers shook as he lowered his arm. “What?”
“We’ll transfigure the body and hide it in the woods.” Blaise looked back to
Pansy. She nodded, dazed. “If you don’t go off and kill whatever it is you need
to kill, then this is all worthless. So do it now.”
None of them moved.
“Go!”
Hermione startled back into her body as Draco transfigured her dress into
lighter fabric — her heels turning into flats. Draco reached for her as she

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stumbled forward, and she slipped her hand in his. With a nod to Blaise and
Pansy behind him, he dragged her toward the woods.
They ran through the trees, never breaking pace until they were just outside
the gates of Hogsmeade. They caught their breath for a moment, Hermione’s
hands resting on her knees.
“You did what you had to do, Draco,” she panted. “I know she was your
blood, but don’t be ashamed of—”
“I’m only ashamed it took me more than ten seconds to decide.”
She looked up at him. He was staring at her, the moon bouncing off his pale
hair and sharp cheeks. He unwound the handkerchief in his pocket, grabbed
her elbow, and whisked them to Romania.

✦ 236 ✦
 CHAPTER 35

T
HE PORTKEY SPUN THEM LIKE A TOP, PRESSING IN ON
them tighter and tighter before flinging them to the ground. Hermione
stumbled to her knees, and when her eyes focused, she found Draco’s
hand outstretched in front of her. She took it, and let him help her to her feet.
The air was brisk, sending chills down her bare legs. Hermione rubbed her
arms as she glanced around. They were at the edge of a small town — the streets
made of cobblestone, the buildings narrow and closely set. Several Muggle cars
were parked to their right, and a pub’s lights were on just down the road. Its
sign was etched in Romanian.
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. They’d made it. The International Port-
key had worked.
Draco stepped next to her, and she turned to face him just as he offered
his hand.
“Ready?” he asked.
She gazed down at it, then up at him. His expression was firm, but his eyes were
tired — as if a lifetime had passed since the moment he stared at his aunt’s body.
Her throat felt dry, and she licked her lips. “Are you? We can take a moment—”
“I’m ready,” he said, and then he took her arm and Apparated them away.
The world slammed into her in a jolt. Draco gripped her tightly as she stead-
ied herself, the ground uneven beneath her feet. She blinked to clear her vision
and found them standing in the exact same spot Lucius and the Dark Lord had
appeared in Lucius’s memory.
Hermione tugged her arm free, craning her neck up at the enormous range
before them. The mountains were shrouded in fog, their cragged outlines barely
visible through the purples and greys. But before her stood the same peak she’d
seen in Lucius’s memory. The same one she’d seen in a book on Romanian ge-
ography a week ago, and nearly spilled her coffee over in excitement.
“We were right,” she said breathlessly. “The hideout is in Moldoveanu Peak—”

✦ 237 ✦
 “‘We?’ You did the research, Granger.” Draco glanced at her once, then
turned and began walking. After a few heartbeats, Hermione followed him up
the winding path illuminated by moonlight.
She walked a pace behind him, her fingers clutching Daphne’s wand. There
was still a dull ache behind her temples, but each step seemed to push it farther
away. She cleared her mind, focusing on the magic and adrenaline thrumming
through her veins.
They could do this. For Harry.
The path grew steeper, and Hermione nearly lost her footing on an uneven
step. She frowned down at her flats, and Draco paused to wait for her as she
transfigured them into thick-soled boots. Her scalp ached from Pansy’s pins, so
she vanished them with a wave of her wand.
Standing tall again, she pushed her loose hair over her shoulder and tested
her boots. Her necklace weighed heavily on her neck, but a transfiguration spell
might damage any charms that had been placed on it.
Her heart beat quicker when she met Draco’s eyes. “Remind me what you
found in your family archives again.”
Draco lifted a brow and led them on. “No record of an estate in Romania.
The closest property is a cottage in the Balkan Mountains, about 80 miles south
of the Bulgarian border. Only two mentions of a visit to Romania in personal
journals. Once in 1940, and once two hundred years ago.”
She knew it by memory, of course. But she needed to hear it aloud, in the
same way she needed to rattle off facts before an exam.
They walked on until they arrived at the stone in the path from Lucius’s
memory. Her breath grew shallow as they turned a sharp right around it, details
clicking into place. Draco let her lead them up the trail to the mountain entrance,
his footsteps light behind hers. Every time she turned around to check on him,
she found his eyes roving the terrain or glancing at the trail behind them.
“Have you given any more thought as to what kind of object we’re looking
for?” he finally asked.
“I’ve already told you everything I know.” Hermione chewed the inside of
her cheek, realizing that he needed to hear it again, too. “We’ll be looking for
something relatively small. His earlier Horcruxes had personal significance to
him — his grandfather’s ring, his school diary — whereas his later ones were
items of great magical significance.”
Draco was silent behind her.
“It might escape our notice at first.” Her spine tingled from a long-buried
memory of cleaning dusty old rooms and tossing aside broken lockets. She
reached out to her shelves on instinct, and was surprised to find she could shut

✦ 238 ✦
the book without much pain behind her brow. “But this time we’re looking for
it. It can...sense danger. So I suspect we’ll know when we get close.”
And with that, they arrived at the rock face. It was a smooth stone — the
same one she’d seen weeks ago in Lucius Malfoy’s memory. Draco tapped his
wand against the stone just like his father had done, and with a tremble of
magic, the door shook free. It slid to the side, revealing the black cavern inside.
They stood for a moment, staring into its depths. Hermione forced her lungs
to drag in air.
Draco turned to her, and sliced his palm with his wand. His eye twitched
when he watched her do the same with hers. He tore his gaze to the blood drip-
ping down his wrist, and sent it spiraling upward with a flick of his wand.
“My blood will start to fade from your system after an hour.” Another flick,
and the droplets arced toward her hand.
She watched the red beads seep through the cut in her palm, weaving be-
neath her skin. Her blood felt warmer as she imagined it intertwining with his,
slipping through her veins and curling around her heart.
The wound closed. Hermione blinked at her smooth skin as Draco took her
hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the spot.
“So if something happens to me in there, don’t dawdle.”
She jerked her head up. “Don’t say that.”
His brows drew together. “I’ve read up on barriers like these. A simple
blood share lasts eighty minutes at best. The magic requires the blood of a
living Malfoy—”
She ripped her hand from his. “Stop talking like you’re going to die.”
He stared at her as though she were the stubborn one. “I’m just being practical.”
“Well, stop it,” she snapped.
His throat bobbed. Then he stepped into her, and her heart stopped when
he lifted his hand to brush his fingers across her necklace. He paused on an
emerald below her left collarbone.
“I replaced this stone.”
Hermione glanced down as Draco tugged at the gem, holding it up in the
moonlight. There was the faintest of shimmers around it — a glamour.
He set it back, and his eyes flickered to hers. “The tattoo antidote is inside.
A simple Severing Charm will suffice.”
“That won’t be necessary. We’ll be leaving together.” She turned away from
him, stepping up to the threshold before he could see the wetness in her eyes.
She cast a number of curse detection spells at the entry, her focus returning
with each wave of Daphne’s wand. All were negative. Taking a sharp breath,
Hermione cast a Lumos and stepped forward into the inky darkness.

✦ 239 ✦
 Her vision adjusted quickly to the wandlight. Just four steps ahead of her,
she could make out a descending staircase carved crudely into the rock. She
glanced over her shoulder and found Draco just behind her, his mouth hard
and his eyes fixed ahead. He lit his wand as she turned back to face the stairs
and followed them down.
The glow from their wands extended deep into the darkness, but there was
no end in sight. The further down they stepped, the colder and thicker the at-
mosphere. There was a metallic tang in the air, and a dripping sound echoed
from down below. After several dozen steps, there was a landing of about six
feet before the stairs continued down.
There was only the sound of Draco’s cloak sliding down the stairs as they
descended endlessly — stairs, landing, stairs. Hermione’s legs started to protest
and she paused, looking up at Draco. Moonlight shone through the entrance
behind him, all those steps above.
“Do you think maybe we missed something when we came in? On the walls?”
“I didn’t see anything.” He paused, letting her catch her breath. “It’s proba-
bly just a very long ways down.”
She frowned as she turned back to the stairs leading down, down, down. It
would be terribly difficult to leave — unless one could fly, of course. Perhaps
that was the point.
Draco squeezed her arm and stepped around her, taking the lead. It was
much easier to follow his blond head instead of the end of her wandlight, but
even still, once they’d reached the sixth landing followed by more steps, Her-
mione’s frustration began boiling over.
Something was nagging at her, like an itch between her shoulders she
couldn’t reach. She spun around to look at the top of the steps again, and her
feet faltered.
The moonlight was casting the same shadows she’d seen four landings ago,
as if the distance hadn’t grown at all. Her ears strained to listen to the dripping
water — the volume just as faint as before. She heard Draco halt ahead of her.
“What is it?”
“We’re not moving.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as he hurried back to her. She took in his
pale face for a moment before she began scurrying around the landing, her fin-
gers skimming for a hidden doorway as she searched the wall for runes. She cast
her wandlight upward, and only found a damp stone ceiling. Draco cursed and
jogged up the stairs to the previous landing. She watched him vanish with her
heart in her throat, listening to his boots slap against the steps—
A sound behind her. A shadow stepped up to her.

✦ 240 ✦
 Hermione gasped and slammed herself against the wall, her wand shooting
out to point at—
Draco.
His feet stumbled as he jerked backward, yanking his wand down.
Hermione gaped at him, and he gaped back. She whipped around to look
up the stairs Draco had jogged up a minute ago. Empty. When she looked be-
hind her again, she found Draco staring anxiously down the steps he’d just
come from — somehow from behind her.
“It’s a loop,” he said, glancing up at her.
A thought slithered through her mind, and fresh terror seized her. Her wand
flew up, pointing between his eyes.
“Granger, what—”
“Alastor Moody turned you into an animal in our fourth year. Which animal?”
“You can’t be serious—”
“Which animal?” She brandished her wand.
He stared down at her, and with an expression that could have convinced
her of his identity all by itself, he said, “A white ferret.”
Hermione lowered her arm slowly, her pulse still racing. “Right. Sorry. It’s
just— we can’t be too safe.”
His reply was an unintelligible grumble, but Hermione was too busy step-
ping next to him, peering down into the void below. After a few moments, she
flicked her wrist and whispered, “Avis.”
A flock of small birds zoomed from the tip of her wand, bright yellow in the
darkness, and zipped down the stairway, disappearing until they were flecks in
the distance—
A flap of wings behind them, and Draco tugged her against the wall just as
her flock came up from behind them, weaving through them and onward,
down, down, until flitting behind them again.
Caught in the loop.
Hermione vanished the birds on their next round. She staggered into the
middle of the landing, staring up at the moon shining through the open door-
way. They were lost in a maze with no exit — and now, no entry. They’d tum-
bled into a rabbit hole, and it had swallowed them whole.
“There has to be a way in.” Hermione turned to see Draco studying the
walls, running his hands over the wet stone.
Squaring her shoulders, she crouched down to the stairs. She searched the
seams and dips in the stone for anything useful while Draco tried all sorts of
unlocking and spell detection charms on the walls and ceiling.

✦ 241 ✦
 The minutes stretched on, and still they found nothing. Hermione’s chest
began to tighten as she contemplated never getting out, and never getting in.
Dying here inside this mountain, inside these stairs.
She crawled down step after step, running her shaking fingers over each stair
as she sank lower and lower into the dark underworld. Her skin grew colder.
She was on the forty-ninth stair when she realized she’d lost sight of Draco. She
shot to her feet, and suddenly he was next to her. They were on the landing
together — she’d reached the end of the loop.
He ran his hands over her arms once, and turned back to the walls.
She watched him, listening to his breath grow harsher as he paced across the
stones. She tried crawling upwards, looking for signs on the other side of the
steps, ascending each stair toward the moonlight until she finally reached the
next landing and looked back for Draco—
Who appeared next to her.
Hermione collapsed on the closest step, her elbows on her knees and her
head in her hands.
She focused her mind, forcing herself to breathe. When her lungs could ex-
pand fully again, she refocused, forcing herself to think. The stairs had no end
in sight. But there was a bottom to them. There had to be.
His greatest weapon is fear.
Her legs pushed her to standing, and she stared down the edge of the stair-
case. Voldemort didn’t want anyone finding what was at the bottom. He’d
planted a loop to sew doubt in their minds, and along with it, fear. But Hermi-
one knew what he’d hidden down below.
She turned around, and her eyes caught on the moonlight on the walls. Maybe
she had to believe. And believing meant looking forward — not looking back.
“Draco.” Her voice was a firm command. “Walk behind me.”
He stopped his searching and glanced up at her, his eyes wild. “What?”
“Walk with me, and whatever you do, don’t turn back to look at the exit.”
Something in her face must have convinced him, because his eyes seemed
to clear. He nodded, and Hermione stepped off the landing, her wand held aloft.
She paused a few steps down, waiting for Draco to join her.
“Draco?”
“Hermione,” he said.
She started their journey downwards again. The steps were circuitous, spi-
raling into a never-ending abyss. Whenever panic gripped her, she focused on
the sound of his breaths. The rhythm of his footsteps, light but steady behind
hers.

✦ 242 ✦
 After seven flights of steps, their footsteps synchronized. She sped up, then
slowed, but only one pair of feet echoed off the stones.
“Stay with me,” she said. No reply.
She stopped cold, her ears straining for the sound of Draco’s breath, but
there was nothing — not even the sound of dripping water. But she had to trust
that he was there. She couldn’t doubt it. She couldn’t look back.
A thicker smell reached her nostrils, and she resumed her pace. Her limbs
grew heavy, but her mind was clear.
There was only the beam of light from her wand in front of her. There was
only her breath. There was only the warmth in her blood, whispering that she
wasn’t alone.
Ten flights of steps. Doubt crept in, quick and biting, like ice in her veins.
Still, she continued, her eyes wide and her fingers tight on her wand.
Another landing, and she felt her lungs constrict. The doubt rushed in
faster, creeping up her legs and inching towards her ribs. And just when she
was about to spin around in terror, a door materialized at the bottom.
Her heart began hammering in her chest. She still couldn’t hear Draco, but
she said, “Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”
With seizing muscles, she took the final flight of steps down, pausing only
to pull the door open and step through. And when she was fully inside, she
whipped around to find Draco stepping through after her, his pupils blown
black. She threw her arms around him, gasping.
“I thought you were gone. I thought something had taken you—” Her voice
shook as she dug her fingers in his robes, needing proof that he was there. That she
wasn’t imagining him. He stooped to bury his face in her neck, holding her close.
“I responded to you every time,” he said, and the rumble of his chest unrav-
eled the knot in hers.
He was real. She remembered this feeling.
“You didn’t hear me?”
“No.” She pulled back and took his face in her hands. “But I trusted you
were there.”
Searching her face, he nodded. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before turn-
ing to the room.
There was an empty lamp over Draco’s shoulder, and Hermione waved her
wand to light it. The flame sprang to life, and two others followed.
They were in a sitting room — a dim parlor with a solitary sofa and two
wingback chairs. The walls were lined with blocky paintings in the Art Deco
style, and the cabinets seemed to be from a similar time.

✦ 243 ✦
 Hermione stepped forward, examining the thick layer of dust on the cre-
denza to her right — when something glimmered in the corner of her eye.
Across the room, a cloud of pale vapor was hovering over the coffee table,
growing steadily larger. She raised her wand the same moment Draco did. They
stared up in horror as it shifted and morphed, stretching taller and taller.
Draco angled himself in front of her, shooting one nonverbal spell after an-
other. All vanished inside it, like lightning in a cloud.
The vapor sprouted arms, then legs, and Hermione gasped as a tall, long-
haired specter with Lucius Malfoy’s eyes and a slightly rounder chin material-
ized, floating to the ground. It blinked its empty eyes open.
Hermione’s heart lurched. She stumbled to the left, joining the stream of
spells with a Skurge Charm, an Everte Statum. They disappeared inside the
wraith’s chest, rumbling like thunder. It tilted its head.
Draco pushed her backward as it crept closer — almost solid now. “Re-
ducto—!”
Sparks flew from his wand, but then the creature let out a ghastly snarl and
shot its arms out, plunging into both of their chests. Hermione’s eyes rolled
back, screaming as icy fingers slithered up her heart like vines. She heard
Draco’s strangled cry mixing with her own — and then silence as the arm hurt-
led from her chest to her throat.
Her senses erupted — a metallic taste on her tongue, a slickness rolling
through her skin as she stood frozen, paralyzed. It felt like the vapor was ripping
through her body, squeezing every bone and sluicing through every vein.
And just as quickly as the attack came on, it ceased. Hermione collapsed as
the vapor pulled its arms back, its icy fingers retracting. Her eyes flew open just
as it imploded in a spray of mist.
Spots bloomed in her vision, and she heaved, dragging in lungfuls of air. She
curled to her side, coughing, and then Draco was on all fours next to her. He
pushed her on her back again, his face white as he ran his fingers over her chest.
“I’m fine,” she wheezed.
He pulled her to sitting, his legs on either side of her and his arms around
her back. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Her forehead dropped to his shoulder, inhaling his scent. “What was
it looking for?”
“It’s another test for Malfoy blood. I’ve seen one before, but this one was
different. He must have done something to it.”
Draco’s hand reached for hers, and his wand cut a thin slice in her palm
before she could flinch. Another slice to his left wrist, and he flicked his wand
to direct his blood to flow into her.

✦ 244 ✦
 Hermione looked up at him to tell him that it hadn’t been an hour, that there
was no need — but his pinched expression told her to keep quiet.
“I want to be sure it lasts.”
Her skin felt warm again, and she squeezed his thigh to make him stop. This
time, Hermione stood first, helping him to his feet and plucking up her wand
to close their cuts. She nodded at him once before turning back to the sitting
room, bracing herself for what came next.
There was an archway in the stone that seemed to lead to a dining room,
and two closed doors to the left that could possibly lead to bedrooms. She
moved towards the dining area, her wand extended as she peeked around the
corner. There was nothing but a small pantry. Draco moved behind her, and
they stepped over the threshold.
Hermione’s fingers brushed the wooden dining chair closest to her. They
came away covered in dust. “You said your grandfather last came in 1940?”
“Mid-September, to be exact.”
Frowning, Hermione’s eyes swiveled to look at the ceiling, studying the
smooth rock of the mountain above. “And once two hundred years ago as
well?” An ancient memory swirled up, and then it hit her. “Draco, this could
be a bunker.”
“A what?”
She spun to face him. “Your grandfather came here just after London was
first attacked by the Germans. I think they used this hideaway in preparation
for Muggle wars.”
“Doubtful.” He shrugged tightly. “I’m aware of the airstrikes. The Manor’s
wards could have easily deflected them—”
“No magic can stop an atomic bomb. They tried in Japan.”
Draco scratched his jaw. “Fascinating as this is, is this really the moment for
a history lesson?” he said drily.
She shook her head, swallowing her curiosity. “You’re right, sorry. But it is
helpful to know that the Malfoys most likely warded this place against cave-ins.
The mountain won’t come tumbling down around us if they prepared it for
nuclear fallout. There might be other fortifications—”
“I will give you every Malfoy journal in existence to review if we ever get
back to the Manor, Granger.” He placed his hand on one of the closed doors
and said, “Shall we?”
She followed him through the doorway and into another drawing room, a
bit smaller than the first. There was a corridor to the left, and Hermione won-
dered just how large the residence was as they threw the doors open, finding
four separate bedrooms.

✦ 245 ✦
 Draco stared through the open door he was facing, then back at her in the
corridor.
Hermione bit her lip. “We can’t rule it out until we look.”
They checked closets, rifled through drawers, and tossed back sheets. Noth-
ing looked out of the ordinary. They checked each room twice before finally
coming back to the drawing room.
Hermione was ready to begin peeling back the wallpaper when she heard a
loud sigh from the first sitting room. She found Draco relaxing on the sofa, his
head lolled back.
Her lips pressed together. They should have brought some Pepper-Up for
him as well.
“We’ll find it, Draco. I know it’s here.” She waited for him to look at her.
Instead, his eyes fluttered closed.
Her spine tingled, and she quickly crossed into the sitting room to stand
over him. “Are you alright?”
He nodded and breathed deeply, as if he were inhaling fresh air. “It’s lovely
here, isn’t it?”
Fear bubbled in her gut, whipping her insides — but then a cool tranquility
settled over her, like a perfect summer breeze.
Her legs were tired, her mind weary. She could stay awhile and rest.
Perching on the arm of the sofa next to him, she took in the little room. The
colors shined, and the wood sparkled. “It is,” she agreed.
“And look at the view.” Draco gestured to the wall across from him, and
Hermione followed his hand to a window she hadn’t seen before.
A sandy beach looked back at them, the turquoise water glittering. Sunlight
flooded the room the longer she looked. A smile broke over her face, and she
slid down onto the couch. He took her hand in his.
“I don’t know why we’d ever leave,” said Draco, his voice full of wistful longing.
Her lips trembled at the thought. “We don’t have to,” she whispered, squeez-
ing his fingers. “We shouldn’t. We’re together, aren’t we?”
He turned his face to hers and kissed her temple — as gentle as if she were
blown glass. With a contented sigh, Hermione relaxed back into the cushions.
On the ceiling, she found a stunning fresco of a woman in gauzy white, lying at
the edge of a river. The waters were placid.
Draco’s arm snaked around her shoulders, and as she tilted her head up, her
eyes fell on the window again. The steady back and forth of water soothed her,
lulling her to sleep. She snuggled into Draco’s side and tucked her legs beneath
her on the cushion. His arm wrapped around her as they lay on the sofa, watch-
ing the ocean together.

✦ 246 ✦
 The tide came in. The tide went out. Her breath grew thin and light, like it,
too, was drifting out to sea. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. As her vision grew
hazy and her heartbeat slowed, a mountain range appeared in her mind’s eye.
She gazed at the water there, cool and uninterrupted.
Still waters.
She blinked, and the window was gone — a thick rock wall in its place. She
blinked again, and saw sparkling turquoise and golden sunlight.
Her head felt light as she tilted her head up to the fresco—
The woman at the river was gone. Only a low rock ceiling.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Books — there were books that had fallen
open. One with grey eyes and soft lips and warm hands. She focused on closing
them again, tucking them away.
Hermione’s legs twitched. When had Draco stopped rubbing patterns on
her shoulder? She craned her neck to look at him, and found him sleeping. His
face was peaceful, and pale — almost blue.
She scrambled to face him. His arm fell limply over her shoulder.
“Draco.” She ran her fingers over his cool cheeks. “Draco!”
Her lungs began seizing as she shook his robes, calling his name. Nothing.
His head lolled, and her fingertips scrambled for a pulse — and when she felt a
faint fluttering, she almost wept in relief.
He was alive, just barely.
A dark shadow prodded at her consciousness, and she steadied her shelves.
The room wanted her to forget. It wanted him to forget, too.
Cupping his face to hers, she kissed him softly, breathing life into him.
“Draco,” she whispered. “Be with me.”
His eyes fluttered open, and she had to blink back her tears. “Hm?”
She brushed her fingers across his cheeks. “Can you Occlude with me, please?”
“Occlude?” He frowned, his gaze more alert. “What for?”
“Just for a moment. Please.”
She stared at him, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes shuttered and blinked
open. And again. This time, they were a clear grey. She stumbled off the couch
as he jerked to his feet, drawing his wand. “What happened? Are you alright?”
Nodding, she pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes and swallowed her
emotions.
“It was some kind of charm, for tranquility or forgetfulness. Whatever it was
tried to kill us.” She drew a shuddering breath and let her hands fall to her sides.
Draco was gaping at her, color returning to his cheeks. “We need to keep our
minds sharp.”

✦ 247 ✦
 He looked coldly over the room. “There might be something in here, then.
Perhaps I came too close to something, and it tried to distract me from it.”
Hermione nodded, and after another minute of Occluding, they began turn-
ing the room upside down. There were quills on the desk that seemed expen-
sive, but not important. A paperweight — charmed like the ceiling at Hogwarts
to show the Romanian sky — sat next to a stamp encrusted with the Malfoy
seal. Draco pulled out every book on the shelves while she moved to the cush-
ions, pulling them out and tipping the sofa and chairs on their sides.
And still nothing. Hermione tugged at the roots of her hair while Draco
cursed. They were running out of time.
“Let me check the kitchen again,” he finally said. “There’s elf quarters that I
could go through again.”
Hermione shook her head. “Voldemort wouldn’t associate his Horcrux with
house-elves.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she stared at the doorway leading to the draw-
ing room and bedrooms, debating — and then spun back around with a huff.
Whatever they were looking for was here. The room’s protections were
stronger to keep them from finding it. Her eyes scanned the desk, the archway
to the kitchen, and the door leading to the rest of the residence.
Her brows furrowed. Something was wrong.
She closed her eyes and tried to envision what she’d seen when they entered.
A sitting room. A path to the kitchen. And—
“Wasn’t there another door?” Draco said.
Her eyes shot open, and she spun to him. He was staring at the place where
the window to the ocean had been charmed. There was just a painting there.
Draco ran a hand through his hair. “No. No, sorry, I guess—”
“You’re right. There was.” She pointed her wand at the wall. “Revelio!”
Like a fog clearing, a door materialized in the stone wall. Draco staggered
backward as Hermione’s heart pounded in her throat. She rushed forward, cast-
ing a few hex-detection charms on the brass handle. All negative. Draco dipped
his chin in a nod, and she pulled the door open, both of their wands at the ready.
More stairs leading downward — this tunnel blacker than the one before. Her-
mione steeled herself and started to descend, not daring to glance back at Draco.
The air was thick and humid, like they were walking into hell itself. The
walls were wet, and in the silence between their footsteps, she thought she could
hear something else in the darkness. Something whispering.
The spiraling slowed, and Hermione’s eyes locked on a large cavern waiting
to swallow them at the end of the stairs. She held her breath and didn’t blink
until she stepped off the final step and into the darkness. Her Lumos

✦ 248 ✦
Maxima had barely left her wand when she turned to find Draco stepping next
to her. His eyes widened and darted about as the light bloomed, and she turned
to follow his gaze.
Gold and silver and books and paintings stacked up at least thirty feet high.
Expensive furnishings and cabinets with china. It was like stepping into a cor-
ner of the Room of Hidden Things, only the clutter wasn’t broken or discarded
— it was treasure.
Her feet carried her forward as she scanned the rugs and tapestries. An open
chest full of jewelry. There was a Horcrux in this room. Somewhere. Buried
beneath the piles of necklaces and rings? Tucked between the Degas and the
Rembrandt?
“We shouldn’t touch anything,” she said. “There was a Gemini Curse in the
vault where—” Bellatrix’s vault, she realized a moment too late— “where we
found the cup.”
Turning around, she found Draco just behind her. His face was unreadable
as he dug into his robes and produced the basilisk fang. He extended it to her.
She jerked her head. “It should be you. I’ve already done one.”
It had to be him. If Voldemort fell, killing a Horcrux might be the thing that
saved him. And his parents.
He looked ready to argue with her, but he kept it as he moved to a wardrobe.
He opened the doors of it with a wave of his wand, and billowing skirts tumbled
out — dresses from hundreds of years ago. He crept closer, opening the pockets
of coats with the tip of his wand.
Hermione gravitated toward a chest of jewels and floated them out one by
one to examine. She checked the frame of every painting, unrolled every rug,
turned over every chalice.
Taking a deep breath, she checked on Draco. He was still working through
the clothes, turning them inside out to inspect the pockets and linings. Above
his head on top of the wardrobe, a series of brightly-colored hats caught her
attention. She scanned the feathers and wide brims, the pointed wizarding hats,
and the Muggle top hats. And there at the top, lording over them all—
The Sorting Hat.
Hermione gasped, and the necklace she’d been floating clattered to the ground.
Draco spun to her as it splintered, diamonds rolling across the stone floor.
“That’s it.” Her eyes flicked to him, then back up to the wardrobe. “That’s
the Horcrux.”
Draco stepped backward to stare up at it. Surprise crossed his face when he
recognized it.
The cave seemed to shiver in the silence.

✦ 249 ✦
 “Are you sure?”
There was a certainty in her blood that Harry had always told her about —
the faintest of whispers in her ears, like a chant only she could hear. The fine
hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
“Positive.” She walked over to him like she was treading thin ice, her eyes
never leaving the Hat. Draco’s muscles tensed in the periphery of her vision.
“The Sorting Hat was Godric Gryffindor’s,” she said softly, when she was stand-
ing just beside him. “We should—”
“Right you are, Miss Granger,” a thick voice croaked from the wardrobe,
and her stomach lurched.
Hermione and Draco’s wands shot up, aiming at the Sorting Hat as it chuck-
led — oily and darker than it had back in school. It quivered, as if waking up
from a long sleep. The tear along its brim turned up into an eerie grin.
It was like staring at a familiar painting that had been defaced. There was
something she recognized, but also something tainted.
Perhaps some of the Hat was still in there.
Hermione cast a sideways glance at Draco, and found him looking at her.
Waiting to follow her lead.
“Sorting Hat,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt. “Tell me the last
thing you remember. Before you woke up here.”
“The death of the first Gregory Goyle,” it hummed. “Slytherin. Sorted 1964.”
Draco moved quickly, gripping the fang in one hand and stretching for the
Hat with his other—
A crackle of energy sliced through the air, and with a great gust of wind,
Draco was flung across the room. Hermione screamed as he slammed into a
gold chest, and thumped down onto the cavern floor. The wind swept through
the room, swirling her hair around her face and pulling lighter items into a
twister. The light from her Lumos Maxima flickered, and they were plunged
into darkness.
The Sorting Hat cackled, its voice suddenly thin and high like Voldemort.
Hermione conjured a ball of light in the middle of the ceiling, then whipped
back to aim her wand at the Sorting Hat just as it soared through the air, landing
at the far end of the room. The wind died out. She stumbled after it, freezing when
she saw Draco on his feet — clutching the fang in one hand, and his wand in the
other. He strode toward the corner, his eyes determined, and Hermione followed.
“Accio.” Draco spat. “Wingardium Leviosa.”
The Hat remained perfectly still as they approached. It sat right-side-up on
the stone floor, waiting for them. Draco glanced at her before taking another
step forward—

✦ 250 ✦
 And the wind erupted, sweeping up gold coins and jewelry to pelt against
their face and arms. Hermione lifted a hand to shield herself, her wand raised
as Draco pushed forward, holding the fang high.
“Miss Granger,” it sang, “not wearing your house colors today, I see?”
The wind froze for half a heartbeat, items suspended in the air. The moment
Hermione’s fingers fell to her emerald necklace, the gems pressed in on her
windpipe and the air began howling again. Objects beat against her legs and
stomach as she gasped, scratching at her throat. A towering cabinet nearly col-
lapsed onto Draco as the necklace squeezed tighter. Her wand fell to the floor,
and she jerked her foot out to stop it from rolling away.
She tried to scream, but her vocal cords were clamped. Draco pushed to
standing and turned to her just as the wind intensified, lifting the large gilded
picture frames and hurling them in his direction. He deflected one after another
until he was sidestruck, grunting as he doubled over. Another sharp con-
striction, and Hermione dropped to her knees, digging her thumbs under the
collar. She saw Daphne’s wand roll away as black spots popped in her vision,
catching inside a heavy rug at least six yards away.
The sound of Voldemort’s laughter was high in Hermione’s ears as the room
battered them, debris spiraling up to the ceiling. She limped towards the rug,
fingers scratching at her throat, and looked up to see Draco running towards
her. A low rumble, and Hermione watched in horror as a chest of drawers flew
at him, pinning him to a nearby shelf.
Her head grew light, her lungs seizing for oxygen as the room howled. She
focused the last of her energy on the dying warmth in her fingertips.
Accio, she thought — a whisper, a prayer — and then her magic crackled,
and Daphne’s wand was hurtling through the air. Her arm shot up and she
caught it by the fingertips, pointing the wand to wordlessly blast open the jew-
els. They scattered, and she collapsed on her back, wheezing and gasping for
air. The emeralds lifted above her, caught by the wind.
An explosion to her right. She rolled on her stomach to see Draco stumbling
to his feet — the chest of drawers obliterated, the wood shards joining the tor-
nado. Their eyes locked as she pushed herself to standing, and then there was a
groan so loud the floor shook beneath their feet.
Hermione rasped out a Protection Spell as more objects jerked upward,
keeping them behind an invisible wall. It held for five seconds before she
needed to cast again. Draco started towards her, and she waved him back,
screaming, “Kill it! I’ll hold off the room!”
She aimed at the twister, and the wand shivered under her instruction.

✦ 251 ✦
 Draco raced to the Hat, then skid to a halt as it levitated. Its brim opened as
he gaped up at it.
“And you Mr. Malfoy. Quite a Gryffindor you’ve become. Perhaps we need
another Sorting Ceremony.”
And then the Hat flew forward, swirling once around Draco before launch-
ing at his head. Hermione cried out—
Draco stumbled back, wrestling with the Hat before its opening finally at-
tached itself onto his face. The basilisk fang clattered to the ground as Draco
fought it, blindly casting spells as it shivered around him, as though it were
sucking in his soul.
Hermione’s stomach lurched, and she released the Protection Spell, sprint-
ing to him. The objects in the room flew at her, a painting slamming into her
shoulder, but she hardly felt the blows.
“I can see your heart, Draco Malfoy.” The voice came from every corner,
sensuous and booming.
Dropping to his side, Hermione ripped at the Hat, her heart in her throat
and her fingers burning as she tried to tear it from his skin. She could hear him
screaming from inside, but suddenly, the Hat released him.
Hermione whipped her head to watch it bounce to the side just as something
rocketed at her from the left. A hiss from Draco, and a boom in her eardrums
— the shard of wood deflected just in time. Dust rained over them as Draco
tugged her to her feet, her ears still ringing from the blast.
“Find the fang!” she croaked. He nodded, pale as a sheet, and she caught
sight of a ring burned into his face before he spun to the debris. A chair flew at
her from the left, and she flung up another Protection Spell.
A hollow wind rose behind her, and Hermione turned over her shoulder
and saw the Hat. It lay on its side, the opening facing them. A darkness twisted
inside of it, and Hermione’s stomach rolled as it widened, growing taller and
taller. Terror gripped her ribs. She spun around for Draco, and found him
crouched a few feet away, his eyes on the opening, his wand pointed down the
chasm. His other hand empty.
A small object flew at her, knocking her shoulder back. Her feet stumbled
as she recast her Protection Spell, and she stared back at the tunnel. It was al-
most the height of the room now, and her heart stopped as she made out a pale
wisp of something, growing larger and larger.
A figure.
Cold sweat broke across her skin as the person grew taller, walking closer
until it stepped out of the abyss. A person she recognized.

✦ 252 ✦
 Jet-black hair. Slender and handsome. Only when he turned his brown eyes
on her did Hermione know it wasn’t Harry — it was Tom Riddle.
“Draco, don’t listen to a word he says—”
Tom Riddle raised his ghostly white hand, and her Protection Spell vanished.
The wind shrieked at her face as the maelstrom came hurtling for her head.
A voice called her name as it swallowed her, flinging her backward. Her head
cracked against the cavern floor, knocking her breath from her lungs. She
forced her eyes open and her shaking legs to stand. She had to get up.
The room spun as she stood in the eye of the storm — at the center of swirl-
ing paintings and wooden splinters, gold and silver spinning around her in a
blur. Her eyes locked on Draco’s, still crouching low, untouched by the walls of
the storm. Something passed over his face, and he tore his gaze to the floor.
She had to reach him.
Her fingers gripped Daphne’s wand, and she summoned her energy to shoot
spell after spell at the wind. But they were caught in the eyewall, the force of her
magic crackling up the walls like lightning. A shadow shifted in front of her —
Tom Riddle, watching her closely.
She thought of Harry as she stared at him. Of Fred and Luna, Remus and Cho.
And her vision went white with rage. She paced, fingers trembling to strangle him
as his face stretched in an amused leer. She shot her arm through, and a wooden
chair quickly caught her in the stomach, crumpling her to the ground. She curled
on her side as the pain blossomed, tasting blood in her mouth.
“Draco Malfoy.” Tom Riddle’s voice drifted to her like a purr in her ear.
“Purest of blood, and heir to the great Malfoy line. Loyal servant to the great
Lord Voldemort.”
Hermione’s chin lifted. Through the stars in her vision, she saw Riddle tilt
his head, serpentine in his movements.
“And yet, you come to betray him.”
Draco looked up from where he knelt, like a knight swearing fealty.
Tom Riddle looked over at her and smirked. “My mother was also tempted
by the beauty of a Muggle,” he said to Draco. “But I’ve seen inside of you now,
Draco.” With an elegant bend to his knees, Riddle dropped in front of him,
meeting his eyes. “It’s not her beauty that did you in.”
Hermione’s breath caught, and she pushed herself up by the elbows. “He’s
manipulating you!” A snap of Riddle’s fingers, and the wind howled louder,
silencing her.
She stumbled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her head as she watched Draco
stare down the ghost of Tom Riddle. Apart from the muscle ticking in his jaw,
he was perfectly still.

✦ 253 ✦
 “I believe that was your Aunt Bellatrix’s fatal mistake this evening.” Riddle
tutted, and Hermione shivered, the sound crawling beneath her skin. “She as-
sumed you would be satisfied with a replica.” He gestured in Hermione’s direc-
tion. “But I’ve seen your heart. I’ve broken through your brick walls and
cracked open your jewelry boxes.”
Draco’s eyes flickered to her, wide and terrified. Her heart rattled inside her ribs.
“No, no, Draco,” Riddle said, and Draco’s eyes darted back to him. “I want
your loyalty. And as your aunt can attest, killing this girl won’t get it.” Riddle
smiled, leaning into his ear. “I can give you what you want.”
“I don’t want anything—”
“Security. Protection. No more hiding in the shadows with her.” Riddle
studied him, and with the grace of a predator, he gripped Draco’s shoulder.
“You know how easily she could be cast aside. And you know who’ll be waiting
in the shadows to take her from you.”
Hermione went still — her muscles frozen. Something shifted in the corner
of her eye, and she gaped at the inky tunnel as another shape shifted inside. It
split into two as it grew larger, and she watched a shadow of herself emerge
from the black depths with Antonin Dolohov’s arms wrapped around her mid-
dle, caging her. She was in black lace lingerie that barely covered her. Dolohov
tangled his fingers in her hair, his palm sliding up her thigh.
Draco didn’t move, his lips parted and his ribs expanding quickly.
“Leave this place at once, and she won’t be a slave any longer.” With a flick
of Riddle’s fingers, the shadow of Dolohov evaporated, leaving only her. Bare-
faced and wild-haired, in denims and a jumper. “I’ll let you keep her. Marry
her. No longer a Mudblood traitor — Lady Malfoy.”
Riddle’s hand squeezed Draco’s shoulder. Hermione’s breath came in short
pants as she watched Draco swallow. His fingers twitched.
Tom Riddle abruptly stood, towering over Draco. “Swear again your loyalty
to me, Draco Malfoy, and Lord Voldemort will grant her clemency. Climb out
of the cave, take her memories of this, and the Dark Lord will give you freedom.
Both of you.”
It was silent except for the swirl of the wind. Hermione felt like she was
sinking to the bottom of icy waters as Draco rose to his feet, his jaw set and his
eyes determined.
“Thank you, my Lord,” he whispered. She could scarcely hear him over the
tunnel surrounding her.
Tom Riddle smiled, his translucent head nodding in agreement. Her stom-
ach roiled as Draco swept away from the Horcrux, moving toward her. Her legs
swayed, unsteady beneath her.

✦ 254 ✦
 She watched Draco take four steps closer and twitch his wrist. Something
ivory flew up from the ground, and faster than a Snitch, Draco spun, casting it
forward with his wand, hurtling towards Riddle and the Hat.
The basilisk fang shot through the middle of Tom Riddle’s chest, flying past
his shocked expression, and into the dark opening of the Hat.
An unearthly scream, like a thousand glasses shattering inside her mind. She
covered her ears and watched Draco do the same. The walls of the cavern shook
as Tom Riddle’s apparition howled in agony, the Hat sucking him backward as
it shriveled down to normal size.
The tunnel of broken furniture and gold coins halted, falling around them
like hail. And the screaming stopped.
Hermione counted two heartbeats before she ran to him. He was staring at
the spot Riddle had been, as if he couldn’t trust he was really gone — the same
way he’d stared at his aunt’s body. She grabbed his elbow, and he jumped, spin-
ning to her as she threw her arms around his neck.
“You did it. Draco, you—” Her voice shook. “You were amazing. For a mo-
ment, I thought you’d—”
She broke off as he removed her hands. They fell limply at her sides.
He wouldn’t look at her as he took a step backward, glancing around the
destruction. “You’re alright?”
Hermione swallowed. “I think so. I may have a mild concussion, but…” She
trailed off as he moved toward the Sorting Hat, watching it ooze. Her throat felt
thick as she moved beside him. “I suppose it’s gone now.”
There was silence.
“We should go.”
Hermione glanced up at him. His mouth was in a hard line. He still wouldn’t
look at her.
Just as she opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, he turned on his
heel and wove them back through the destruction.
Something was wrong. That was all she could think about as Draco led them
up the sweltering staircase, not bothering to look behind him.
They reached the top of the stairs. Draco’s hand reached for the door to the
residence, and as it swung open, Tom Riddle’s voice floated in her ears.
I’ll let you keep her. Marry her.
The door clicked closed, and Hermione’s cheeks burned white hot. The
warmth sunk inside her chest, sparking through her veins as Draco’s books flut-
tered open on her shelves. She’d come to mean a great deal to him over the past
year. The Horcrux had confirmed it.

✦ 255 ✦
 Draco moved quickly through the sitting room, putting out the lamps and
wrenching open the front door. He successfully didn’t look back at her as they
climbed the long staircases up toward the moonlight.
The warmth flickered as he led them out of the cave, and down the moun-
tain. She wanted to beg him to look at her — but his gaze remained firmly
ahead, as if they were still on the stone steps.
By the time they Apparated back to the edge of the Romanian town —
Draco’s hand dropping hers quickly — she felt cold again. And by the time he
pulled out the Portkey, barely holding her forearm between his thumb and fore-
finger as they landed in a silent alley in Muggle London, Hermione was won-
dering if she’d miscalculated.
Lady Malfoy.
She wondered what he would say to her if she told him the truth: that she
loved him. He cared for her enough to keep her from Dolohov — that much
was certain. But did his feelings run as deep as hers?
Perhaps marrying her was the only way to keep her safe.
He paused at the edge of a dark alley, his palm outstretched. Hermione
stared down at his hand, and took it.
Draco Disapparated them quickly to the hill outside the Manor, and trudged
up the lane without waiting for her. Finally, at the base of the stairs, he paused.
But he still wouldn’t look at her.
“I need to… to check in with Blaise. Make sure they were able to…” He
cleared his throat, and she felt her chest clench.
“Of course. Draco, I—”
Without a backward glance, he strode to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of
Floo powder, and disappeared with a whispered, “Grimmauld Place.”
Hermione watched the flames take him before settling back to orange. Her
knees buckled, and she collapsed on the stairs.
The Horcrux was gone. Once again, it was now only the snake that stood in
the way. She should feel dizzy with the joy of it. Free. Instead all she could won-
der was why she’d appeared in the deepest depths of Draco Malfoy’s heart if he
was only going to run from her, as if it were all a big mistake.
Her head began throbbing, and it felt like every inch of the pain she’d for-
gotten returned to her at once. Her legs shook when facing another set of stairs,
and her head spun as she walked to Draco’s room. She showered, healing her
cuts and bruises with Daphne’s wand. Then she dressed in her pajamas, and
slipped between the sheets, ready to sit up and wait for him, but she was asleep
before she could turn out the light.

✦ 256 ✦
 ・✦・
She awoke to the smell of coffee on their breakfast trays. Stretching, she
reached for Draco behind her on the bed — and found the sheets cold.
Hermione sat up, and her ribs clenched painfully as the ending of the even-
ing returned to her. She pushed her hair out of her face and looked for any sign
that Draco had come home. No clothes on the floor, no covers pulled back.
Only one tray on the table, not two.
Just as her pulse started to race, there was a light rap on the door. She stum-
bled out of bed and ran to open it, wondering why Draco would knock—
Narcissa stood in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her. Hermione’s
disappointment turned to mortification, having been clearly caught in Draco’s
bedroom, in her pajamas—
“Good morning, Hermione.”
“Hi. Er, Draco isn’t here—”
“I wanted to speak to you,” said Narcissa, with a tense smile.
Hermione let her in and sat with her near the fireplace, her face still hot.
Narcissa declined a cup of tea, and Hermione clenched her hands to keep
from fidgeting.
“I’ll get right to the point.” Narcissa’s eyes had dark circles under them, and
her lips trembled as she took a breath. “The True Order has attacked Italy. I
heard from Lucius late last night.”
Hermione waited for the words to sink into her. She blinked.
“I see,” was all she could say.
“They attacked last night, during the Hogwarts celebration. The Dark Lord
wants to keep it quiet, but I believe it’s just the beginning. There are rumors of
countries signing secret treaties with the True Order. Hungary, for instance.”
Hermione felt her fingers twitch. She stared at Narcissa as blood rushed in
her ears.
“And I need something from you, Hermione.” Her warm blue eyes locked
onto hers, and Hermione felt the platinum thread dancing just in front of her
irises. “I know you need to stay. To be here for your friends. For the True Order.”
Hermione’s lips parted, unsure what Narcissa was asking.
“But Draco needs to go.”
Her throat was dry. “I don’t understand—”
“If the True Order takes back England — and I hope they do — the three of
us won’t survive it.”
Narcissa swallowed, glancing down at her knuckles as they turned white.
She leaned forward.

✦ 257 ✦
 “We need to leave. Lucius will join us when he can, but I know Draco won’t
leave without you.” Narcissa’s eyes filled, her lips trembling. “Hermione, I need
you to make sure Draco comes with me.”
The room spun as her heart beat in her fingertips, the words wrapping
around her ribs and sinking into her skin. A thousand useless words formed on
her tongue, but she bit them back.
She had to stay. And they had to go.
Her eyelids burned, and her voice rasped when she said, “When?”
Narcissa took a deep breath. “Tomorrow. You both should appear at Edin-
burgh this evening. But we need to be gone before the dawn.”

✦ 258 ✦
 CHAPTER 36

T
HE SUN WAS HIGH OVER THE MANOR. A MAY WIND DANCED
in trees near the gazebo, and the peacocks were sunbathing on the
bank of the pond.
And Draco still wasn’t home.
Hermione stood on his balcony, watching the grounds with a sickness in
her chest.
Narcissa had left the room hours ago, yet she still felt the weight of the
tremor in her voice — the tears in her eyes.
The three of us won’t survive it.
Her heart wanted to protest. Insist that her word and her memories would
exonerate them.
Her logic whispered otherwise.
She tugged her dressing gown around her stomach as a chill ran deep
through her bones. A blood-splattered volume drifted forward from her
shelves, opening to a page with Viktor emerging from the shadows, his jaw hard
and his wand trained on Draco. On the next page was Cho, her eyes burning
with fury as she swung the sword at Draco’s neck. The spine shivered, the pages
flitting through green flashes and bodies tumbling down the stones—
It’s Malfoy! I found him!
With a sharp breath, Hermione snapped the book closed.
The truth sunk through her as she steadied her breathing, like a stone drop-
ping lower and lower into dark waters. The Malfoys had to leave. If the True
Order came for her, there would be no time to explain — no guarantee they
wouldn’t shoot to kill. But if the Malfoys were safely hidden, Hermione could
focus on the task at hand.
If there were Lots who needed freeing, she’d free them. If there were Death
Eaters in hiding, she’d root them out. And when the dust settled, she could ex-
plain the great lengths all three Malfoys had gone through to keep her safe and
unharmed — and in Draco and Narcissa’s case, to help the True Order.

✦ 259 ✦
 But these were problems for another time. And for now, her time was run-
ning out.
Even if there were a good alternative, she couldn’t deny Narcissa — not when
she’d reached for Hermione’s hand and pleaded for her son’s life. Narcissa, who’d
never asked for anything but her company; Narcissa, who’d saved her from
Dolohov and shared her wand between the papers she slipped over breakfast.
Narcissa had asked something of her, and she would do it. She would keep
her word.
Tomorrow morning, Hermione would say her goodbyes. She’d take the tat-
too antidote, and Kreacher would Apparate her to Grimmauld Place.
According to Narcissa, the transfer of the deeds to Grimmauld Place had
been sealed upon request. No one knew it had fallen back into the Malfoys’
possession except for the immediate family and those living there.
“Bellatrix is aware, but believes the property to be unoccupied,” Narcissa
had told her. “Even if she does become suspicious, she won’t be able to find it.
It’s under a Fidelius Charm.”
The name had splashed over Hermione like ice water, but Narcissa didn’t
seem to notice.
“Blaise, Pansy, and the others need to leave the country immediately.
There’s a black market for International Portkeys in Norwich. It’s the safest
way. If that fails, they should cross the Anti-Apparition line at Liverpool.”
Narcissa had squeezed her fingers, tethering her to her body. “Is this some-
thing I can trust you to handle, Hermione?”
Hermione had managed to nod. “Of course. I’ll tell them when I arrive in
the morning.”
“Thank you.” Slowly, Narcissa had released her hand.
There had been a long silence as Hermione contemplated looking out on
Malfoy Manor for the last time. She’d tried to imagine what she might say to
Draco, in those final moments.
“Kreacher will remain there with you. He’s under strict orders to serve your
needs. He’ll cook for you and fetch the paper, and when the time comes, he’ll
bring you to your friends.”
Another pause, and Hermione had lifted her eyes.
“I know it will be frustrating to wait. But you shouldn’t leave until you can
be delivered to the True Order. I cannot leave you with my wand, Hermione.
Draco and I both need to be armed.”
She’d said nothing, watching Narcissa’s lips tremble.
“Things are moving quickly. Salerno is nearly overrun, and Lucius expects
Rome to fall within the week. Once Italy is taken, other allies will quickly defect.

✦ 260 ✦
If Lucius needs us for some reason—” She broke off, her shaking fingers twisting
around each other. “He’ll catch up with us — one day. But I will get Draco out.”
Her eyes had looked unfocused as she stood, thanking Hermione a final time.
And as she’d left the room, Hermione heard her whisper, “This time, I will.”
We need to be gone before the dawn.
And now it was half-past two in the afternoon.
Closing her eyes, Hermione tried to savor the sunlight on her face. The wind
in her hair. Each heartbeat ticked heavy in her chest, as if begging the seconds
to slow down.
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. Hermi-
one 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 Ed-
inburgh. 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.

✦ 261 ✦
 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 meditat-
ing to file them away.
Three hours later, her waters were calm, and the smoke was rising in perfect
spirals. Hermione put out the flame and bottled four vials of the tattoo antidote:
one for Ginny, one for her, one for Ron, and one for Oliver. She couldn’t forget
her promise to Theo to get him out.
After cleaning up her workspace, she closed the laboratory and headed up-
stairs. She went straight to her bedroom, intent on preparing for Edinburgh.
The door swung open, and her feet froze. Draco was standing at her book-
shelves, perusing a book like it was exactly where he was expected to be. As if it
were just another evening at Edinburgh, and he’d come to give her instructions.
She’d lost count of her heartbeats by the time he finally closed the book,
replacing it on the shelf. He turned around slowly, as if forcing himself. His
gaze rested on her collarbones.
“Where have you been?” Her voice was hollow.
A tight shrug of his shoulders. “I told you. I checked in on Blaise and Pansy.
I stayed the night at Grimmauld—”
“Why?”
Draco was silent.
Her fingers shook with the need to reach out to him. To drag his face to
hers. She opened her mouth, but it felt like she might crumble beneath the
weight of all the things she wanted to say.
You’ll be gone by morning. I want to spend the time we have left loving you.
Because I love you.
Her heart urged her on. Her mind whispered, not yet.
“I was worried about you,” she managed.

✦ 262 ✦
 A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m fine.” His eyes fell to the glass vials in her
hand. “What are those about?”
Hermione blinked down at them. She pulled Daphne’s wand from her
pocket and shrunk the vials to the size of a pill. “I made more of the tattoo an-
tidote. In case I need to take it on short notice.”
“Why are there four?”
Swallowing, she met his eyes. They were dark and grey. She would drown in
them, if he let her. “I need to see Ginny tonight.”
His shoulders sagged, and his gaze drifted over her shoulder. She braced
herself for his refusal.
“I’ll try,” he said softly, and the breath left her lungs. “I’ll put in the request
for a Share, but I may not be able to confirm with Avery until this evening.” He
glanced up at her ceiling, and she could see the circles under his eyes. “I might
not be able to leave the two of you alone this time.”
“That’s fine,” she said, her mind working quickly. “I don’t want you to leave.”
It wasn’t how she planned to tell him that the True Order was closing in.
But this way was best, even if he did get angry at her. If he heard it in front of
Ginny, then Ginny would be the third Lot able to confirm that Draco’s loyalties
had shifted — following her and Oliver.
“And one vial is for Ron?”
Hermione startled from her thoughts. Draco was now staring at the wall.
“Yes. The last is for Oliver.” Her throat felt tight. “Only if there’s an oppor-
tunity, of course. I just… want to be prepared.”
His expression gave nothing away. “I’ll put in the request for Ginny. You
should get ready. I need to—” He cleared his throat. “I need to speak to my
mother about Bellatrix.”
A memory shot to the surface before she could stop it, flitting through im-
ages of wiry curls and bared teeth.
I’ll get you another one. This one has poisoned you.
Bellatrix had known about Draco’s feelings for her as well.
Something sparked in her veins, but Hermione forced herself to focus.
“Were Blaise and Pansy able to hide the body?”
“Yes. There weren’t any problems there.” Draco ran a hand through his hair.
“But Mother should know.”
“Not yet.” His eyes snapped to her, and she felt her pulse race. “Let it wait
till tomorrow.”
His brows pulled together. “I really think—”
“Trust me. Your mother doesn’t need to hear this before she is required at
Edinburgh. It’s best to wait until tomorrow.”

✦ 263 ✦
 When he and Narcissa would be gone.
She could grieve for her sister while knowing her son was safe.
Tearing his eyes from her face, Draco nodded. “Leave Daphne’s wand on
your bed once you’re finished with it. She was asking for it earlier.”
Hermione felt him slipping through her fingers again as he moved past her,
reaching for the door.
“Wait.”
His hand froze on the doorknob.
“About last night. Please don’t be embarrassed by what the Horcrux said to
you. I’ve come to care for you quite a bit as well.” The words came tumbling
out of her. “And I know that the world is upside down, but if the circumstances
were different, you should know that I would have—”
“Don’t. Please.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to turn around. To look at her.
He didn’t.
“I’ll leave you to get ready.” He wrenched open the door, and when he closed
it behind him, something cracked inside her chest.
Hermione wasn’t sure how long she’d stared after him before she realized
she was crying. But there was no time for her tears. Or heartbreak.
She Occluded while she took a few bites of dinner, while she bathed and
curled her hair. When her locks finally resembled something Pansy might ap-
prove of, she set Daphne’s wand on her bed and returned to the bathroom to
paste on her makeup.
She emerged half an hour later, her books firmly tucked away. Daphne’s
wand had vanished, and when she opened her wardrobe, she found the dress
Pansy had sent with the elves.
Gold satin. Hermione ran her fingers over the material. It felt like water
on her skin.
She shimmied into the dress and stepped into the matching heels. She
slipped three mini-vials in the inner seam, and clicked the gold collar into place.
A knock on her door at a quarter till ten, and she opened it to find Draco in
his Death Eater robes.
Hopefully for the last time.
She cleared her mind, tucking away Narcissa’s plans and burying them on
her shelves.
He cast his eyes over her, and offered his hand. She took it.
They met Narcissa at the bottom of the stairs, looking far too elegant in
midnight blue. She wished them a good evening, and took Draco’s other arm.

✦ 264 ✦
As they walked down the drive, she said, “I’ll only stay for the first half-hour.
Your father can’t make it, so I won’t be expected to stay long without him.”
“And you said he’s in Italy?” Draco asked.
The gravel crunched beneath Hermione’s heels.
“Yes,” said Narcissa. “He has an important commitment at the Ministry.”
They crossed through the gate and to the top of the hill. Draco took both
their elbows for side-along Apparition and landed them in front of the signpost
to Edinburgh. Narcissa brushed off her robes and stared up at the castle, her
lips twisted in a frown.
The cobblestone path turned them to the gate, and when the shiver of
new wards and Protective Spells passed over them, Hermione sank deeper
into her waters.
She climbed stone steps to a castle on a mountaintop. A tall boy with pale
hair gripped her elbow.
He murmured to his left, and a woman murmured back. His mother.
They cleared the stairs and walked on winding cobblestones. Her mus-
cles ached.
Lights glowed and men laughed as they turned a corner.
The courtyard looked familiar.
A clocktower overhead, ticking towards ten. An amphitheater to the north,
overlooking a small arena. A fountain at the center. Magic is Might.
A couple approached, and the blonde woman stepped forward, kissing their
cheeks. The wife stared at her as the pale-haired boy shook her husband’s hand,
keeping a firm grip on his other elbow.
The pale-haired boy led her from the courtyard. His fingers cupped her
chin. “Granger.”
Blinking, she returned to her body. She found Draco Malfoy pressing her
against the side of a building. Looking at her.
“Pull it back,” he whispered. “We’re almost inside.”
She nodded, and then he was pulling away and tugging her towards the en-
trance of the Great Hall.
They were greeted by Charlotte’s painted smile.
“Master Malfoy. Miss Granger. Welcome back to Edinburgh.” And before
Hermione could search her eyes for recognition, Charlotte was offering them
both a glass of champagne and pulling back the curtain.
Hermione swallowed her shock as they stepped inside the Great Hall. It had
been expanded to twice its usual size, and still the guests stood nearly elbow to
elbow. The walls had been repainted, the chandeliers rehung, and all the swords
and weapons removed.

✦ 265 ✦
 Draco took her arm and steered them through the crowd. She spotted Min-
isters Cirillo, Grubov, and Santos speaking lowly to each other in a far corner,
their eyes flicking over the other guests.
They found Theo standing in the center of the room, speaking with
Yaxley, Travers, and his wife. Oliver stood behind him with his arms folded
behind his back.
Draco shook hands with them and wrapped his arm around her waist, tug-
ging her close. She met Oliver’s eyes briefly before he glanced back at the floor.
“I suppose Molnár expects the Dark Lord to just allow it?” said Travers, con-
tinuing their conversation. “Last night was one thing, but two nights in a
row…” He shook his head and circled his whiskey in its glass.
Yaxley glanced over his shoulder. “I believe the Dark Lord has sent someone
to… assess the situation.”
“I expected as much,” said Travers. He sipped his drink.
Hermione’s breath grew shallow. They were talking about the Hungarian
Minister. And Bellatrix.
“I noticed Minister Romano isn’t here tonight.” Theo turned his head to
search the crowd. “Strange, isn’t it?”
Hermione glanced at Draco, and found his gaze narrowed on Yaxley. Her-
mione turned just in time to see Yaxley exchanging a quick glance with Travers.
“I see Berge is missing as well,” said Yaxley.
“Yeah.” Theo tugged at his collar. “All I know is that he’s been detained.”
“Curious.” Travers’ tone sounded like it was anything but. “I would have
assumed he’d want to be here for the re-opening.”
“I’m sure he did. I’m not sure what held him up.” Theo sipped deeply from
his tumbler, flinching as the liquid traveled down his throat.
Hermione looked over at Oliver, her fingers tapping the vials in her seam. She
had to get one to him. But he was a lower priority than Ginny tonight. Or Ron.
With his father dead, only Theo and Oliver lived at Nott Manor now. She
could send Kreacher first thing in the morning to call at the gates.
“Master Nott.”
Theo turned over his shoulder. Charlotte stood behind him with a tray of
champagne glasses. “Charlotte.”
“Are you ready for the toast?” Theo stared at her blankly. She leaned in,
lowering her voice. “Master Berge was planning to say a few words about the
reopening. I assume you’ll be doing it in his stead?”
“Er, yes. Of course.”

✦ 266 ✦
 Theo failed to conceal his grimace as he took off toward a small platform in
the corner, Oliver following a few steps behind him. Hermione’s gaze drifted to
Charlotte, smiling at each guest as she passed out champagne.
The sound of wands tapping against flutes rang throughout the hall, and the
crowd quieted. Hermione shifted behind Draco as Theo began speaking, her
eyes quickly scanning the room. But it was too tightly packed — too filled with
people she’d never seen before.
She caught a glimpse of Narcissa standing with the Selwyns. Amycus and
Alecto Carrow were nearby. A pair of young witches whispered to Hermione’s
left. Their mother turned to glare at them, and when she moved between them,
Hermione’s blood froze in her veins.
A glimpse of red in the far corner of the room. Not fiery-red like Ginny, but
burnt orange.
A book smelling of fresh grass and spearmint trembled violently.
Hermione shifted, trying to get a better glimpse, but then her spine prickled,
and she found Dolores Umbridge staring at her through narrowed eyes. She
tore her gaze to the floor.
Ron, her heart whispered. But she knew she couldn’t reach him in time.
After the toast, the men would scatter to private rooms. The wives and
daughters would leave through the fireplace, along with the male Lots who had
no use in the Lounge.
Ron was standing by the fireplace.
Her mind always knew it was unlikely. There were too many unknowns —
too narrow a chance. But she still felt acid in her stomach threatening to choke
her as Theo lifted his glass and said, “To the Dark Lord’s power.”
“May he reign forevermore!”
She swallowed her champagne with everyone else. It rippled down her
throat, harsh and biting.
Her limbs felt heavy as Draco guided her back into the circle with Yaxley
and Travers. The crowd resumed its chatter, and Hermione tried not to flinch
when she heard the burst of the fire as people left by the Floo. And again.
While she finished draining her glass, and the Floo flamed four more times.
She couldn’t bear to check for Ron again when she knew he must be gone.
She pasted on a smile as she closed the heavy volume inside her mind. Push-
ing up on her toes, she lost it somewhere on her highest shelf.
Ginny. She’d get to Ginny tonight. Oliver in the morning.
Draco excused them suddenly. He took her by the elbow as they side-
stepped through the guests. When he released her, Hermione found herself
blinking up at Blaise and “Giuliana.” She blinked down again.

✦ 267 ✦
 Blaise said something light — teasing. There was a clap of a shoulder, and a
drawled reply. But Hermione’s mind was already elsewhere, her head bowed
and her eyes darting through her lashes.
She’d barely caught two words of the conversation when she saw finally it
— a flash of fiery red hair. It fell down thin shoulders onto a thin body, a slinky
fabric stretched tight across its curves.
A man leaned closer, whispering as his hand drifted down the girl’s back.
Avery. Guiding Ginny in the direction of the Lounge.
Hermione swayed on her feet. She let her shoulder brush Draco’s, and he
paused mid-sentence. It took three seconds for his head to turn in the right
direction.
“Shall we go see what’s new in the Lounge?” he asked.
Blaise hummed his agreement, and then the four of them were making their
way to the double doors.
The crowd was thinning. Hermione’s eyes passed over them, searching for
red hair. They were almost at the exit when they bumped into Narcissa. Her-
mione had to fight the urge to crane her neck and stare down the corridor while
Narcissa pecked her son on the cheek, giving a clipped excuse for leaving early.
The Lounge was already in full swing. It seemed the number of Carrow Girls
had doubled. There were serving girls, girls in laps sipping champagne, girls
dancing on the platforms. Draco led them toward the couches where they usu-
ally sat, but they were occupied by strange men in uniforms that Hermione had
never seen before.
The four of them moved through the dimly lit room in search of a place to
sit. They passed Theo, looking miserable as Cassandra ran her fingers over his
shoulders. Oliver was nowhere to be found. Hermione spotted Dolohov with
Pius Thicknesse at one of the back tables, and when his head swiveled in their
direction, she quickly ducked her chin.
She searched for any sign of Ginny, but there were too many people —
crowding the gambling tables, grabbing the girls.
“Draco! Blaise!”
Marcus Flint grinned at them from a nearby chair, Penelope sitting low across
his lap. She didn’t look up, too focused on running her fingers through his hair.
Flint jerked his head to his left. “These chairs just freed up—” The rest of his
words were swallowed by Penelope, kissing him ravenously as she moved to
straddle him.
Draco stared at them. Hermione watched a vein throb in his temple before
he tugged her forward, towards a pair of empty wingback chairs. Blaise and
Pansy followed.

✦ 268 ✦
 Hermione had barely settled into Draco’s lap when she caught sight of
Avery. She went stock still.
Avery stood at the roulette table, Ginny on his other side. He turned to her,
and Hermione watched Ginny lower her champagne glass and blow on his dice.
He rolled, and men cheered. Ginny kept her eyes firmly on the table through it
all, as if she couldn’t bear to look up. Hermione’s stomach churned, remembering
it was the first time she’d been back to the Lounge since her public “discipline.”
A round of groans — Avery had lost his bet. He gave a lopsided shrug and
he downed his drink, his hand sliding through Ginny’s locks and trailing down
to her backside. He slammed his empty glass on the table and stood, guiding
her towards the doors leading to the Burgundy Room.
Hermione’s eye twitched, but before she could turn to Draco, he was already
setting her to her feet and standing from the chair.
“Blaise, I have some business to take care of.” He watched the doors close
behind Avery. “I’ll be a few minutes. Keep an eye on her.”
Blaise gaped at him, but before he could say anything, Draco was striding
off in the direction of the Burgundy Room. Hermione felt both Blaise and Pansy
swivel to look at her. She began to settle back into the chair, but Blaise patted
his armrest and gestured for her to join them.
It took her a moment to catch his meaning. She stood quickly, stepping over
to them and settling on the armrest. Crossing her legs, she leaned against
Blaise’s shoulder and let her mind drift.
Ginny tonight, Oliver in the morning. As for Ron — she’d have to hope.
Her lips trembled at the reminder of what awaited her in the morning. And
her mind sharpened with a jolt. She looked over to Blaise, who was drumming
his fingers on his glass to the beat of the music.
Shifting her legs, she leaned into his ear. He tilted his head up. “Narcissa is
fleeing with Draco in the morning. You and the girls need to run before dawn.”
She pulled back and watched his throat bob before he straightened and flashed
her a grin — like she’d said something flirtatious. He took a long sip of his drink,
and gave her the slightest of nods. Pansy’s eyes flickered between the two of them.
Hermione continued to search the room, her gaze flicking between the
doors to the Burgundy Room and the new guests at the gambling tables.
“Miss Granger,” said a voice near her shoulder.
Hermione spun to find a freckled young girl with blonde hair blinking back
at her. Her accent was Irish, and she was wearing a silver collar. Blaise’s body
shifted next to her.
“Master Malfoy would like me to take you to him.”

✦ 269 ✦
 It felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs. Ginny. He’d been able
to convince Avery.
Hermione stood from the chair, but Blaise stood with her, grabbing her arm.
“Why didn’t he come to bring her?”
The girl frowned. “I don’t know, sir. All I know is that Master Malfoy told
me to retrieve her.”
Hermione turned back to Blaise, trying to reassure him, but his gaze was
narrowed on the girl.
“Is there a problem, sir?” The girl shifted her weight.
Slowly, Blaise shook his head. He released her arm.
With a final glance over her shoulder, Hermione followed the girl through
the Lounge. She led Hermione past the gambling tables and through the double
doors towards the Burgundy Room. Her chest grew tighter with every step.
The girl led her past doors and down corridors she’d only seen once before —
the ones she’d run by as Edinburgh crumbled around them. They climbed up a
flight of twisting stairs and stopped at a door with an intricate flower design in
the wood. The girl pushed the door open and let Hermione pass in front of her.
It was a dimly-lit bedroom. A large four-poster stretched toward the stone
ceiling. There was a wooden chair before an old writing desk, and two armchairs
turned toward the fireplace. The girl followed her in and stood next to the desk.
Hermione moved between the armchairs. The room was empty. She turned
to the girl to ask—
And found tears streaming down her freckled cheeks. “I’m sorry,” the girl
whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
A cold wind swept through Hermione’s lungs. “What for?”
A floorboard creaked in the corridor, and Hermione whipped around to see
Antonin Dolohov in the doorway.
Her veins turned to rivers of ice
“Thank you, Cara,” he said.
Cara sniffed as she rushed past him and out of the room. Dolohov closed
the door behind her and cast a series of locking charms, sealing her in.
Hermione stood frozen as he turned. Her blood pounded. Every nerve end-
ing screamed at her to run.
Dolohov stepped forward, his eyes swallowing her like black tunnels.
“They’ve you done up in gold again, Mudblood.” His voice dragged like
gravel across her skin. “The last time I saw you in gold, you were my property.”
A burst of adrenaline flooded her, narrowing her vision and pumping her heart.
There was a window on the other side of the bed. There was a fireplace, if she could
take the antidote in her seam and find the Floo powder before he stopped her.

✦ 270 ✦
 Dolohov took another step. He tilted her head at her, like a wolf.
Her heart rattled her ribs as she tried to think.
If she was able to flee through the fireplace without her owner, Dolohov would
tell the others. Draco would be captured, interrogated, and killed before dawn.
She had to stall him. Until Draco arrived.
She lifted her chin. “I’m not sure what this is about, but if you’d like to ne-
gotiate a Share, you’ll have to go through my master.”
A smirk tugged at Dolohov’s mouth. His black eyes glittered. “We both
know he’d never agree.”
“Well, that’s your answer, then—”
“And why do you suppose that is, Mudblood?” He swaggered forward.
“You’re just a Muggle. Just a tight cunt at the end of a long day.”
Her knees threatened to give out, but she held her ground.
“All the other men have shared their Lots. But not the Malfoy whelp.”
He leered at her, his glassy eyes digging into her, taunting her. She had to
keep him talking. Slow him down.
“You and the Malfoys aren’t on the best terms. Perhaps if you ask nicely—”
He threw his head back and laughed. Like she was terribly funny.
“You think you can get anything from the Malfoys by asking nicely?” He wiped
his eyes, still chuckling. “No, no, we’re much the same to them, you and I — noth-
ing more than dirt under their shoe unless you have the blood or property.”
He smiled at her with crooked teeth. “I had a front-row seat to watch you
last night, you know. Dining like a pure-blood, dressing like a pure-blood.”
Another step, and another. He was just a pace away now.
“But we both know you’re a filthy whore underneath it all. Aren’t you?”
A cold wind in her ears. Her skin trembled.
“Can’t walk into a room without Lucius Malfoy calling me a half-blood. Yet
here you are, a Mudblood shined up like a prize pure-blood bitch.”
Hermione’s breath came in quick pants.
“I’m not the only one who sees it. Bella used to joke that you must have a
golden cunt.” His gaze raked her body — roving her chest, her thighs. “I disa-
greed. Told her I remembered how warm that cunt felt in my palm.”
His fingers brushed across her hip. Hermione jerked backwards, but his
other hand shot out to grab her hair. She cried out as he fisted it, yanking her
neck back. He grinned down at her, his wand drifting across her skin and dip-
ping below her neckline. She gasped, her hands scrabbling against his chest, but
he was too heavy.
Her veins thrummed with magic, hot and frenzied. She coiled it, waiting for
the right moment—

✦ 271 ✦
 “That’s what I’m talking about.” His breath reeked of Firewhisky. “You’re
not a frigid pure-blood bitch, are you Granger? You’re the same Muggle whore
you always were.” He leaned down into her ear. “Let’s see how warm you are.”
His hand slithered up her thigh, rucking up her dress.
She thrashed, magic crackling through her, and just as she prepared to un-
leash it, an explosion burst through the door.
A blast of flying wood and smoke. A yelp ripped from her throat, Dolohov’s
grip still tight on her scalp. When her vision cleared there was a hole where the
doorway used to be, and Draco was running through it.
“Expelliar—!”
“Avada Kedavra!”
Green light jetted from Dolohov’s wand, and Hermione screamed as Draco
dove out of the way. Dolohov held her against him like a shield as he aimed his
wand at Draco.
“What are you playing at, Antonin?” His voice shook with rage as he locked
eyes with Dolohov. “She’s my property. You have no claim on her.”
Hermione stared at him, panting as Dolohov squeezed tighter around her
ribs. Her head spun.
“You don’t get it, do you, Malfoy?” Dolohov’s voice rumbled against her
back. “You think I’m going to live long enough to enjoy my end of it? You
think any of us will?”
“That’s not my problem.” Draco’s tone was like ice. “I made you an offer,
and you accepted my terms.”
“Your terms?” Another squeeze, knocking the air from Hermione’s lungs.
“Or your father’s?”
Draco was silent, staring at her. His jaw ticked.
Dolohov let out a low scoff. “Your daddy’s not here to protect you, whelp.
And with any luck, he’ll get a curse to the back tonight.”
“It was mine to give. My birthright. I gave it to you, not my father—”
“And what good will Malfoy Manor do me when they raze it to the ground?”
Hermione froze. There was ringing in her ears.
Draco’s face was pale. “You can’t — you’re forbidden from speaking of it—”
“I knew he was full of shit.” Dolohov’s voice was breathless. Surprised, al-
most. “Knew he did something to that Unbreakable Vow. Wait until I tell the
others that Draco Malfoy gave away all he had to his name for some worthless
Muggle whore.”
The words crashed into her like breaking waves.
Draco had given up the Manor for her.
Dolohov began laughing again, as if he’d never heard a funnier joke.

✦ 272 ✦
 Draco’s wand shook. His eyes flicked to her, terrified.
A black rage grew in her belly. Her magic sizzled, licking at her insides. A
fire crawled across her skin as she thought of black tile floors, and Luna and
Parvati’s screams—
Her magic raced down her spine and rippled outward, flinging Dolohov
back with a grunt.
She dove to the side as Draco fired off curses, but they exploded against the wall.
“Your bitch has magic?” He aimed hexes at Draco as Hermione darted
around the bed. “You’re as good as dead, Malfoy. You and your father.”
He advanced, and Hermione could only watch in terror as Draco countered
every curse, each one coming quicker than the last. The walls rattled as she tried
to channel her magic to help him.
Dolohov’s eyes shot to her, and with a flick of his wand, a red light came
barreling at her chest—
White hot fire lit up her skin. Her bones were splitting open, her throat
clogged with lava as she screamed.
The curse lifted, and she panted on the floor, her muscles still seizing, the
pain still rippling.
Yelling filled her ears. She dragged herself to her knees and crawled.
Dolohov stood over Draco, his back facing her. Draco was screaming, writh-
ing on the ground.
Her heart stopped. Her legs shook as she pushed herself to stand, ready to
throw herself at him. Anything to make him stop screaming.
She took an unsteady step forward as her mind whirred, begging her to
think — and her eyes caught on Draco’s hawthorn wand, just feet away.
Her knees almost buckled as she scrambled for it, snatching it off the floor
and dragging her body upright again. Draco’s screams slashed through her like
a knife as she lifted his wand.
“Avada Kedavra.”
There was a crack. A fissure. A chill swam through her chest, and then — a
ringing silence.
Dolohov’s body crumpled.
Draco was panting, catching his breath. She told her legs to run to him. But
a piece of her was escaping…
A shard falling away.
She stared down the end of the wand, wondering where it went.
Draco stumbled to his feet, sweating and shaking. He stared at her with
something burning in his eyes.

✦ 273 ✦
 Sound returned to her, echoing in her ears. Draco looked toward the door-
way, and she realized the noise was coming from outside, running up the steps.
Draco staggered to her, grabbed the wand from her fingertips, and aimed it at
Dolohov just as Rabastan and Rookwood burst through the blown-out doorway.
It was silent again.
Rookwood stepped forward. “What happened here?”
“I found him assaulting my Lot. I confronted him, and he attacked me.
Check his wand.”
“Fuck.” Rabastan pried Dolohov’s wand from his grip and per-
formed Prior Incantato. Spells burst from the tip, one after another. Crucia-
tus, hexes, Killing Curses.
Rookwood stared down at Dolohov’s corpse. His expression was pinched.
“The Dark Lord won’t like this, Draco.”
Draco cleared his throat. “Am I not to defend myself when my life and my
property is endangered?”
“Still. You’ll need to explain this to him. Why it came to this,” Rookwood
said, and Rabastan cursed again. “He’s traveling this evening, and I’m not sure
when he’ll return. But when he does, I’ll have to inform him.”
Draco nodded. “I need to get my Lot home.”
Rabastan tore his gaze from Dolohov’s corpse. “Go home, Draco. We’ll take
care of the body.”
“I’ll come by in the morning,” said Rookwood.
Draco nodded again.
Rookwood’s eyes followed them across the room as Draco tugged her to the
fireplace. He summoned the Floo powder and called out for Malfoy Manor.
She stumbled out of the flames into Draco’s bedroom.
Draco grabbed her shoulders. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”
There was still a hollow wind in her chest as she stared into his eyes, grey
and warm.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t.
Tears blurred her vision as he ran his hands over her, casting Tergeos and
healing bruises. But the pain wasn’t on her skin.
She wept, her chest wracked with sobs. She’d failed Ginny. And Draco was
being taken from her as well.
She might never see him again.
The clock on the mantle read ten past midnight. Less than five hours left.
He stroked her hair, his thumbs gathering her tears. She tried to breathe him
in. Savoring him.

✦ 274 ✦
 She gripped his shoulders as her breathing evened out again. Her eyes
stopped flowing over.
“Granger.” His hands slid to her arms. “The Dark Lord will be angry about
Dolohov. When he questions me, he might…”
She heard his throat click.
“I’ll Floo my father in the morning. It might be safest for you and Mother
to go to Grimmauld Place. If he finds the truth—”
A sob tore from her lips, and the dam burst again.
He wrapped his arms around her, whispering apologies in her hair.
Any wild dream she might have had was gone. He and Narcissa had to leave
at first light, before the Dark Lord could summon him. There was no other
hope, no other option.
He had to go.
This was her last night with him, the minutes dwindling like sand between
her fingertips. She could have spent a lifetime asking him questions. Telling
him all the secrets she’d kept locked away, like notes in her jewelry box.
She lifted her face from his robes.
He didn’t meet her eyes, still inspecting her jaw for bruises. His fingers were
light on her cheeks, gathering her tears.
“You gave up Malfoy Manor for me.”
He nodded slowly. “Upon my father’s death — presuming Dolohov had
nothing to do with it — the Manor would be his, as would my inheritance.”
“Why?”
He was silent, and still. His ribs ceased moving.
“Draco.”
He swallowed, and when he glanced at her, his eyes were clear.
“I had feelings for you at school.” It rushed out of him, like a tap opening. A
fluttering in her chest. Like something inside her was trying to reach him. “It
wasn’t…I’m sorry to have you find out this way.”
His eyes drifted away, like it was painful to look at her.
“Draco—”
“But it wasn’t meant to….it shouldn’t have been anything. Potter was sup-
posed to win. And you were supposed to be with Weasley.” Draco pressed his
eyes closed, and they were wet when he opened them. “But Potter didn’t win.
And you…you weren’t…”
There was a melody in her veins, dancing to the pace of her heartbeat. Her
head spun. The piece of her that had broken seemed to not matter anymore.
“You tried to buy me at the Auction…because you have feelings for—”
“Because I love you.” His eyes lifted to hers. Warm grey.

✦ 275 ✦
 The words echoed in her ears.
The pictures of her in his drawer.
The things he agreed to, just because she asked.
The way no one else could touch her.
An unpublished volume tucked on her breakfast tray.
Hermione kissed him, pouring her soul into him as he slanted his lips
against hers. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
His hands slipped over her ribs, curving along her spine. She pulled back,
pressing her forehead against his.
“Draco, I do too. I lo—”
He kissed her, slipping his tongue inside her mouth, and she moaned before
pulling back.
“I—”
“Shh. Don’t…” He jerked his head, staring at her lips. Hermione frowned at
him, watching his eye twitch. “You asked me why. I just had to say it once.
Don’t say it back.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he bent to kiss her again, weakening
her resolve as his hand drifted up her spine. Rising on her toes, she pressed her
body close to him as his fingers tangled in her curls.
She’d show him now, if he wouldn’t let her say it. She could tell him before
the dawn.
He pulled back, but she tugged him down.
“I don’t want to rest.”
“Good.” He picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. Their
tongues tangled as they stumbled to the bed.
He tossed her down on the mattress and started tugging off his robes and
unlacing his boots. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her dress aside, flinging
her collar across the room.
His eyes were hot on her as she peeled off her bra and knickers, and she
came onto her knees to help him with his shirt. Threading her fingers through
his hair, she tugged his head to her and kissed him as he worked off his trousers.
She pressed her chest against his, and he groaned, forgetting his buttons as his
hands snapped to her hips.
His palms filled with her backside, and she smiled as he cursed into her
shoulder.
His lips pressed against her temple. “You can’t even imagine the things I
wanted to do to you, Granger.”

✦ 276 ✦
 Her insides liquefied. She gasped as he dragged his teeth across her ear. Her
body began to warm, to throb for him as his hands kneaded her arse, slipping
closer to her core.
And the second-hand ticked closer.
“Tell me,” she whispered. “Show me. Please.”
He stilled, and then a moan poured from his lips. “Granger…”
“Please, Draco.”
She ran her fingernails down his bare chest, and it was like a switch flicked.
He grabbed her around the middle and flipped her to her hands and knees. His
hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her into the mattress.
His hands were on her backside, squeezing and running his fingers over her
core. She tilted her hips and arched her spine, and he groaned.
“Did you think of this in school?” she panted.
His answer was his tongue slipping through her folds. Her body jerked, but
then he splayed his hand at the base of her spine, rubbing circles with his thumb
as his tongue flicked her clit.
She curled her fingers in the sheets as he swiped broad strokes through her with
his tongue. She thought about how he’d laid her out on the potions table for this.
Nowhere else I’d rather be, Granger.
Molten heat spread through her muscles. She whimpered as he pulled her
clit between his lips, gasping as he sucked. Then his mouth was gone, and he
was dipping his fingers inside of her. She dug her face into the mattress as her
thighs trembled, writhing as he set her aflame.
“Feel good?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, but I want you.”
He pressed a kiss to her backside, letting his teeth graze across the skin be-
fore switching to the other side. She prayed he was leaving marks.
His fingers stretched her open before withdrawing. She pulled up to her
hands again and looked behind her. “More.”
His gaze was hot as he nodded, his hands returning to yank down his trou-
sers. She turned onto her back and reached for him as he climbed onto the bed.
He kissed up her thigh, his lips drifting softly over her core before passing to
her hip. She squirmed under him as he brushed his mouth across her stomach,
inching closer and closer to her chest.
Her fingers reached for his hair, tugging him up, but he fought her — blow-
ing hot air across her breasts as she whined.
His tongue flicked out over her nipple, and she threw her head back. He
closed his lips over her breast, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His

✦ 277 ✦
cock was rigid between them, grinding against her belly as he sucked at her, his
fingers caressing her other breast as she mewled.
“Tell me,” she begged. “Tell me everything you wanted.”
“I wanted this.” He pinched her breast lightly as his lips pressed over her
other nipple, sending shockwaves to her core.
“Oh god.” Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Oh god, Draco.”
He kissed down her stomach, and she opened her thighs for him when he
reached her core. When his lips found her clit, she keened to the ceiling.
He pressed her knees open to the mattress as he licked and sucked at her,
pushing her further and further until she was at the top of a high mountain,
begging to tumble over the other side. Her hands clutched his hair as she
chanted his name, her hips rocking into his mouth.
His fingers pushed inside, and her voice gave out when he finally closed his
lips over her clit and sucked.
She saw white behind her eyes, her back arching and her fingers scrambling
in the sheets. Her hips bucked against him, and she shivered and cried out as
she tumbled down.
When the room returned to her, she heard herself whining nonsense as
Draco lapped at her, holding her legs open and licking every last drop from her.
Twisting her legs away, she sat up and tugged at him until they fell back on
the mattress together. She kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue. She reached
for his cock, bobbing against his stomach and squeezed, beginning to stroke him.
He moaned into her mouth, and her teeth nipped his lips.
“When did this start for you? Please, tell me,” she whispered.
His eyes drifted closed, his lips parted in pleasure as she stroked him, twist-
ing her wrist at the top just the way he liked. “Fourth year.”
Her hand paused, but he kissed her quickly, as if it could erase his words.
He pulled her hand away, kissing her neck as he settled between her thighs.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed his hips with her
knees. He pressed his cock to her entrance, and she threw her head back as he
pushed inside. She breathed deeply, relaxing her muscles until he bottomed out.
Her eyes fluttered open, and he was staring down at her, his pupils blown
wide. She licked her lips, and he followed the movement.
He thrust deep. Her lashes trembled as she moaned.
“How did you want me?”
She had to know. Her warm breath puffed against his face.
He lowered down until he covered her completely, the weight of him pushing
her into the mattress as he sunk deeper into her. “Just like this,” he whispered.

✦ 278 ✦
 He pressed his lips to hers, and his hips rolled deep. Her lips parted, and her
arms wrapped tighter around his back. His tongue brushed hers softly as he
found a rhythm inside of her, never fully leaving her, hitting something low and
deep on every thrust. She gasped on every breath, her eyes starting to roll back.
Her hips tried to meet his, and he reached down to pull her knee up to his
chest. A low keening sound left her as he slid inside again, filling her so deeply
that she knew she’d never forget the shape of him.
As his lips trailed across her neck, she remembered that he was leaving in the
morning, and for a moment, she wanted to go with him. To be with him forever.
Her cunt fluttered, and tears filled her eyes. He sped up, groaning into her
shoulder, his hand squeezing her knee.
What if she never saw him again? What if this was the end?
“Hermione…”
She gasped. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as his hips rocked into her in a
maddening rhythm.
“Merlin, Hermione…”
Her chest seized with want. Her cunt clenched down on him. Her body cried
out, begging him for more. More of him. More time.
Her fingers scratched down his back as tears fell from her eyes. She stared up at
his ceiling, feeling the fine strands of his hair against her cheek as he thrust deep.
Her walls shivered around him, but it wasn’t enough. He knew her body so
well by now. He reached down to where they were connected and changed the
angle of his thrusts just slightly.
Her back bowed. Her throat cried out. He pressed his mouth against hers
and swallowed her sounds as his fingers pressed against her clit.
“Love you, Hermione.”
She saw stars behind her eyes, so close, so close. Her toes curled and her
body was almost there.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Draco. I lo—”
He pressed his lips over hers again, drinking the words down. His fingers
pushed frantically against her clit, and his cock brushed so deliciously over the
perfect spot, over and over and over—
Her body burst open. Like a sun exploding. She flew, tethered to him as he
ground his hips as deep as they would go, making love to her. There was star-
light in her universe. She slid back down to earth in time to listen to him moan,
to feel him pulse and empty into her. His hips snapped twice more, every mus-
cle tense with pleasure.
His fingers were in her hair, clutching her curls and massaging her scalp.
His weight was heavy on her chest.

✦ 279 ✦
 Only a few more hours.
Pricking behind her eyelids. Tears filled her vision again, and as Draco tried
to kiss every inch of her neck and chest, she prayed they wouldn’t fall.
“What’s wrong?”
He pulled back, and she reached up to cover her face.
“Hermione—”
She sobbed, turning into the pillows to hide her face. She only had a few more
hours to hear him call her Hermione. To hear him tell her that he loved her.
“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have had sex after everything that happened—”
Her hands pulled him close. “No! No. I wanted you. I want you. Please don’t
leave me. Please—”
And then she was weeping. Hiccuping. He buried his face in her neck as she
clutched at him.
She wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed until her shoulders stopped
shaking. He rolled off her once her breathing steadied, tucked to her side. His
knuckles skated across her cheekbones.
“What’s wrong.”
Her mouth opened to tell him — to explain Narcissa’s plan — but all that
came out was a ragged breath. She looked at the clock on the mantle.
Just past one.
She had time.
She could wait a few more hours.
“Just hold me.”
He pulled her into him, his arms wrapped around her, her head resting on
his chest. Hermione listened to his steady heartbeat, resolving herself to count
each one while he slept. She would watch over him, and wake him an hour be-
fore he had to leave. She could tell him then.
His fingers stroked her hair.
She kept her eyes on the mantle clock.
His heart hummed beneath her fingertips.
She could sleep all day tomorrow. She would stay awake.
She would.
・✦・
Hermione jolted awake. Her eyes flitted over the dark room as her heart
raced, searching for Draco. No one in bed next to her.
Had she missed it? Were they already gone?

✦ 280 ✦
 The door to the bathroom opened, and her eyes were flooded with light be-
fore the lamp dimmed. Draco closed the door behind him. His chest still bare.
He’d put on boxers.
“Sorry I woke you,” he whispered.
“What time is it?” Her voice shook.
“Half-four. I was just up to use to loo.”
Her heart pummeled against her ribs. She’d fallen asleep.
She scrambled for Draco as soon as he came within reach, grabbing him by
the shoulders.
“What—”
“We have thirty minutes, Draco. Please listen to me.” Her lungs constricted.
“Italy’s been attacked.”
Draco went rigid. “How do you—”
“Your mother told me yesterday.” She struggled to get out the words. “It
won’t be long until the Great Order falls, and she wanted me to tell you that you
have to—you have to—”
The words choked off in a sob. They wracked her body.
“Easy.”
“You have to leave with her, Draco. Now.”
His hands cupped her face, his eyes searching hers in the moonlight. Tears
slid down her cheeks and between his fingers. “Hermione.”
“I promised her you’d be ready. But I have to stay.” Her chest heaved as she
wept, clinging to him. “But before you go, please let me tell you I—”
The walls of the Manor shook. The windows rattled as the floors groaned,
like something from deep below the earth had awakened.
Draco grabbed her tightly. Hermione’s eyes widened with terror as they
darted to the indigo sky beyond the curtains. Nothing.
“Voldemort—?”
Draco moved swiftly, lunging across the room—
The bedroom door blasted off its hinges, wood splintering everywhere. Her-
mione’s body jerked, scrambling for the sheets as she tried to follow Draco, but
then his body was flung backward with a bang!
Terror gripped her as she pushed to her knees, bracing for a flash of green.
“Draco—”
Two figures burst into the room, glowing in the wandlight.
“Accio wand!”
Hermione shrank backward as a small figure charged at her.
“Hermione!”
Ginny, her face pale as the moonlight beyond her wand tip.

✦ 281 ✦
 Her hair was gone. Shaved off. She threw her cloak over Hermione’s bare
shoulders. Hermione blinked at her, waiting for the apparition to fade.
“Hermione,” Ginny said again, her voice thick as she gripped her arms.
“You’re going to be alright—”
A hissed curse from the corner. A strangled cry.
“No!”
Hermione stumbled off the bed. “Stop!”
Draco moaned, writhing on the floor as Hermione hurled herself at the attacker.
She screamed at him, nails scratching and fists pounding him.
Ginny yelled something, and an invisible hook tugged her back.
Hermione stumbled, preparing to launch again, but then her eyes focused
to see Ron on the other side of the wand.
Her entire body trembled. His freckles were just as she’d remembered them.
A thick bandage over his left eye.
“Hermione,” he said, and it sounded like a melody she’d long forgotten.
“You’re safe now.” He swallowed. “Voldemort is gone.”
Hermione staggered. She waited for his words to make sense.
“It’s true.”
Hermione whipped around to Ginny. She followed the wandlight to her
hand — holding the Elder Wand.
“I killed him myself.” Her eyes burned like Cho’s had. She arched a brow.
“Snake first. Neville did the honors.”
Hermione sucked a sharp breath. And another. Ron reached out for her,
and she stumbled backward.
His hand fell. “Go with Ginny.” He turned back to Draco, on his knees. “I’ll
take care of this.”
“No!” Hermione threw herself in front of him. She couldn’t breathe. “Ron,
you can’t hurt him—”
Ron stared at her over the wandlight. As if seeing her for the first time.
“Don’t.” Draco’s voice was ragged behind her. “Don’t, Granger. Go look af-
ter my mother.”
“Hermione—” Ginny reached for her, and she threw her off.
“Please.” Hermione was sobbing again. “He’s on our side! He’s—he’s—”
Ginny caught her this time. She tugged with more strength than Hermione
ever knew her to possess. “Come with me. It’s going to be alright—”
The vice grip on her arm dragged her away. Hermione thrashed, and saw
Draco staring at her like it was the last time.
Each step pulled her deeper into icy waters. Her limbs struggled. Her
lungs seized.

✦ 282 ✦
 Save Draco.
“Stop.” Ginny yanked, but Hermione’s feet were firm on the ground.
“There’s a spare wand in his drawer,” she breathed out.
Ginny faltered.
Hermione looked to Ron, begging him with her eyes. “I could use one.”
Her heart pumped once. Twice.
Ron inclined his head at her, and Ginny released her arm.
Hermione felt her pulse in her fingertips as she moved to Draco’s nightstand,
her feet silent on the carpet. She heard his harsh breaths in the silence.
Opening the drawer, her fingers passed over the knickknacks, wrapping
around a handkerchief with a small orb inside.
“Draco.” She spun on her heel and tossed it to him, the marble soaring in
the air as it unfurled from the handkerchief. His eyes widened and his hand
shot out, as if stretching for the Snitch.
They locked eyes, and she saw a flash of recognition in them the moment
the Portkey touched his fingers.
And then he was gone.

✦ 283 ✦
 CHAPTER 37

T
HE CURTAINS FLUTTERED. SOUND DISAPPEARED IN A VACUUM.
Behind Hermione’s eyelids was an imprint of Draco’s silhouette —
his eyes on hers and his hand reaching out.
“NO!”
Hermione blinked, and it was gone.
There was a ringing in her ears as someone stumbled forward, grabbing her
wrist and ripping the handkerchief away.
“Hermione.” Ginny’s voice trembled. “Hermione, you just…”
She didn’t finish.
Hermione turned, dazed, to watch Ron tip over armchairs and overturn her
coffee table. He stormed to the window and threw back the curtains, as if Draco
was simply hiding.
Then he spun to her, wearing an expression she’d only seen when there was
a locket over his heart.
“What have you done?” he whispered.
Hermione’s gaze fell to the place Draco had been kneeling just heartbeats ago.
All these months, and she’d never asked him where it went. He might be
halfway around the world right now.
But she’d gotten him out. That’s all that mattered.
“Hermione, listen to me.” Ginny gripped her shoulders. “Tell me where you
sent him, and I’ll fix this. No one has to know—”
Hermione’s lips parted in a puff of air, but before she could speak, there
were heavy footsteps in the corridor. Ginny turned her wandlight on the door-
way just as Bill Weasley’s scarred face appeared. He cast a quick glance at the
three of them before speaking.
“Malfoy isn’t here. I just sent a Patronus to Rome.” He looked over the
room. “Where’s Draco?”
Ron’s eyes flicked to her. “He—”
“There was a Portkey,” said Ginny. “He managed to escape.”

✦ 284 ✦
 Bill cursed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Let’s go. We have
Narcissa ready for transport.”
The room spun. Hermione’s heart lurched. “Where is she?”
“She’s been restrained,” said Bill. “We have her downstairs—”
Hermione shot off like a rocket, darting out of Ginny’s reach and barrelling
through Bill. She bolted down the corridor, Ron’s shouts echoing in her ears. A
Stunning Spell just missed her shoulder.
“Don’t!” screamed Ginny. “Hermione—!”
She raced down the stairs, tugging the cloak around her. There were peo-
ple in the entry. Wandlight silhouetting bodies and arcing shadows high onto
the portraits.
Hermione stumbled on the first landing as light filled her vision. Voices
shouted at her in French and English, wands pointed in her direction.
The room was crawling with unfamiliar people. A row of trunks packed for
travel against the far wall — the elves next to them, stunned. At the center, a
woman in a dressing gown, her hands bound in front of her. On her knees, like
her son had been.
“Hermione!” Narcissa’s voice was frail.
Hermione flew, the yells fading beneath her heartbeat. She jumped off the
last stair, and a shadow in the entry caught her by the arm.
“She can’t hurt you anymore.” said a strange man, in broken English.
“You’re safe.”
Hermione grunted, trying to free herself.
Narcissa struggled against her bindings as a tall wizard loomed over her.
“Where is Draco? Hermione, where—”
“Quiet!” A sharp crack as he struck her. Narcissa cried out.
“No!” Hermione ripped free, sprinting to Narcissa and shoving the guard aside.
She threw herself down to her, shielding her with her arms. “Don’t hurt her!”
Voices rose around them, arguing.
Narcissa jerked her head back to look at Hermione, her eyes wild and des-
perate. “Draco?”
“I don’t know. I—I sent him away.” Hermione’s lungs struggled for air.
“There was a Portkey. I got him out.”
Narcissa sobbed, gasping. Her bound hands came up to clutch Hermione’s.
And then she was torn from her as Ron’s arms hauled her up and away.
Hermione strained, twisting and writhing. “Let go of me! Ron, get off—!”
The room spun, and then she was facing Bill Weasley in the wandlight. His
eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing.
Her head was dizzy as she blinked back at him, drawing quick breaths.

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 The True Order was here. They were freeing the Lots and taking prisoners and
she had to convince them not to hurt Narcissa. She opened her mouth to speak—
“Is it true?” Bill turned to his left — to Ginny. “She gave Draco a Portkey?”
Ginny let her fingers fall from her lips. “Give me a minute with her and I’ll
find out where. She’s in shock—”
“Listen to me.” Hermione tried to jerk free again. “The Malfoys aren’t who
you think they are. I have proof—”
“There’s no time for this, Bill.” A stranger stepped from the shadows —
Roger Davies. “We have to prioritize Travers and Selwyn. We meet up with the
Americans in an hour.”
Bill’s jaw hardened as he turned back to Ron. “Take her to St. Mungo’s.”
There was a pause that stretched lifetimes. Hermione swayed on her feet.
A bruising grip on her arms tugged her back.
“No!” The panic flew in like rushing water. Hermione screamed and kicked
as Ron pulled her away. “Get off! Let go of me!”
Ginny stood frozen in front of the staircase, watching in silence.
“Don’t hurt her! She’s on our side!”
Bill Weasley lifted his wand, and the last thing Hermione heard was, “Stupefy.”
・✦・
She dreamt she was drowning.
Kicking through deep water toward a dark shore that drifted further and
further away. She broke the surface and saw Draco on the sand, waiting for her.
She fought the waves, pummeling the water and running her body ragged
as she tried to reach him.
His hand rose up, fingers extended, as though stretching for something.
Her legs thrashed, her breath sharp and shallow as she fought to stay above
water. To stay with him.
A thin freckled hand wrapped around her ankle and dragged her down.
・✦・
“Rennervate.”
Hermione broke through the surface with a gasp, jolting upright. Her eyes
spun wildly to find Draco—
She found a hospital room with mint curtains.
Ginny Weasley sat at the end of her bed, holding a wand. Hermione blinked
at her once. Twice.
Still there.

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 Her gaze was guarded, her legs tense. Hermione stared at her. She looked
even smaller without hair, her blue jumper hanging off her thin shoulders.
A tear leaked from the corner of Hermione’s eye. She brushed it away. “Ginny.”
Ginny’s smile was strained. “Told you I’d find you.”
“St. Mungo’s?” Hermione’s throat felt raw.
Ginny nodded slowly.
Hermione moved to get out of bed, but a sharp pain in her side stopped her.
“Careful,” said Ginny. “Your ribs were bruised when you arrived. They said
you’re still healing.”
From Dolohov.
Hermione looked down at herself. She was wearing a pale green hospital
robe. “How long have I been here?”
“A few days.”
Her blood turned to ice. “Days?” She fumbled to toss off the bed sheets, but
Ginny was next to her in an instant.
“Rest.” Her mouth was thin as she pushed Hermione back down. “I’m sure
you have questions. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
A knot formed in Hermione’s chest as she watched Ginny sit down again. It
had been three days since Draco vanished from her grasp. Three days since
she’d seen Narcissa, broken and desperate on the floor.
Her mind whirred, clicking through images of clouded marbles and cold
blue eyes. A red Stunning Spell shot at her chest.
The room felt tighter, hotter. Hermione forced herself to breathe.
Her friends had made a mistake. But they’d been under immense pressure.
She’d also made mistakes in the heat of the moment.
She willed her heart to stop racing.
It was just Ginny, and she could trust her. Once she had answers, she could
tell her about the Malfoys. She could ask her for her help, and formulate a plan.
When she looked up, she found Ginny watching her.
“Alright,” Hermione finally managed. “Where is Narcissa?”
“They took her to Azkaban at first, but the cells were overflowing by yes-
terday. They brought her back to Malfoy Manor last night. She’s under guard
there for now.”
Hermione struggled to swallow. “So they’ve decided she isn’t a threat?”
Ginny gave a tense shrug. “She’s just not a high priority prisoner. She
doesn’t know much. They’ve already interrogated her.”
Hermione’s fingers twisted in the sheets. Narcissa was capable of deceiving
even the most skilled Legilimens, but she couldn’t tell Ginny that. Not yet.

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 Ginny shifted to pocket her wand, and Hermione’s breath caught at the
sight of its familiar markings.
The Elder Wand.
Ginny had killed Voldemort. But how?
Hermione’s head swam as she glanced down at her arm. The tattoo had dis-
appeared. Only Bellatrix’s marks. She quickly glanced up at Ginny, who held
her arm up with a raised brow. Clear as well.
But of course it would be. The True Order had gotten the antidote to Ginny
and Ron that night.
“I’m told there was a potion in the champagne. At Edinburgh,” Ginny said.
Hermione stared at her. She thought of Charlotte winding through the
crowd, passing out flutes to every man, woman, and Lot.
“It had a delayed onset. Four hours, give or take.”
The toast had been just after ten.
Ginny watched her piece it all together, an impassive expression on her face.
“Tell me everything.” Hermione didn’t have to elaborate. Nodding, Ginny
pulled her knees up to her chest. She took a sharp breath.
“It couldn’t have been more than an hour after Avery and I left Edinburgh. I
was lying in bed, waiting for him to fall asleep so I could return to my quarters.”
Something twisted through Hermione’s belly.
“And I felt something… spark. Inside of me. My magic was back.” The cor-
ner of her mouth tugged, then quickly fell. “Before I could decide what to do,
something appeared next to me. I looked down, and the Sword of Gryffindor
was laying on the mattress.”
Hermione’s lips parted in a silent gasp.
Ginny reached up, as if to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her fingers fluttered
to her collarbone instead. She looked out the small window to the left of Her-
mione’s bed.
“I slit his throat. I cut my hair off when he was bleeding out.” Her gaze was
far away. “When it was done, I took his wand, and ran. I Apparated to
Hogsmeade. I had the sword — I was ready to kill the snake, like you told me.”
Hermione’s heart pounded as Ginny continued.
“I was just breaking through the wards at the Hog’s Head when I found Ne-
ville, doing the same.” A small smile curled Ginny’s lips. “He killed the
Rookwoods with fire to their bed. Didn’t even need a wand, though he was able
to grab one of theirs before he escaped.”
“He— what?” Hermione whispered.
Ginny turned to her. “You felt it, didn’t you? When your magic came back?”
Hermione shook her head.

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 “Merlin, I’ve never felt it as strong. I could hardly contain it.”
Ginny drifted again, her eyes glazing over. Hermione was silent.
“Neville?” she finally asked.
“Right. Well, he’d come straight to Hogwarts, like me. And when I asked
him why, he said, ‘I dunno, but Harry told me to kill the snake. So that’s what
I’m going to do.’”
A broken sound tore from Hermione’s throat before she could stop it. She
pressed her fingers to her lips, blinking back the pressure behind her eyes.
She’d been right. Harry had known he was a Horcrux. He’d told Neville
about the snake before he walked into the forest. He’d left another in his place
to help her and Ron.
Ginny looked down at her lap. “I gave him the sword, and we took the pas-
sage to the Room of Requirement. I charmed a coin I found in there — just like
you used to do. That way Neville could tell me when the snake was dead.”
Hermione waited until she could trust her voice again. “How did he get to her?”
“I told him how.” Ginny’s brow arched again. “I’d been to the dungeons
where Voldemort kept her. I’d seen him cast the wards. I knew how many
guards there were, and where.”
Hermione’s breath was short as she imagined it. How long had Ginny been
preparing for this, a coy smile on her face as Voldemort handed her the keys to
his destruction?
The Dark Lord’s favorite pet.
“I waited until I felt the coin burn. Then I slipped into the Great Hall, and
I killed him.”
The words seemed to echo, catching on the walls. When Hermione could
bear the silence no longer, she asked, “How?”
“The Killing Curse,” said Ginny simply.
Her eyes flicked up again. There was a fire in them that reminded Hermione
of another girl. One with strawberry blonde hair.
A war ravaged in Hermione’s chest. She wanted to ask what Voldemort’s face
looked like as the Killing Curse hurtled toward him. She wanted to ask how it felt
as she watched the light leave Avery’s eyes. How it felt to breathe fresh air again.
She swallowed and refocused. “Where’s Neville?”
Ginny pulled at a loose thread on her jumper. “On the third floor. Recovering.”
“What happened?”
“Nagini got her teeth in his side before he killed her. Right below his heart.”
Hermione’s pulse pounded, but Ginny’s face was calm.
“I siphoned out as much poison as I could, and we took the passage back to
the Hog’s Head. The True Order was arriving just when we came through. I

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found Fleur, and she gave me a Portkey to Rabastan Lestrange’s house. I got
there just— just after they’d freed Ron.”
Ginny cleared her throat. Hermione closed her eyes, imagining it. Ginny
reconnecting with her brothers for the first time in a year, arms thrown around
each other, faces held as they sobbed. Ginny showing Ron the Elder Wand, and
telling him how she’d gotten it.
“And then we came for you.”
Her eyes flew open to find Ginny watching her again. Her face was wistful.
Hermione’s lip trembled. She wanted to tear out of bed and embrace her.
Tell her how she’d missed her, dreamt of her, cried for her. But she was too
afraid she’d lost that right, somewhere in the hallways of Malfoy Manor.
Ginny reached for a piece of toast on the tray at the foot of Hermione’s bed,
offering it to her. Hermione shook her head. Ginny sank back into her chair,
tearing at the pieces with her fingertips.
“They want me to ask you where you sent Malfoy.”
Hermione’s legs jerked, her hands twitching on her knees. Ginny looked up
at her, slightly pained.
“I don’t know. He never told me where the Portkey went.”
Ginny tilted her head, twisting her lips downward like Molly used to when
confronting the twins. “But even if you knew,” she said slowly, “you wouldn’t
tell us, right?”
Hermione let out a sharp exhale. “Ginny, I can’t even imagine the things
you’ve been through. And I know you must be sick of hearing this, but I’m sorry,
Ginny. I’m so, so sorry.” Hermione’s throat spasmed. She choked it down. “I un-
derstand why you assumed the worst. But you have to believe me when I tell you
it wasn’t like that for me. Draco and I care for each other quite a bit—”
Ginny stood quickly. “I’m not— I’m not the best person to talk about this.”
She took a step backward. Widening the chasm between them.
“Ginny—” Hermione’s throat closed again. Her fingers clenched in the
sheets. “I know how this must sound, but he’s not what you think. He’s nothing
like Avery—”
“Really.” Ginny crossed her arms over her stomach. “Funny that the last
night I saw him, he was negotiating with Avery for the chance to rape the two
of us at once.”
“That’s not— it wasn’t like that!” Hermione jerked her head. “He was there
because I wanted to see you—”
“Don’t.”
The word slashed through her chest, ripping her open.
Ginny’s face swam in her vision. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just— I can’t.”

✦ 290 ✦
 “Ginny—”
“I have to go,” she said suddenly. “I’m expected in Greece.”
There was silence. Hermione counted her heartbeats. “Greece?”
“On the front lines. That’s where Ron is. I just came to check on you, but
you should rest.”
She moved to the door, slipping through her fingers.
“Wait.” Hermione threw the covers aside and swung her feet off the bed.
“Let me come with you. I want to help—”
“There’s no need.” Ginny swallowed. “You’re still recovering, and I’m not au-
thorized to bring new recruits anyway.” She took a deep breath and reached for the
door. “Just stay here and get better, Hermione. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“Ginny, please.” Hermione’s eyes stung as she pushed herself to stand. “You
just got here, and I haven’t— I have no idea what’s going on—”
“I left the papers for you,” said Ginny. Her voice was strangled. “They ex-
plain things better than I can.”
Each breath came in quicker than the last. Hermione wobbled to her right,
finding a stack of papers on her bedside table — and on top, a picture of Edin-
burgh Castle in ruins, smoke billowing up from the rubble.
Gasping, she staggered to the table. The door clicked closed as she snatched
it, unfolding it with shaking fingers.
VICTORY AT EDINBURGH; TRUE ORDER ADVANCES ON ATHENS,
MADRID
by Andy Smudgley
After three days of battle, Edinburgh Castle has finally fallen to the True Or-
der and its American allies. Thanks to the ingenuity of its Magical Defense divi-
sion, the True Order succeeded in repelling the Great Order’s Mass Death Magic,
which was released repeatedly over the last 72 hours in an attempt to stave off the
incursion. Novel magical “missiles” provided by M.A.C.U.S.A. proved instrumen-
tal to the final victory. They were released early yesterday evening, and success-
fully penetrated Edinburgh’s wards around 8 o’clock.
Casualties are estimated at a dozen for the True Order, and over 800 for the
Great Order. As of this morning, six slaves and 33 prisoners have been extracted
from the rubble. Insiders report that Death Eaters Alecto and Amycus Carrow,
the so-called “Keepers” of Edinburgh, are among the survivors — now impris-
oned. General Robert Pierre of France has declined to comment.
Chief Mediwitch Hazel Ohlson of Great Britain, who is leading the search
efforts for survivors, confirmed that the body of Charlotte Selwyn, age 26, was
located last night. The loss of Ms. Selwyn, a slave-turned-key operative for the

✦ 291 ✦
True Order, is a devastating blow to the international magical community. For
a full obituary on Ms. Selwyn, please see p. 8.
The True Order continues to deliver a crushing blow to the Great Order across
Europe. Sources report that a surrender is imminent from Spain. Greece remains
the last country officially within the Great Order’s stronghold. More than 2,000
True Order soldiers are currently assembled outside of Athens, with more ex-
pected by nightfall.
The words blurred, the ink smudging as Hermione’s tears spilled onto the
parchment. She sank to the floor, a fresh sorrow springing in her chest.
Charlotte was dead. Her body was cold. Had she been smirking in the end,
like Cho? Or had she screamed, like the strawberry blonde?
They could fill a graveyard with their bodies now. Headstones and head-
stones of witches and wizards and Muggles who had dedicated the past year of
their lives to a future they would never see.
Swiping at her eyes, Hermione picked up the paper again. Determined to
read about Charlotte and learn who she was before she’d been forced into a
negligee and a silver collar.
She thumbed quickly through the pages, but her fingers froze on page seven.
Three familiar faces stared up at her.
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 — BELLATRIX LESTRANGE
UNDESIRABLE NO. 2 — LUCIUS MALFOY
UNDESIRABLE NO. 3 — DRACO MALFOY
Her eyes could only focus on Draco.
They’d used the picture of him that had been in the Prophet a few months back.
His wand tip smoking, his eyes dead as he stood before the ruined Basler Münster.
Seeing him like this felt like driving in the knife already buried between her
ribs. At first glance, he might look monstrous. But she could see the shadows
beneath his eyes — the way his cheekbones protruded.
Heaving sobs wracked her body, like something was clawing its way outside
of her chest. The Prophet fluttered to the ground as she pulled her knees to her
forehead and wept.
Ginny had left her, Ron had shunned her. The Malfoys were lost. And one
of the only people who could have helped her prove what Draco had done for
the True Order was dead.
The fissure inside her grew deeper, rawer, until there was nothing left.
When her tears were finally exhausted, she stretched her legs out. She leaned
her head back against the door and stared up at the ceiling, focusing on the
quiet of the room.

✦ 292 ✦
 The war outside was almost won. Her battle had barely even started. There
was no time for despair.
She’d help punish the guilty. She’d share everything she knew to make sure
they paid. But she’d also defend the people who had saved her, and helped the
True Order in ways they could scarcely imagine.
She’d made a promise to Draco that she would exonerate him, and she in-
tended to keep it. It was more than just loving him. It was the right thing to do.
Fresh energy pumped through her, narrowing her mind and pushing her for-
ward. She reached for the paper, ignoring the pain in her ribs, and began to read.
Bellatrix Lestrange was last expected in Hungary. The last reported sighting
of her was at Hogwarts Castle on the evening of 2 May. Lucius had disappeared
in Italy, his last known location a bunker where Berge and Constantine Ro-
mano were found dead. And Draco Malfoy… could be anywhere. Evaded cap-
ture in Wiltshire, the paper said.
A reward of 10,000 Galleons for information leading to the capture or dis-
covery of each.
Hermione’s temple throbbed. Bellatrix was dead in the Forbidden Forest.
Lucius hiding out somewhere — most likely safe. Draco was Merlin knew
where, wandless, without a shirt on his back.
Her lips trembled. She felt herself threatening to unravel again, like a string
tugged too sharply. She tried to tuck him on her shelf, but it was like grasping
water with her bare hands. Taking a ragged breath, she forced her thoughts to
shift to Narcissa — the only Malfoy with known whereabouts. She could start
with her first, and worry about Draco and Lucius later.
Narcissa was being kept at Malfoy Manor. Hermione’s mind clicked with
the possibilities. Lucius’s memories were there. The evidence of brewing the
antidote was there. There were piles of notes beneath her bed that attested to
her treatment — hand-written spells that could only be performed with a wand.
Narcissa’s wand.
Beyond her logic, her heart clenched with the desire to see Narcissa again.
To make sure that she was being treated fairly, and assure her that she had eve-
rything well in hand.
With a final burst of energy, Hermione stood. Her muscles protested, but
she grit her teeth and walked to the closet across her room. It was empty, except
for a pair of soft-soled shoes. She slipped them on and tread quickly to the door,
poking her head out of her room. Noise washed over her — distant, but fren-
zied. The corridor itself empty.
With a sharp breath, she stepped out of her room. She followed the echoes
of rushing feet and agonized screams down two corridors until she turned a

✦ 293 ✦
corner and found the chaos. Lime-green clad mediwitches and mediwizards
rushed about the room, attending to at least fifty men and women laid out on
gurneys. Their black uniforms were splattered in blood and dirt.
Hermione froze in horror. A pale-looking girl screamed as an Acid Hex ate
away at her calf. An older man nearby was writhing, his eyes rolling back in his
head. A panicked weeping filled her ears — a young man across the room, jerk-
ing as he coughed out red spray. Against the far wall, a girl with a hole where
her arm should have been. She was chanting something in French.
Hermione swayed. Her vision tunneled. Her eyes fell to a pair of bloody
footprints smeared down the tiles. They disappeared at a gurney with an un-
moving body atop it.
Just when Hermione was about to step forward, and try to do something —
anything — there was a commotion behind her. She stepped to the side just as
a dozen Healers ran past her, moving quickly to assist the injured.
Time slowed to a crawl as she watched them perform diagnostics and cast coun-
tercurses. They clutched hands and pressed palms to foreheads. The boy stopped
coughing; the girl stopped screaming. A mediwitch bent over the older man.
Hermione’s senses were finally beginning to return to her when a shadow
blocked her path.
A Healer.
“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Go back to your room!”
Hermione jerked backward, her mouth falling open. “I was just… I was hop-
ing to help. If there’s a spare wand, I could provide basic Healing—”
The Healer’s scowl morphed into shock. “Miss Granger.” He swallowed and
looked around, as if for assistance. “You shouldn’t be here. We’re dealing with
overflow from the third floor—”
“I want to help.”
She meant it, she realized.
He seemed to assess her. “That won’t be necessary. Perhaps I can call a medi-
witch for you?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “I’m quite alright, really. I don’t require
any assistance.”
“Then I’ll escort you back to your room.”
Before he could move, a man just behind him shot up straight on his gurney
and began gurgling, foaming at the mouth. The Healer spun on his heel and
sprinted to him.
Stumbling backward, Hermione hurried back the way she came. Her head
felt light, the images burning behind her eyelids. When she turned a corner, she
braced herself against a wall.

✦ 294 ✦
 She couldn’t help them — she had no wand. And even if she did, the Healers
didn’t want her help. Given the injuries she’d just seen, she couldn’t blame
them. Her rudimentary Healing skills might be a liability.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione zeroed in on her most pressing problem.
She needed to leave St. Mungo’s and get to Malfoy Manor. There had to be
someone else who could help discharge her.
The noise grew dimmer as she found her room again. She moved past it,
finding more doors with small windows like hers. Around the next corner, an-
other corridor — the first door on the left cracked open. Hermione peered in-
side it, and gasped.
Oliver Wood lay on the bed in a hospital robe. She slipped inside, closing
the door behind her.
He was curled away from the door, staring out his window.
“Oliver?” She struggled to keep her voice even. “It’s me, Hermione.”
His shoulder twitched once. Turning over, he sat up and looked at her
blankly. “Hi.”
Her legs felt as heavy as lead as she stared back at him. If Oliver was here, then
Theo had to be in Azkaban with the others. Her temple began throbbing again.
She should have acted sooner. Should have insisted that Draco give Oli-
ver’s antidote to Theo the day they went to Grimmauld Place. Maybe they
could have run together.
Blinking, she forced a smile and moved around his bed, taking the chair just
next to him. “Are you alright? Are you—” Her eyes flicked over him quickly.
“Are you injured?”
A scathing laugh puffed out of him. He shook his head.
Guilt bubbled and pricked at her, twisting in her gut. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I
wish I’d worked more quickly for you and Theo.”
Silence.
Her hand shook as it reached for his. “I’m going to clear their names, Oliver.
Draco and Theo both. I’m going to make sure the True Order knows how Theo
helped me with the tattoos. And everything he did to protect you.” She squeezed
his fingers. “I’m not sure how long it will take, but I will get him out of Azkaban.
I swear to you.”
Oliver stared at her, unblinking. His hand was clammy and limp.
“Theo’s dead.”
Like ice water splashing down her back. Her lips parted on a silent gasp. She
released his fingers as though burned.
“What?” A hammering in her ears.

✦ 295 ✦
 He swallowed and looked away from her. “He didn’t even fight, Hermione.
He got out of bed, put his hands up, and they killed him.”
Black spots filled her vision. “No. They wouldn’t...”
“And the way they looked at me when I cried. Like I was broken.”
There was a pinch behind Hermione’s eyes, and a sinking feeling, like the
walls were closing in.
“Malfoy’s in Azkaban?” Oliver asked. His eyes were distant — clouded over.
“I was sure they’d have killed him, too.”
She shook her head violently. “He—he got out. I got him out.” She could
hear her voice rising, and she dug her fingernails into her palms. “Why are you
at St. Mungo’s, Oliver?”
His lips twisted in a smile. “Same reason as you, I suspect.”
She blinked at him, her eye twitching. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Haven’t figured it out yet?”
When she said nothing, he laughed — a dark, dry sound she didn’t recognize.
“We’re damaged,” he said finally. “We can’t be trusted.”
The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. “I’m sorry for whatever they
did to you, Oliver. But I think there might be some confusion.” She tried to
swallow. “I’m recovering from an injury. I only woke up an hour ago.”
“Took them that long, huh?” He shook his head. “They knocked me out,
too. I’ve been awake for two days. Every time I mention leaving, they excuse
themselves, or go deaf.”
Her lungs seized. Her legs jerked as she swiftly stood.
“That can’t be. It’s not safe out there right now, I’m sure—”
“Hermione—” Oliver paused, studying her. Looking more like himself.
“Have you noticed what floor we’re on?”
“I have to go. I’m—” She started toward the door. “I’ll check back with you.”
She bolted into the corridor, turning sharply to the left and running toward
the lobby area. She passed her room, and her knees almost gave out when she
saw the sign on the wall.
Fourth Floor
Janus Thickey Ward
Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she moved on. She recognized it
now. The hallways she, Harry, Ron, and Ginny had gotten lost in while visiting
Arthur in St. Mungo’s.
Oliver was wrong. This could just be where there happened to be open beds.
What had the Healer said? Overflow from the third floor?
The corridor opened up into a large windowed room with couches and
chess tables. Hermione halted at the sight of two mediwitches standing on

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either side of the room, watching over people in mint hospital robes. Two girls
played Exploding Snap. Another sat by the window, her blonde curls hanging
limply as she stared outside.
The blonde turned, and met Hermione’s eyes. Penelope Clearwater.
She quickly looked away.
“Hello! Granger?” an accented voice called out.
A brunette girl stood from her game of Exploding Snap. Her eyes were dark-
circled and wide. Hermione staggered into a nearby pillar as Giuliana Bravieri
rushed over to her.
“Granger!” She grasped Hermione’s hands. “What happened to you? Where
did they take Blaise? Is he alright?”
Hermione’s chest felt like it was collapsing as Giuliana squeezed her fingers,
firing off questions. From the corner of her eye, she saw the mediwitches watch-
ing them closely.
“I’m fine,” Hermione managed. “Just a minor injury to my ribs.”
“The Healers say I’m sick, but I don’t feel sick!” said Giuliana. She pressed
her lips together. “Blaise? Hermione, do you know what—”
“I’m not sure.” A shadow fell across Giuliana’s face, and Hermione’s heart
pumped faster. She tried to give her a reassuring squeeze. “How were you
separated?”
“They caught us in Norwich. They took Blaise and the girls, but they
brought me here.” Giuliana’s lip quivered. “I tried to stop them, but they
wouldn’t listen.”
“I’ll find out,” she said faintly. “They’re probably in Azkaban—”
“Azkaban! But he didn’t do anything wrong!”
Hermione struggled to stay standing as the room tilted beneath her. Like a
fog was lifting, she stared at the fifteen-year-old’s shining eyes, seeing herself
reflected in them.
“—certain he’s completely innocent! Please, I love him! You have to help him!”
Stockholm Syndrome. That’s what the Muggles called it.
Tearing her hands free, she ran down a different hallway, Giuliana’s calls
echoing in her ears. Her breath was short as she scanned for the lifts or stairs.
She had to get out. She needed to get to the Manor.
Hermione whipped around corners until she finally found a reception area
with a woman in a white nurses’ hat at a desk, ruffling through paperwork. The
lifts were behind her. A stairwell off to one side.
“Miss, can I help you?” The witch eyed her, taking in her mint green robe.
We’re damaged. We can’t be trusted.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had fresh air. I fancied a walk.”

✦ 297 ✦
 The witch studied her. “Perhaps I can call for one of our mediwitches to
escort you.”
“No, thank you.” Hermione wiped her palms on her gown. “I have a friend
on the third floor. I was hoping to visit him.”
She heard the lift arrive on the fourth floor. The witch’s eyes widened at the
slew of visitors rushing in.
“Let me just call a staff member to join you.” She flicked her wand and a
rabbit Patronus shot out of it, hopping down the corridor.
The visitors swarmed her desk, and Hermione slipped between their frantic
questions and into the stairwell. She flew down the stairs, passing the third floor
and sprinting to the first landing.
They couldn’t keep her here. It was a violation of her rights. All she needed
was a wand or some Floo powder, and she’d be off.
Jumping to the bottom of the stairwell, Hermione paused. She slowly
pushed through the door, moving against the wall as she entered the first floor
of St. Mungo’s.
She ducked her head, but then her eyes caught on two Healers in white coats,
standing next to the Welcome Witch. They spun to face her. Expecting her.
She froze as they approached her. One was rotund and mustached. The
other was taller than Ron, with watery eyes and thinning hair.
“Good evening, Miss Granger. It’s wonderful to see you up and about, but
your injuries are not quite healed,” the tall one said.
Lifting her chin, she tugged at her robe. “I need to speak to someone about
being discharged.”
The tall one stepped forward and said, “I’m Healer Tamor, and I’m helping with
your care. Your ribs are still healing, and you recently had mild concussion—”
“I’d like to speak to the Head Healer, please.” Her heartbeat was skyrocket-
ing, Oliver’s words rattling inside her head.
The men exchanged glances. “Miss Granger,” the shorter one said, “you are
still being treated by our staff. Now, if you come with us back to your room, we
can talk—”
“Who is responsible for my treatment?” When they were silent, she contin-
ued, “Per our laws, any patient who is deemed incapable of their own care has
an authorized individual who can—”
“Yes, we know.” Healer Tamor cleared his throat. “That would be Bill Weasley.”
“Summon him, please.” Her nostrils flared as she breathed deep, curling her
hands into fists. If Bill Weasley was keeping her here, he would answer for it.

✦ 298 ✦
 The shorter one let out a barking laugh. “We can’t just call Bill Weasley and
ask him to...” He trailed off at her expression. “Miss Granger, Bill Weasley is a
very busy man. I believe he’s in Greece at the moment—”
“If he’s responsible for my ‘care,’ he has a duty to come when important
decisions are at stake. I’ll wait.”
Spinning on her heel, she dropped into a chair near the reception desk. She
fumed as she tapped her slippers against the tile.
The mediwitches sent her anxious looks, and the Healers whispered behind
their clipboards. The minutes passed, and Hermione focused on a single
thought, repeating it over and over until everything else burned away.
She had to get to Malfoy Manor.
The clock on the wall ticked an hour. Then two. It was shortly after ten in the
evening when the Floo burst to life behind her, and she turned to see Bill stepping
through, ragged with exhaustion. She stood as the two Healers greeted him.
“Bill, I need to leave.” She struggled to keep her voice even. “Apparently they
believe I shouldn’t leave. Tell them I’m fine, please.”
Bill glanced over her mint robe, his eyes tired, but still sharp. “Hullo, Her-
mione. Give me a minute, yeah?” He moved a few yards away, muttering lowly
with the Healers. Hermione’s blood boiled as he reached for a medical chart
Healer Tamor handed him, flipping through the pages.
She stormed up to them. “As you can see, my ribs have been tended to,
and I’m walking just fine. My head has never felt better. So, I would like to be
cleared to leave.”
Bill handed the chart back to the Healer. “That isn’t a good idea. As you can
tell”—he gestured at his bloody robes— “the war is still being fought. I was ex-
pecting an emergency when they summoned me. Maybe you aren’t aware—”
“I’ve read today’s Prophet. I have a perfectly good idea of what’s going on.
Athens is going to fall soon, whether you’re there or not. Don’t you dare use
that as an excuse for holding me against my will.” His throat bobbed as she
stepped into him, jabbing her finger at his chest. “Tell me why the man who
Stunned me against my will has been given responsibility for my care when his
brother or sister would be far more suitable—”
“That’s enough, Hermione.” Bill’s mouth was hard, but his eyes filled with
some strange emotion. “I know this must be difficult for you, but you’re not
well. Neither Ginny nor Ron can handle seeing you like this.”
“Like what, exactly? I’m not sick!”
Her voice rattled through the antechamber of St. Mungo’s, drawing the at-
tention of every visitor, Healer, and patient.

✦ 299 ✦
 Her chest was heaving as Bill turned his eyes back on her chart. “Have you
started the testing?” he murmured to Tamor.
“Not yet—”
“What testing?” Hermione felt unsteady again. “If I’m being ‘tested’ for
something, I have a right to know what.”
“It’s part of your treatment,” Bill said softly. He stared over her ear for a
moment, avoiding her eyes. “Hermione, I’m sorry. Truly. We can explain in
time, but please, just try to cooperate for now.” Hermione’s head jerked back.
He gently grasped her shoulder. “I may not be Ginny, or Ron, but all of us just
want the best for you. I hope you believe that.”
Panic began clouding her vision. “Bill, just take me with you. Discharge
me to your care if you’re worried. I’ll go with you to Greece. I can’t stay here
any longer—”
“That’s not in my power, Hermione.”
A icy chill raced down her spine. She stared at his face, his eyes identical to
Ron’s, the curve of his mouth just like Ginny’s. And she knew he wasn’t lying.
She swallowed, her eyes roving wildly as Bill gripped her other shoulder,
saying something to calm her. She wouldn’t be kept here against her will.
She wouldn’t.
The portly Healer’s wand was sticking out of his coat pocket. He wouldn’t
be quick to draw.
Her fingers twitched as she breathed deep, focusing on summoning her magic.
No buzz in her veins, no hum across her skin.
The flow in her veins… was gone.
Bill looked at her sadly.
“You suppressed my magic?” she whispered. Her eyes pricked. “Bill… you
let them take my magic?”
Bill released her shoulders and exhaled sharply. He ran a hand through his
hair. “I’m sorry, Hermione. It’s just a precaution while you’re healing.”
Healing.
She couldn’t run. She couldn’t Apparate. No magic. They may as well have
inked her arm again and tied her to the property.
Bill looked like he might reach for her shoulder again, but she turned
sharply away.
Hermione let her eyes rest on the tiles. “Healer Tamor, I’m quite tired.” She was.
Exhaustion throbbed behind her eyelids. “I’d like to go back to my room now.”
A long pause — and then Healer Tamor shuffled forward. “Of course, Miss
Granger.”

✦ 300 ✦
 “I’m sorry for taking you away from Athens, Bill,” she said flatly. “Send my
love to the others.”
Bill said nothing, staring as she walked past him, following Healer Tamor to
the lifts. The doors opened. They stepped inside, and he pressed the button for
the fourth floor — Janus Thickey Ward.
Her mind was numb as he returned her to her room, promising to check on
her in the morning.
She thanked him. The door clicked shut. And a moment later, a locking
charm was cast.
Hermione stared down at the Prophet, the remains of Edinburgh Castle bor-
ing up at her as she thought over her options.
She could look for careless mistakes and escape routes. Try to sneak out with
Oliver in the dead of night.
Or.
She could walk out in the daylight, her head held high. Show them that
they’d underestimated her will to fight.
Hermione drifted over to her window, looking out at Muggle London.
Once they’ve underestimated you — strike.

✦ 301 ✦
 CHAPTER 38

G
INNY,
I know there’s a lot still unsaid between us. There’s so much I
want to know, and even more I want to tell you. But for now,
the most important thing is that I need to speak with you about my
year at Malfoy Manor.
I promise not to let my emotions enter the conversation. All I’m asking is
for the chance to provide you with proof.
In the Manor, there are notes beneath my bed which prove what I have
been up to for the last year. If you find my gold dress, check the inner
seam. Next, go to Lucius Malfoy’s study. There is a Pensieve behind his
ebony cabinet. Watch the memories in the black vials. You may need
Narcissa’s assistance.
Please be careful about who you share your findings with. I trust you, and
Ron, but I’d rather speak with you before you take any action.
I’m so alone here, Ginny — hardly more than a prisoner. If you can spare
a few hours for me now, I would be so grateful.
Please stay safe. I can’t bear it otherwise.
Hermione
・✦・
Hermione stared out the window, her fingers pressing against the glass.
She’d sent the letter four days ago. Still no reply. Nor had Ron responded to the
similar letter she’d penned to him.
The week had jumbled together in a blur. The morning after Ginny’s visit,
a young woman named Healer Barkley had appeared in her room, informing
her that she was being treated for repeated concussions and casting a flurry of
diagnostics. Hermione had tried her best to seem cooperative, yet sharp, but it
was like speaking to a brick wall. When she’d asked why a blood sample was
necessary, Healer Barkley swiftly left the room.

✦ 302 ✦
 The door had stayed locked for the rest of the day. And that night, as Her-
mione sat in the sterile tub of her attached bathroom, clutching her knees, she’d
wondered if they were right about her.
The second day had been much the same, except Healer Tamor came along.
Hermione had asked him a few questions about her treatment, only to receive
vague replies. She’d managed to keep her voice steady when she requested to
speak with Bill Weasley, telling them she had sensitive information to share
about Voldemort’s defeat and the whereabouts of two missing Death Eaters.
They were free to view her memories, if they needed proof.
After exchanging a glance with Healer Barkley, Healer Tamor had assured
her the True Order had victory well in hand, with or without her memories.
They’d exited the room together — locked again.
On the third day, Hermione had only asked a single question — a request
to write to Ginny and Ron. She regretted how they parted, she’d explained, and
wanted to make amends. Later that day, after she’d complied with their strange
new tests — tapping her fingers together, performing a card sorting task — a
stack of parchment and a dull self-inking quill appeared on her bedside table.
Her nights had been filled with grey eyes and severed arms and shattered
glasses. She’d tried to bury her memories, but the suppressants dulled her Oc-
clumency. She could only meditate for so long before her lake with still waters
would flicker, the surface rattling from a distant avalanche.
The fourth day, they’d asked her questions. And when Healer Barkley had
prodded about her interests before the war, Hermione realized they were look-
ing for signs of mind-altering magic. Not the kind caused by the Imperius
Curse, but an insidious kind that changed the fabric of who you were. Cold
dread had washed over her, but she answered their questions nonetheless.
Before they left, she’d asked for the Daily Prophet. Reading it made her feel
more like herself, she’d said. Healer Tamor had given her a curt, “I’ll see what I
can do,” before locking her in.
The Prophet had appeared on her bedside table the next morning, and Her-
mione upended her coffee to snatch it. The headline had read, ATHENS LIB-
ERATED. The cover photo had depicted the corpse of Eleni Cirillo, hanging by
her feet from the columns of the Old Royal Palace.
On Wednesday 12 May, the Prophet had reported the surrender of Great
Order forces in Lüneburg and Hanover. Azkaban was overflowing. There had
been no mention of Pansy, Blaise, or the Malfoys. But Draco’s face had still
stared up at her from page seven — Undesirable No. 3. Just below his father.

✦ 303 ✦
 Healer Tamor came bearing the paper the next morning. He kept it in his lap
as he pulled up a chair, watching Healer Barkley ask Hermione how she slept,
how she was feeling, and how her relationship was with Draco Malfoy in school.
Hearing his name again hit Hermione like a blow to the gut. When the room
no longer felt like it was collapsing in on her, she answered honestly, her eyes
trained on the bed sheets.
Healer Tamor set the paper on her bedside stand when it was over.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “that being able to walk around a bit might be
good for you. Would you like that?”
Blood rushed in Hermione’s ears. “Yes.” She dipped her chin. “I’d like that
very much.”
“Excellent,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Be sure to stay inside
this wing.”
Hermione nodded. As soon as the door closed behind them, she scrambled
for the Prophet.
MASS INDICTMENTS OF DEATH EATERS, ACCOMPLICES
by Andy Smudgley
The Provisional Government of England is looking to move forward quickly
with the trials of Death Eaters and Great Order accomplices, releasing 542 in-
dictments yesterday afternoon. General Jacobs of the True Order will be presiding
over the newly-formed Justice Tribunal, which will exclusively prosecute British
citizens. In a statement, Jacobs defended the decision to include French General
Robert Pierre as one of the Tribunal’s five judges, stating, “The accused must an-
swer not only for their crimes against Britain, but all of Europe.” A full list of the
indicted can be found on pages 2-3.
Hermione turned to the next page. Her fingers ran down the list of names,
barely pausing at Draco Malfoy or Lucius Malfoy. There were so many of them.
Some were expected — Yaxley, Travers, the Carrows, the Selwyns — but others
froze the blood in her veins. Rita Skeeter and Ludo Bagman, for instance. Her
heart was thumping by the time she reached Blaise Zabini. And when she
reached Narcissa Malfoy’s name on page 3, followed by Pansy Parkinson, a sob
wrenched from her throat.
She took an hour to collect herself. Then she dried her tears, folded up the
paper, and penned another letter to Ginny and Ron.
After stuffing the letters into envelopes, she put on the slippers in her wardrobe
and crossed the room. She reached for the door and sighed in relief when it opened.
Hermione stood blinking in the hallway. It seemed to have grown larger
since she’d seen it last. The walls were quiet as she began following the same
path she had the last time. She turned the corner and found a new set of doors

✦ 304 ✦
— sealing off the wounded and screaming soldiers. Hermione stared at them,
wondering if Ginny or Ron were behind them.
On her way back, she bumped into a mediwizard, who offered to post her
letters for her. She handed them over, and her feet carried her to Oliver’s room.
The door was locked. She rapped it with her knuckles a few times, but there
was no answer. So she paced the corridors of the fourth floor, avoiding Giuliana
at the other end.
Healer Barkley found her around lunchtime, asking her if she’d like to see
the library. Hermione’s throat constricted, but she managed to nod.
The library in St. Mungo’s was cluttered and dusty. Still, Hermione’s chest
felt less hollow as she wandered through the shelves, her fingers trailing across
the spines. She was just about to pick a textbook on healing when she spotted a
book titled, Laws of Wizarding Britain, Vol. 1. With a glance at the doorway,
she slipped it inside the heavier volume, and went to meet Healer Barkley.
She read until one in the morning. By two, she’d written another letter:
Bill:
• Under the Magical Freedom Act of 1833, no witches or wizards are
to have their magic tampered with without executive decision from the
Wizengamot.
• According to the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, in the absence of a
Wizengamot, a Council shall be devised.
• The Magical Welfare Act of 1967 states that witches and wizards who
have lost capability of their mind may be held against their will, but the
Welfare Act has specific definitions of ‘lost capability.’ Please see attached.
Please direct me to the council for which these decisions are made.
Sincerely,
Hermione
The next morning, the Prophet reported that True Order infantries were
dispatching across Europe to round up fleeing Death Eaters. She knew Ron
would be part of that effort. So would George, and perhaps Ginny.
Ignoring the heaviness in her ribs, Hermione turned the page. She skimmed
the articles until her eyes caught on a familiar name.
Neville Longbottom, the hero responsible for killing Voldemort’s deadly snake,
is on the mend. Insiders at St. Mungo’s report that Healers had difficulty obtain-
ing the ingredients needed to treat the venom, but thanks to the dismantling of
the Anti-Apparition line, St. Mungo’s has received critical medical supplies, and
the antidote is underway. Longbottom’s release is expected as soon as Monday.

✦ 305 ✦
 Hermione could barely sit still when the Healers arrived. She swallowed
their potions, she let them draw blood, and spoke for an hour with Healer
Tamor about her mental state and how she perceived Draco Malfoy.
She told them what they wanted to hear. “A confused young man who made
terrible choices.”
“And should he be held responsible for those choices?”
“Yes.”
When it was done, she asked, “Healer Tamor? Is Neville Longbottom still
recovering on the third floor?”
He studied her, tucking his clipboard beneath his arm. “I believe so. Why
do you ask?”
“He’s a dear friend of mine, and…” She trailed off, tucking her hair behind
her ear. “I was thinking it might be good for me to spend time with my old
friends. It might help me feel more like my old self.”
The pleased smile that crossed Healer Tamor’s face made all the lies worth it.
A mediwitch accompanied her down to the third floor, Wounds – Magical
& Natural, passing the rows of cots and makeshift beds, twisting around the
sleeping or moaning soldiers.
When they stopped at a door down a quiet hallway, the mediwitch waited out-
side for her as she knocked and entered when a familiar voice called, “Come in.”
Neville sat at the edge of his bed, his leg in a brace and bandages wrapped
around his chest. He looked haggard, but his face brightened at the sight of her.
“Hermione!”
Her chest cracked open as she ran to his bedside, wrapping her arms around
his shoulders. “I’ve missed you.”
He gripped her back as tightly as he could.
“You too. I’ve been waiting to see your name in the papers. I had no idea
you were here!”
The lump in her throat grew. She pulled back, dragging over a chair to sit
beside him. “How are you? Ginny told me about Nagini, and then I read about
you in the paper—”
“The Prophet was right, for once.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “They were
able to stop the poison from spreading, but I only got the antidote this week.
But they failed to mention my leg.” He lifted up the brace. “That was broken for
a while, so they had to regrow it.”
Hermione winced. “For a while?”
“Yeah. The Rookwoods, they… well, you don’t have to hear it.” He
scratched his stubble. Two of his fingers were missing.
A twisting sickness churned her gut. She tore her eyes away.

✦ 306 ✦
 “Sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s been like that for a while, so I forget that it’ll
shock some.” Hermione shook her head, but he still slid his hand beneath the
sheets. “How are you?”
She opened her mouth to speak, trying to find the words. None came.
“Never mind that. What matters is that you’re here now. We both are.” His
throat bobbed. “I knew you were still in there when I saw you at Hogwarts,
Hermione. I knew it.”
Hermione blinked at him, her heart beginning to pound. He didn’t know.
They hadn’t told him that she was “sick.” That made the next part easier.
“Neville,” she said carefully. “I want to tell you something. It’s very im-
portant to me that you try to listen before you react.”
His eyes flickered, but the wariness faded into something trusting and soft.
“Alright.”
She drew a sharp inhale. “I heard that you went to Hogwarts to finish the job
that Harry started.” Neville nodded, and she twisted her hands in her lap. “Before
that, your magic returned and your tattoo disappeared. Did they tell you how?”
Frowning, Neville shook his head. “I’ve barely heard anything. Ginny only
had a few minutes to say hello, and everyone else is out fighting right now. I
assumed someone in the True Order broke the curse—”
“It wasn’t a curse. It was a potion. An antidote for the tattoo, mixed with some-
thing to counter the effects of magic suppression.” Hermione felt her voice grow
steadier, her spine straighter. “I made that antidote, Neville. I spent a year on it. I
brewed it, tested it on myself, and sent it out to Charlotte to give to the True Order.”
Neville’s lips parted, his eyes wide. “But how could—?”
“Because Narcissa Malfoy lent me her wand and gave me full use of the Mal-
foy library. Because I was never magic suppressed after I left the Palace Theatre.
Because the Malfoys have their own agenda. They never supported Voldemort
the way the world thought they did.”
He stared at her. His eye twitched.
“And what is their agenda?” he asked.
She centered her mind as much as she could without Occlumency.
“For Lucius Malfoy, survival. He was playing both sides of the board, wait-
ing to see who ended up on top. For Narcissa Malfoy, protecting her son. And
for Draco…” She swallowed, her lungs straining against her ribs. “Draco had
feelings for me. He bought me at the Auction because of that. I wasn’t raped
once in that house.”
The room was quiet. She counted her heartbeats, waiting, praying.
“And they didn’t believe you,” he said slowly. “So you’re deemed ‘unfit.’“
She glanced up at him. “Yes, exactly. How did you—”

✦ 307 ✦
 “I recognized the color of your robes, Hermione,” he said with a sad smile.
“My parents were in mint St. Mungo’s robes my entire life.”
A sudden thought burst through her, and she reached for his hand. “Ne-
ville, are they—?”
He shook his head. “The True Order had to retake St. Mungo’s from the Death
Eaters. Most of the long-term patients didn’t survive under their leadership.”
Hermione’s skin prickled with horror. She hadn’t known. “Neville, I’m so
sorry—”
“It’s alright. I’d rather not talk about it.” He took a deep breath and looked
out the window for a long moment.
He turned back to her. “Narcissa Malfoy really lent you her wand?”
Hermione nodded slowly. “I have proof. Assuming they ever let me leave.”
Her chest constricted again. “Neville, I’ve tried everything in my power to con-
vince them that my mind is sound. I’ve asked for the chance to at least prove
my account of things, but they refuse to hear it.”
Neville’s brow furrowed. “That’s not right, Hermione. I’m sorry.”
A flood of emotion shot up her throat before she could stop it. She slammed
her hand over her mouth to hold back her sobs, her eyes filling with tears.
Someone was on her side. Someone believed her.
“Hey.” Neville shuffled closer, reaching for her hand. “Hey, it’s going to
be alright.”
Hermione stumbled to her feet and threw her arms over his shoulders,
weeping with all the grief and loneliness and despair she’d kept at bay for a
week. Neville patted her shoulders, and she sobbed harder.
When she could cry no longer, she pulled back. “I need your help, Neville.”
She swiped at her cheeks. “I can’t just sit here and let them suppress my magic
and run tests on me until they decide I’m mentally fit.”
His mouth opened, and his gaze narrowed. “They took away your magic?”
Her lips trembled as she nodded. “Will you help me?”
Neville searched her eyes, and she saw the same boy who’d stared down his
friends, three to one, his face resolved as he put up his fists to keep them from
leaving the Common Room.
“What do you have in mind?”
・✦・
The next day, Andy Smudgley from the Daily Prophet signed in at the visitor
desk at St. Mungo’s. He was escorted to Neville Longbottom’s room, where
Hermione and Neville were waiting for him.

✦ 308 ✦
 In her letter she’d sent Smudgley yesterday, she’d promised an interview
with two war heroes, now recovering at St. Mungo’s. He was to ask for Neville,
and arrive promptly at noon.
During her session with Healer Tamor that morning, Hermione had con-
vinced him that visiting with Neville was “good for her.” Healer Tamor had
given her an approving smile as the mediwitch led her out of her room and to
the third floor. She’d returned it.
Hermione smoothed out her robes — blue ones she’d borrowed from Ne-
ville — as she detailed to Smudgley the True Order’s “daring rescue” of the
Golden Girl, best friend to Harry Potter. She told the story as if none of the
Malfoys had been present — as if she’d been locked alone in a tower, waiting to
be saved. She kept the details of her “condition” vague, saying she was recover-
ing from injuries sustained at Edinburgh.
While Neville described the events of the morning of 4 May, 1999, Hermi-
one looked outside, watching sunlight strike the buildings. A sparrow landed
on the windowsill.
A cleared throat startled her, and she turned to see Smudgley crossing his
legs and sliding his thick specs up the bridge of his nose. “Miss Granger, you
were a prisoner of the Malfoys for a year. How do you feel knowing that Lucius
and Draco Malfoy are still on the loose? Are you frightened?”
She’d prepared for this. She’d twisted away from every question about the
Malfoys, but Smudgley wanted something juicy to sell papers.
“Not at all. I trust the True Order with my life. Which is why I am eager to
leave St. Mungo’s and join their efforts to help rebuild our magical community.”
The Quick-Quotes Quill paused, then began scribbling furiously. “You’ll be
working directly with the True Order, Miss Granger?”
“Yes,” she said. Neville’s lips twitched, and her shoulders felt lighter. “As
soon as I’m discharged from St. Mungo’s, I’ll begin work with them.”
Smudgley flipped through his notes. “Mr. Longbottom is being discharged
tomorrow, I remember you saying…” He looked up at her. “When is your dis-
charge date, Miss Granger?”
Hermione sent him a pleasant smile and said, “This Wednesday.”
・✦・
The article appeared the next morning, in the Sunday edition. She and Ne-
ville were the cover article, a picture of them splashed across the front page.
Healer Tamor came to see her that morning, and after asking a few perfunc-
tory questions, he crossed his leg over his knee. “I wasn’t aware that you were
doing interviews, Miss Granger.”

✦ 309 ✦
 “Yes,” she said lightly. “Smudgley was pleased to hear how well I’ve been
treated here.”
On Monday, her session with Healer Barkley was cut short by a basket of
mail. The mediwitch dropped it off with a curious look, and Healer Barkley
almost looked amused before excusing herself.
Hermione tore through the envelopes, searching for something from Ginny
or Ron. Instead, she found letters from Daily Prophet readers around the world
— words of support, prayers for her well-being, and… dare she say it, fan
mail. She had to summon a grumpy-looking janitor after lunch to clear up the
rose petals and streamers that had burst onto the floor.
The next morning, Hermione was rereading her letters when
the Prophet materialized.
FIRST OF DEATH EATER TRIALS BEGIN; AMYCUS CARROW SEN-
TENCED TO DEATH
Snatching the paper, Hermione watched Amycus Carrow’s Azkaban photo-
graph sneer up at her before diving in.
Amycus Carrow, one-half of the infamous Carrow twins, was tried and con-
victed for crimes against humanity and liberty yesterday in a public courtroom
in the reclaimed Ministry of Magic. As one of the so-called Keepers of Edinburgh,
Carrow was responsible for the epicenter of the Great Order’s slavery operations,
which forced victims into prostitution, hard labor, and deadly battles known as
“Arena matches.”
Carrow reportedly showed no remorse for his actions, inciting anger in the
courtroom. The Tribunal lost order when Seamus Finnigan, a frequent Arena
Fighter at Edinburgh, used the Cruciatus Curse on the accused.
After a recess, Carrow was found unanimously guilty by a jury of 12, and
sentenced to death by the Killing Curse. His sentence will be carried out this even-
ing. Finnigan will be prohibited from today’s joint trial for Samuel and Siobhan
Selwyn, but allowed to rejoin the courtroom for Alecto Carrow and Jonathan
Jugson’s trials tomorrow.
In an exclusive statement to the Prophet, General Jacobs defended the uncon-
ventional methods of the Tribunal, which thus far have involved rapid sentences
and no appeals process. “The British people are anxious for justice, and we will
deliver it swiftly,” said Jacobs. He declined to release the scheduling of trials for
the remaining 539 accused, 502 of whom are in custody.
Hermione blinked, reeling. She read the article a second time. And a third.
Seamus had tortured Amycus Carrow on the stand. Of course Hermione
felt no remorse for the Carrows, but before the war, an Unforgivable warranted
a life sentence in Azkaban. Seamus had hardly received a slap on the wrist.

✦ 310 ✦
 And Siobhan Selwyn — a friend of Narcissa’s — was being tried with her
Death Eater husband tomorrow. As if whatever assistance they’d provided to
the Great Order were comparable.
No sentences, and executions. Whose laws were the Tribunal following?
Closing her eyes, Hermione tried not to panic. She was so lost in thought
that she didn’t notice that the mediwitches hadn’t provided the minty magic
suppressant potion for her that morning. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon when
she reached for her shelves and found them that she realized.
The suppressant was fading. They’d decided to give her magic back. The
article had worked.
She Occluded for the rest of the day. Her waters were still, and her book-
shelves materialized with ease. It felt like home again as she sliced up old mem-
ories, dusting off familiar tomes and sealing the images inside. She severed
pages of new memories, tucking them in a fresh leather volume with pale green
letters: St. Mungo’s. Then she buried them all, losing them in the stacks.
The sky was dark when Healer Tamor entered her room, clutching a basket
of mail twice as large as yesterday’s. He told her with an anxious clearing of his
throat that he anticipated discharging her the following morning, due to her
full recovery.
She smiled and pointed to the foot of her bed. “There will do. Thank you,
Healer Tamor.”
・✦・
Early Wednesday morning, a pair of jeans, a blouse, and trainers appeared
in lieu of the Daily Prophet. Hermione dressed, cracked the door open, and
walked down the corridor to Oliver’s door. She knocked.
No response. Same as the last six days.
Turning on her heel, she returned to her room and wrote him a note to tell
him goodbye, and to promise that she’d do everything in her power to exoner-
ate Theo and Draco. She’d ask the True Order to release him as soon as she
could. And in the meantime, she asked him to comply — to let them think he
was “fixed.” Even if it didn’t get him released, it would make his life easier here.
She slipped it beneath his locked door and went back to her room.
Two hours later, Healer Tamor came to collect her. They reached the nurses’
desk, and he encouraged her to contact him if she needed anything at all.
Hermione thanked him with a thin smile and turned in the direction of the
lifts, dismissing him. She gasped.

✦ 311 ✦
 Ginny stood from her chair in the far corner of the waiting area, winding
her hands together. Hermione felt like she was in another person’s body as she
crossed the room, meeting her halfway.
There was a stilted silence.
“I got them,” Ginny rushed out. “Your letters, I mean. I should have re-
sponded sooner, but I was in Greece, and then we went straight to the Nether-
lands, then to Spain. I just got back from Valencia last night. We caught Jugson
there earlier this week.”
Hermione shifted her weight. “And Ron?”
“Still there. He and Percy joined the hunt for Minister Santos.”
Hermione nodded. Her heart felt like a vice had wrapped around it.
“I tried to do what you asked of me after Greece. But they wouldn’t let me,
and I just—I just needed to lose myself in something.” Ginny’s voice trembled.
“I’m sorry if you felt forgotten.”
“It’s alright,” said Hermione. It wasn’t, but it would be. “Ginny, I under-
stand—”
“I don’t.” Her smile was bitter. “Sometimes I think I’ve become someone I
would have hated.”
“Don’t say that,” Hermione snapped. “I could never hate you.”
Ginny stared at the ceiling, then the walls. Her eyes were glassy. “I wanted
to offer you a room at the Burrow. If you’d like.” She bit her lip. “You’re not…
required to come with me, or—”
Hermione threw her arms around her, dragging her close. Ginny hesitated,
but then she was squeezing her back, clutching her as if her life depended on it.
Tears pricked Hermione’s eyes, and she felt Ginny’s shoulders shake. She
knew the nurses were watching them, but she didn’t care.
“I’ve missed you, Ginny. So much.”
“Me too.” Ginny’s voice was thick as she ran her hand between her shoulder
blades, pulling back to grip her elbows. “There’s… a lot I still don’t understand.
And I don’t… I don’t know if I fully believe that you haven’t been manipulated
by that family in some way.”
Hermione’s lips opened to protest—
“But I told Bill it wasn’t right to keep you locked up like a criminal,” Ginny
continued. “We’ve been putting pressure on them all week to release you, but I
think it was your interview that did the trick.”
Ginny’s lips twitched in a smile.
Her face fell quickly again, and she released Hermione’s elbows. “You have
to understand that I—I just found out about Charlie. It’s hard for all of us, with

✦ 312 ✦
the Malfoys. But I promise to— try to listen in time. When I can see the things
you want to show me.”
Hermione nodded. The space was still there, but she felt it shrinking. For
now, Ginny was here. And it was enough. She’d give her the space she needed.
“Let’s go home,” she said, and Ginny grinned at her just like she used to.
Hermione felt something in her chest unwind as Ginny led them to the lifts.
The doors closed on the Janus Thickey Ward, and she reached for Ginny’s hand.
“I have this for you,” Ginny said, producing a wand from her other sleeve.
Hermione blinked down at it. “It was suggested that maybe you shouldn’t have
one yet, so keep it hidden.”
Hermione took the wand gingerly — oak, and shorter than her own had
been. The buzzing of magic in her veins doubled, and her chest flooded with
relief. She tucked it in her waistband, and found Ginny watching her.
“I know what you’re thinking, Hermione. But the Manor is barred. I already
told you I tried to go. Not even Bill can get in.”
A chill raced down Hermione’s spine. She had to get to the Manor and re-
trieve her notes and Lucius’s memories. Nothing was more important. “What
do you mean, barred? Isn’t Narcissa Malfoy being held there?”
“Yes. She’s under surveillance. The Floo is off, and there are guards inside
and around the perimeter. No one is permitted in or out unless they are cleared
by General Jacobs. Which really means General Pierre.”
“Then I need to speak to General Pierre.”
Ginny gave her a grim smile. “You’ll have your chance. They want to meet
with you tomorrow morning. At the Ministry.”
Anxiety and relief warred inside her as the lift doors opened to the lobby.
Then a cascade of sound and movement shattered her senses.
“Miss Granger!”
“Over here!”
Flashbulbs burst and camera shutters clapped like thunder as people
shouted her name. Hermione blinked against the light and the sound, following
Ginny’s lead as she muscled them forward.
“Miss Granger, how do you feel?”
“What are your plans now?”
Ginny wrapped her arm around her as she led them toward the exit. The
roar grew deafening, the white light blinding. Reporters called out questions
over the din.
Hermione stumbled forward, and the only warning Ginny gave her was a
squeeze of her palm before they Disapparated with a crack!

✦ 313 ✦
 The hook from behind her belly released, and they were standing outside
the Burrow.
Ginny stepped in front of her and lifted a brow. “You sure know what you’re
doing, don’t you?”
Hermione took a moment to catch her breath. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“It’s going to help you tomorrow,” said Ginny simply. “Make sure to men-
tion it if it doesn’t make the papers.” She took Hermione’s arm and tugged her
through the tall grass.
The Burrow was just as she remembered it — a massive, leaning jumble of
a house. The sight of it filled her chest with warmth and longing and a dozen
other emotions she couldn’t name. It wasn’t until Ginny wrenched open the
front door that Hermione remembered she wouldn’t find Molly waiting in the
kitchen, surrounded by floating pots and pans. Or Arthur in the garage, tink-
ering with an eggbeater.
Her stomach twisted. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the memories back.
A silver-blonde head poked out of the kitchen, short-cropped and sleek.
“‘Ermione?”
Fleur Delacour stepped around the corner, holding a spatula. Hermione
stared at her, remembering the smoke and panic of Edinburgh, the way she’d
sliced a Death Eater’s neck so easily. She blinked the images away.
“Hello,” Hermione said, just as Fleur wrapped her in a hug.
Pulling back, Fleur smiled and gripped her shoulders. “It’s good to ‘ave you
home.” She glanced at Ginny, then back at Hermione. “Breakfast?”
They followed Fleur into the kitchen.
Hermione took a seat at the kitchen table, and Ginny sat beside her. They
watched Fleur finish cooking, comfortable in the silence.
Ginny got up to set the table, and Hermione watched her help Fleur with an
easy affinity she’d never seen between them before. The war had shifted all of
them, she supposed. Some closer, and some farther.
Halfway through their large breakfast, the Floo in the kitchen burst to life.
Hermione twisted in her chair to see Bill stepping through the fireplace, fol-
lowed by George.
Hermione’s heart skipped. She hadn’t been this close to George since the
Palace Theatre.
They both stopped dead at the sight of her.
“Hermione.” Bill nodded his head in greeting. “Good to see you again.”
George moved first, grabbing a handful of sausage before dropping into a chair.
Hermione nodded stiffly. “Good to see you, too. Hello, George.”

✦ 314 ✦
 He shoved a sausage into his mouth and tipped his head, pouring a glass
of orange juice.
Hermione had expected it, but it still felt like she’d been struck. She looked
to Ginny for guidance, but found her staring at Bill, giving him a look her
mother would have been proud of.
Bill ran a hand through his hair. “Hermione, I’d like to apologize for our
conversation at Mungo’s. It’s… Well, you caught me in the middle of a mess in
Athens, and I… I deferred to the Healers. But once we’d finished the fighting,
and they still hadn’t found any decent evidence that you’d—” He broke off,
staring at his shoes. “Anyway, Ginny convinced me to speak to Pierre. I’m sorry
you were kept out of the loop. And I’m sorry I didn’t intervene sooner.”
His face was sincere, but the arrogance in it still boiled her blood. Hermione
wanted to snap at him that his “intervention” had accomplished nothing, and
that she’d had to claw her way out of St. Mungo’s herself.
Instead she pasted on a polite smile and said, “I understand. Thank you.”
Bill nodded. After an awkward pause, he grabbed a plate and kissed his wife.
He took the seat next to her.
“Alecto Carrow?” Ginny asked.
“It’s done,” George said around a mouthful of potatoes. “Jacobs did the hon-
ors straight away.”
Hermione’s fork paused. “She’s dead? Already?”
It was only half ten. Alecto Carrow’s trial had begun some time that morn-
ing, and she had already been executed.
“Yep. Freed up some space in Azkaban.” A piece of toast stopped on the way
to George’s mouth. He met her eyes for the first time. “Why? Did you fall in
love with her too?”
Like a splash of cold water across her back. There was silence in the kitchen
except for the clatter of a knife.
Her lips parted on a sharp inhale. “You have no idea what you’re talking
about—”
“George,” Ginny hissed.
“Oi—”
George stood from the table, grabbing one more piece of toast. “Whatever.”
He nodded to Bill. “I’ll see you at noon for Jugson.”
He disappeared into the living room. She heard his heavy footfalls up the
stairs.
Fleur tried to change the subject. Bill poured her another glass of orange
juice. Ginny offered her a strained smile.

✦ 315 ✦
 And Hermione sat quietly, Occluding until the look on George’s face was
no longer burning behind her eyelids.
At noon, Bill left with George for Jugson’s trial. Hermione sat with Ginny
and Fleur in the living room, reading through two weeks’ worth of the New
York Ghost. Her head was already throbbing from all the Occlumency, so she
directed her focus on Gertie Gumley’s questions about the lack of transparency
behind the Provisional Government of England’s new Justice Tribunal.
Bill and George returned three hours later. Hermione didn’t ask about the
outcome this time.
The sun sank lower in the sky, and Hermione read on. After a time, Fleur
got up to do a few chores. Ginny stayed with her.
Hermione’s eyes began straining, but everywhere she looked around the Bur-
row brought flashes of memory — with Molly and Arthur. Harry and Fred. She’d
never stayed at the Burrow while Charlie was home, but he was dead now, too.
The white shore of Dover Beach swam up to the forefront of her mind, the
wind on the shore. The bright flash of green as Lucius killed him swiftly.
She shook her head, and buried it.
Dinner was also stilted. Ginny had grown moody and silent, and George
wouldn’t look at Hermione except to ask her to pass the potatoes. She caught
Bill watching her furtively several times, as if expecting her to have a melt-
down at the table.
Hermione pushed her food around her plate, biting back all the things she
wanted to say about the Malfoys, and how none of them would be sitting there
if it weren’t for them. She thought about mentioning the tattoos — asking them
if they knew who’d delivered Charlotte the antidote — but she could already
imagine what George would say and Bill would think. And she didn’t need to
give them any more ammunition.
After dinner, Ginny conjured a second bed for Hermione in her room, just
like they used to sleep when the house was full. Hermione didn’t know if it was
out of grief that the other rooms weren’t used, or if Ginny assumed she didn’t
want to be alone. She didn’t ask.
Hermione couldn’t sleep. So she stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of
the Burrow hanging over her as she listened to Ginny breathe in the darkness.
Something was missing. And it wasn’t just the dead.
It felt like she’d lost something. As though she’d been stitched together slop-
pily, like a puzzle with missing pieces. Or perhaps all the pieces were there, but
they were just in the wrong places.
It was two in the morning when a soft voice called to her across the bed-
room. “Tell me something about him. Something I’ll know is true.”

✦ 316 ✦
 Hermione blinked at the ceiling. She opened her mouth to tell her about the
tattoos. About the Horcrux, and Dolohov. But that wasn’t what Ginny was asking.
It took her a full minute to speak. “He knew I drank coffee. He had coffee
delivered to my room every morning.”
The room was so quiet, she wondered if Ginny had fallen asleep. And then
— “Your room?”
Hermione turned her head to the grey shape of Ginny in the darkness. “Yes.
I had my own suite.”
She ached to tell her more, but she held herself back.
Ginny turned over to face the wall and murmured, “Okay.”
・✦・
In the morning, Hermione meditated and organized her mind. Ginny
slept soundly on the other side of the room while she steadied her shelves,
mentally reciting her arguments for her meeting with the True Order. She
needed to be prepared.
She showered, and when she returned to the bedroom, Ginny was gone.
So she borrowed clothes from Ginny’s closet, dressed quickly, and joined the
table for breakfast.
It was just as silent as it had been yesterday. After an hour of ignoring her,
George stood from the table and said, “You ready to go?”
She blinked up at him. “Oh. Yes.” After clearing her plate, she followed him
to the fireplace. She glanced at Bill, but he remained seated.
George took a handful of Floo powder before handing it over to her. He
called out, “Ministry of Magic,” and didn’t look behind him as he disappeared
in a burst of green flames.
Hermione’s stomach clenched at the thought of returning to the Ministry,
but she had to go. Squaring her shoulders, she threw the powder and stepped
into the fireplace.
She stumbled out into the deserted Ministry Atrium, gaping up at the
domed blue ceiling. The Magic Is Might fountain was gone — only the dust of
demolition left behind.
George was already walking toward the bank of lifts to the left. She rushed
to follow him, listening to his footsteps echo off the dark wood floor. He tugged
open the grate of an arriving lift and held it open for her, not meeting her eyes.
Once they were inside, she turned to him.
“You’re disappointed in me.”
His gaze remained fixed ahead. “Something like that.”

✦ 317 ✦
 The lift rocketed them downward and to the side, and she stepped in front
of him. He scowled down at her.
“I suppose you think I’m insane, then? That I should still be locked away at
St. Mungo’s?”
He tilted his head, and she didn’t recognize Fred anywhere in his curled lip.
“No. I think your mind is fine, and that you simply fell for a snivelling little
coward. That’s the worst part.”
She flinched, feeling the sting. The lift stopped, and George pushed around
her, exiting without a backward glance.
Hermione’s blood simmered with rage, but she shoved it aside. Taking a
deep breath, she stepped off the lift — and onto the same black tiles she’d
sprinted across a year ago, running from Dolohov and Yaxley. Her shelves
trembled violently, but she centered her mind, pushing back her memories.
She almost had to break into a run to catch up with George, striding down
a corridor toward a black unmarked door. He knocked twice, and the door
swung open.
Hestia Jones stared them up and down. Hermione’s lips parted in silent sur-
prise. Jones had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix — just a few years older
than Tonks. Hermione had seen her in and out of Grimmauld Place over the years.
“Miss Granger.” She reached forward and took her hand in a firm shake.
George slid by her. “Good to see you again.”
“And you.”
Hermione entered what seemed to be a meeting room with a long oval table.
A large map of Europe filled the entire far wall, stuck with pins. Two men were
seated at the table. They stood to attention, turning to the doorway.
“Hermione Granger, this is General Pierre and General Jacobs of the True
Order.”
General Jacobs was a bland but handsome man, about in his late thirties. He
greeted her with a posh British accent, shaking her hand when she offered it.
But her eyes were drawn to Robert Pierre, the man who apparently held all
power over decisions of her medical care.
He was the taller of the two, with broad shoulders and a crooked face. His
eyes were penetratingly blue, and the scruff he wore on his cheeks contrasted
with the straight, pressed lines of his black military clothes.
“Miss Granger,” he said, his accent much lighter and crisper than Fleur’s.
“I’m delighted to hear that you are feeling better.”
“Thank you.” She forced herself to smile. “I’m honored to meet you all.”

✦ 318 ✦
 Hestia offered her a seat across the table from Pierre and Jacobs, and then
took her own chair just down the table. George remained in the room, leaning
against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Well, Miss Granger, you have our attention. Especially after your little
stunt with the Prophet.” Pierre gave her a tight smile. “Forgive me for skipping
pleasantries, but we are all quite busy. So tell us, what is it that you want?”
The room was silent. Jacobs laced his fingers on the table, staring her down. A
cold awareness crept down Hermione’s spine, like brushing fingers with a ghost.
“I’d like access to Malfoy Manor. I have evidence there to assist the True
Order in—”
“Out of the question.” Pierre leaned back in his chair. “Malfoy Manor is un-
der lockdown. And the estate has already been swept, I assure you. Any ‘evi-
dence’ you might have has been picked up already.”
She lifted a brow at him. “Highly doubtful, General. You’d be treating
me very differently if you’d seen what I have stored there.”
Jacobs shifted in his chair, glancing at Pierre, but the Frenchman kept his
gaze on her.
“And what might that be?”
“You’ll have to let me retrieve it myself.”
He laughed — a low rumble. “We have all the evidence we need to try the
accused, Miss Granger.”
“And that’s my next question,” she said, straightening in her chair at his
condescending tone. “Which laws are these tribunals observing if a defendant
can be tortured mid-trial?”
“A ‘defendant,’“ George said suddenly. “Is that what they are? Are you say-
ing you didn’t see Amycus and Alecto Carrow with your own two eyes—”
“What I saw is irrelevant. When they are on trial being prosecuted, they are de-
fendants according to Wizarding Law and the Wizengamot’s legal documents—”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Miss Granger,” said Jacobs, “the destruction
caused by the Great Order required a new government to be built. The Justice
Tribunal—”
“Yes, the Justice Tribunal,” she said. “Which, I assume, has been granted a
charter of some kind by the International Confederation of Wizards?”
“We are not bound by international law,” said Pierre coolly. “The Justice
Tribunal is free to prosecute its own citizens as it sees fit.”
“Then why are you here, General Pierre?”
A muscle in Pierre’s cheek twitched. “How can we help you today, Miss
Granger?”

✦ 319 ✦
 She lifted her chin. “Firstly, I would like all charges against Narcissa Malfoy,
Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson dropped. Effective immediately.”
Jacobs scoffed.
“Denied,” Pierre said.
She clenched her palms into fists beneath the table. “I have proof that all
three of them aided the True Order over the past year, and actively assisted in
the downfall of the Great Order. In the interest of justice, I request that you re-
view my memories before proceeding with those trials.”
“Denied.”
Her nostrils flared, and her anger boiled over. “Pansy Parkinson was sold
like an animal, just like the rest of us! What are her crimes?”
“Miss Parkinson was declared dead a year ago. She’s been colluding with
Great Order members from that point onwards—”
“And what is your evidence for this? If you would view my memories, you’d
see just how false your statement is—”
“Your memories, Miss Granger,” Pierre said, “may not have the weight you
think they do. You’ve been treated at St. Mungo’s recently for mental tamper-
ing, I believe?”
The air left Hermione’s lungs. She felt her hands shaking with anger. “I was
cleared by the Healers, who found absolutely no evidence that I’d been sub-
jected to mind-altering magic—”
“The point”—Pierre lifted a hand—”is that we cannot disprove that your mem-
ories have been compromised. We have plenty of evidence of crimes committed by
the entire Malfoy family and your”—he made a flippant gesture— “friends.”
“Then I demand to represent the accused at the trials and submit my testi-
mony, my memories, and my physical evidence from Malfoy Manor in front of
the Tribunal.”
“The accused provide their own defense, Miss Granger. They must answer
the court directly—”
“Then I will go to the Prophet, the Ghost, and any paper who will have me and
tell them about the Justice Tribunal’s lack of due process and interference with
evidence collection. I will tell them how the True Order had Hermione Granger
committed without cause — creator of the tattoo antidote potion that freed the
slaves and allowed the True Order the opportunity retake the country—”
“I don’t know what you think you’ve created,” Jacobs interjected over her,
“but French potioneers working for the True Order were the ones responsible
for creating the antidote—”
She pushed to her feet, anger coiling through her veins. “Is that the lie you’ve
been spinning? I constructed that potion myself in the Malfoy potions

✦ 320 ✦
laboratory. Narcissa Malfoy gave me her wand, and Draco Malfoy delivered the
ingredients directly to Charlotte!”
Pierre stared at her, his face impassive. Jacobs laughed, shaking his head.
“Miss Granger,” Hestia Jones began, “please calm down—”
“Squid Ink, Sopophorous root, poppy head, bloodroot,” she recited. “Dilute
the squid ink with distilled water. Bring to a boil and set aside.”
“You can’t be serious—”
She raised her voice. “Chop the Sopophorous root into even quarters. Grind
the poppy head with a pestle and add to boiling water. Stir clockwise twelve
times until dissolved.”
George stepped forward. “Hermione, that’s enough—”
She lunged away from him and grabbed the back of her chair. “Let sit fifteen
minutes. Add ten drops of squid ink, stirring counterclockwise after each drop.
Lastly, add the bloodroot. Let sit for four hours until the poison in the blood-
root has neutralized and the steam rises in perfect spirals.”
She took a shuddering breath, rage coursing through her. “I created that
potion, and I can prove it. Charlotte may be dead, but I’m not.”
Pierre studied her over steepled fingers while Jacobs stared at her in disbe-
lief. Tilting her head, Hestia Jones regarded her curiously, and George looked
like he finally recognized her.
She leaned forward on her hands, glared down at Pierre’s unreadable face,
and hissed, “Call your potioneer.”
It was silent. She could hear the thump of her heartbeat as she waited for
Pierre to respond.
A knock rapped on the door, startling her. George opened it, and Roger Da-
vies rushed inside.
“Sir,” he addressed Pierre, “urgent news from Prague.”
Pierre cracked his knuckles and stood. “Miss Granger, if you would wait for
a moment. Help yourself to tea.” He gestured to a cart in the corner. “General
Jones will contact our potions team, and then we will discuss.”
Hestia nodded, and then all four of them were leaving the room with
Roger Davies.
Once the door shut behind them, Hermione let out a shuddering breath. She
pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, and pushed back her frustration.
She’d done the best she could. She’d forced them to listen to her.
Dropping back into her chair, Hermione waited. After twenty minutes, she
decided to accept the offer of tea and poured herself a cup. After nearly an hour,
she grew anxious.

✦ 321 ✦
 The clock on the wall indicated that an hour and forty-five minutes had
passed when finally the door opened again.
General Jacobs strolled in with a jubilant expression that turned Hermione’s
stomach. Pierre followed a pace behind him, hovering like a hawk.
“Well, Miss Granger,” Jacobs said. “It seems our potions team can indeed
confirm that a mysterious source provided them with a breakthrough for the
antidote. It appears to match your description perfectly. Congratulations.”
The wave of her relief was cut short when she realized that Jacobs must be
smiling for other reasons. Pierre loomed, his eyes boring into her.
She pressed her lips together. “Where are George and Hestia?”
“Occupied,” said Pierre.
“Let’s say the Malfoy family did allow use of their potions laboratory,” said
Jacobs, condescension dripping from his voice. “Let’s say Lucius Mal-
foy did know you were conspiring against the Great Order, in his very house.
Let’s even say he supported that.” His gaze locked on her, and his head tilted.
“Does that really balance the scales against the 10,000 dead on Baffin Island?
Or the people he helped murder in Switzerland and France?”
Hermione’s spine stiffened. “I think you’d have to examine the evidence to
see who was responsible for deploying that weapon, and who created it. I know
at least two other Lots who can corroborate my memory of Lucius Malfoy de-
crying the death toll on Baffin—”
“And the True Order soldiers and civilians in Switzerland?” Jacobs pressed.
“Can you explain away those lives, too?”
Hermione clenched her jaw. She couldn’t. She could only trust Draco’s word
that it had been deployed when his father was Austria. “Like I said, there is
plenty of evidence at Malfoy Manor that should be carefully weighed when de-
termining these charges—”
“You have your evidence, and we have ours. If the Malfoys did assist you, it
was only a last ditch effort to save their skins.”
Hermione rose from her chair. “Your opinions are irrelevant. Any court worth
a damn understands the importance of evidence and proper representation—”
“Don’t be rash, Miss Granger. We have convened”—he nodded at Pierre—
“and have agreed to allow you to represent whoever you’d like. If the accused can
defend themselves, we see no reason not to allow someone else to do it for them.”
Hermione gaped at them. Her jaw clicked shut.
“You can begin with Lucius Malfoy,” Jacobs continued. “He turned himself
in not two hours ago.”
The room reeled beneath her feet. She steadied herself on the table with her
fingertips table. “Turned himself in?”

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 “To the Magical Republic of Czechia,” Pierre added.
Hermione’s mind spun. Lucius Malfoy had surrendered himself to the True
Order. Freely.
She stood tall, lifting her chin. “And when will his trial be?”
“Monday.”
The word echoed in her ears. “That’s in four days.”
“Yes.”
Hermione sucked in air. “I request that his trial be pushed back so I have
proper time to prepare—”
“Denied.” Jacobs’ mouth tugged in a faint smirk.
Rolling her jaw, Hermione swallowed. “I request full access to Malfoy Manor.”
“Request denied.”
“I request full access to my client for the full four days—”
“You may see him once,” Jacobs said. “Now.”
“Now?” she said weakly.
“Those are the allowances we are willing to make. It’s worth reminding you,
Miss Granger, that none of the accused have enjoyed these privileges thus far.”
“These ‘privileges’ you speak of are a mockery of the most basic human
rights,” she spat. “This is an outrage. I—” She broke off, watching Pierre assess
her. Waiting for her to crack beneath the pressure.
But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Pushing her shoulders back, she said, “Take me to him.”
With a mocking bow, Pierre led her from the room. Hermione caught a
glimpse of Jacobs’ narrowed gaze as she slipped through the door, following
Pierre as he strode down the black-tiled corridor.
Her head swam. She needed to access legal texts. She needed to review the
laws drawn up by this new court — whatever they were. She needed to study
the previous days’ trials.
Her mind was itemizing a list of evidence to defend Lucius Malfoy when
Pierre halted at a door surrounded by stern-faced guards. Lucius was here, she
realized. Behind this door.
“You have ten minutes,” Pierre said.
Her fists curled at her sides. “I’ll have at least an hour, General. Perhaps
the Prophet would be interested in knowing—”
“Perhaps the Prophet will find itself unable to print tomorrow.” He opened
the door for her, his blue eyes locked on hers. “Ten minutes.”
Seething, Hermione stepped inside — into a small black room with no win-
dows. There was only a table and two chairs. Lucius Malfoy sat in one of them,

✦ 323 ✦
cuffed to the table. He lifted his brow when he saw her. The door behind her
clicked closed.
“Miss Granger,” said Lucius. He was thinner, but he still sat tall and proud.
“I was quite surprised to hear I was meeting with my solicitor before heading
to Azkaban.”
The sight of his sharp jaw and grey eyes struck something inside her. Some
hole in her chest that longed for Draco, and missed Narcissa. A place that now
felt more like home than the Burrow did.
She moved to take the chair across from him. Folding her hands on the tab-
letop, she met his assessing gaze.
“Why are you here, Lucius?”
There was a good chance he’d lie. But she had to ask it once.
He spread his hands wide, the chains clinking together. “These are surely
the finest accommodations in all of England. How could I resist?”
She ignored him, drumming her fingers together. “Are you here to negotiate
a deal for Narcissa?”
He tilted his head at her and lowered his arms. “What could I possibly ne-
gotiate with?”
The fine layer of hope in her chest cracked, like ice on a lake. She’d thought
maybe he had a plan. He always had a plan.
“Do you know where Draco is?” she asked.
His lips twitched. “Funny. I was going to ask you the same question.”
She sat back, closing her eyes in frustration. Nine minutes. “They won’t let
me back into the Manor,” she said dully. “So I can’t retrieve your memories.”
Opening her eyes, she found him staring at her — his gaze narrowed, but
amused. “My memories?”
“The ones in the black vials. You left your study unlocked, and I found them.”
“Did I?” He cocked his head. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
She didn’t have time for his games, so she plowed ahead. “You will need to
submit them to evidence again. Leave nothing out — Goyle Sr., Romania, Char-
lotte and the Carrow Girls — all of it.”
He studied her silently. She took that as acceptance.
“Did you kill Romano and Berge in Salerno?”
“I did.”
She let out a ragged breath. At least there was that. “Then submit that
memory to evidence as well.”
“Miss Granger,” said Lucius, eyes flicking up to her. “You can’t possibly
be this naive.”
Her mouth felt dry. “Pardon?”

✦ 324 ✦
 “Do you truly believe they will review my memories in preparation for the trial?”
“I do,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “The Tribunal has been
appalling thus far, but that ends today. If they won’t review your memories, I’ll
drag a Pensieve into the courtroom myself.”
His lips tugged in a half-smile. Something glittered behind his eyes. “I wasn’t
expecting you, Miss Granger.”
“I know.” He looked like Draco when he smirked. She twisted her fingers
together. “I just came from my first meeting with the True Order.”
“No, not just here.” He glanced at the wall over her shoulder like there was
a beautiful view she was missing out on. “You’re quite unexpected.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to say more.
“Don’t misunderstand me, you’re clearly more trouble than you’re worth.”
He folded his hands and rolled his shoulders back. “But I almost regret prevent-
ing you from escaping the Palace.”
Ice ran through her veins. The arms that had wrapped around her in the
scuffle backstage.
Good work, Malfoy. It had been so long since she thought of that moment.
At the time, she’d assumed it had been Draco.
“You said you weren’t there — that you had no interest in slave-trading.”
He shrugged. “I lied.”
She racked her brain for the memory. “You were trying to take me out-
side. Why?”
“I hadn’t quite decided,” he lilted. “I was half-tempted to kill you. Would
have saved me an awful lot of trouble.”
She scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you so, Mr. Malfoy.”
“‘An inconvenience.’ Yes, I suppose that sums you up, Miss Granger.”
She refrained from rolling her eyes. They had six minutes, at best.
“I will provide them with a detailed account of my time spent at the Manor.
I’ll include vials of my memories to corroborate.” Her leg bounced with nervous
energy. “Between the two of us, I’m confident we can at least get you a life sen-
tence to Azkaban—”
She startled when Lucius lurched forward, all mirth gone from his face. “Is
my wife at the Manor?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And they don’t intend to move her?”
“No.” The look on his face reminded her of the night Edinburgh was at-
tacked, when he came searching for his son. “No, I don’t believe so. She’s un-
der house arrest.”

✦ 325 ✦
 There was a knock at the door, and Hermione whipped around as it swung
open. Pierre was there. It hadn’t been ten minutes.
Pressing her lips together, she stood. When she turned back to Lucius, she
found him reclining in his seat. “I’ll see you at your trial, Lucius. Rest assured,
I intend to inconvenience you for many years to come.”
His eyes glittered as he nodded to her. She turned, moving to the door. Pierre
had just stepped aside for her when Lucius called out, “Oh, and Miss Granger?”
She spun around, and saw him eyeing her denims and trainers with distaste.
“Will you at least attempt to dress yourself appropriately at the trial?”
She scowled at him and followed Pierre out, back down the halls, and to the lifts.
Her mind was spinning, replaying her conversation with Lucius on a loop.
She still had no idea why he’d turned himself in, or what he planned to accom-
plish. And now she wouldn’t have a chance to find out until his trial.
She barely heard Pierre as he bid her a clipped goodbye and left her at the
fireplaces. But as she stood before the Floo, powder in hand, her muscles felt
frozen at the thought of returning to the Burrow.
Her arm faltered. She couldn’t return to silent dinners and George’s sneers.
Lucius Malfoy’s life was on the line. Draco’s father.
Four days to save him. That’s all she had.
A sudden idea struck her. She tossed the powder and called out for Grim-
mauld Place, praying it wouldn’t be barred.
The flames roared as she stepped through, and then she was walking out of
the familiar fireplace there.
She felt dizzy with success. The Fidelius Charm was intact. Draco was the
Secret Keeper. Since he’d taken her there, she still could return.
She pulled out her wand and cast a Homenum Revelio. No one there — she
was alone.
She wandered into the kitchen. Blaise and the girls had left quickly. Dishes
still in the sink were growing mold, and books had been left opened on the cof-
fee table. A pouch full of Galleons lay on a cushion. Glancing around, Hermi-
one called out for Kreacher.
He didn’t come.
And with a wave of relief, she realized — Kreacher might be with Draco.
The master of Grimmauld Place. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, and
she leaned against the wall, drawing labored breaths until she was able to Oc-
clude her feelings away. When her shelves were steady, she headed upstairs.
Grimmauld Place had a small library where she located a few books on Mag-
ical Law. But by mid-afternoon, she was aching for more sources. She Appa-
rated to one of London’s owleries and sent off several notes — one to Ginny,

✦ 326 ✦
apologizing for not returning to the Burrow, explaining Lucius’s trial and why
she had to defend him, and promising to see her soon; a few to several Magical
Libraries, requesting books on law; and one to the Justice Tribunal, requesting
a copy of their new laws and the transcripts for the trials that had taken place
over the past week.
In the morning, when she woke covered in borrowed law texts, but with no
response from the Tribunal, she wasn’t surprised.
She cast a few glamours and left Grimmauld on Saturday morning to grab
groceries and a copy of the Prophet. When she flipped through the pages, she
found her own face on page 11 with the headline, HERMIONE GRANGER, OF
SOUND MIND?
The paper almost slipped from her fingers. Her vision blurred as she read it
— just a few lines. It suggested that she had been at St. Mungo’s for injuries to
the head, and that the Healers had disagreed about the decision to discharge
her. The tip had been provided by an anonymous source at the hospital.
They were trying to discredit her.
After nearly setting it aflame in her anger, Hermione channeled her fury
into her preparation. She read her new books from front to back. Four owls
later, she received a letter from the Tribunal confirming that she’d be given ac-
cess to a Pensieve that could project memories to the court. And for the first
time, she felt hopeful.
On the morning of the trial, she rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror as
she changed clothes for the third time. The girls had left behind piles of clothes,
but Daphne’s fit her best. She put on the crispest blouse she could find, Lucius’s
taunting ringing in her ears.
When she arrived at the Ministry Atrium half an hour early, she found a
crowd already forming, hoping for a good view.
She had a written statement memorized as an opening. She had her memo-
ries in vials, ready to submit them to evidence. Eyes dragged over her, and whis-
pers floated in her direction. Heading to a far corner, she took several minutes
to Occlude, blocking out the rising noise of the crowd. When she finally opened
her eyes, she found the Atrium filled to the very back.
Hundreds had turned out for Lucius Malfoy’s sentencing.
She breathed deep into her still waters as she walked to the center of it all,
standing to the side until General Pierre opened up the floor to her.
The Justice Tribunal was called to order, and she found herself stared down
by twelve men and women she’d never seen before. She blinked back at them.

✦ 327 ✦
 The crowd rippled, and a flash of ginger pulled her attention. Bill, Percy,
George, and Ron standing in the front — all here to see Charlie’s killer
brought to justice.
She met Ron’s gaze before he looked away. She took a deep breath and bur-
ied him deep in her mind, forcing her eyes to blur over the audience.
The ding of the lifts silenced the entire hall, and then Lucius Malfoy was
being escorted toward the makeshift stage by four guards. The Atrium exploded
in sound. She could hardly think with the press of it on her senses.
They pushed him to sit in a chair facing the twelve jurors. Five judges pre-
sided, including General Hestia Jones, General Pierre, and General Jacobs.
At noon on the dot, General Pierre stood, and the Atrium fell silent.
He cast an Amplifying Charm on his voice and began, “Lucius Malfoy. You
are hereby brought before this Tribunal to answer to your crimes against the
Wizarding world, crimes against humanity and liberty.”
The crowd hollered and booed, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Lucius
was still, his hands folded in his lap. When they settled, Pierre continued.
“These crimes include: The mass murder of over 10,000 lives, both magical
and Muggle, in Canada; Conspiracy to mass murder in Italy; Conspiracy to mass
murder in Switzerland; the witnessed and reported murder of the following —
Chelsea Jamison, Damon Ducavenay, Ruben Taverntine, Charles Weasley—”
A chuckle rumbled through the Atrium — low, but unmistakable. Hermi-
one looked up, and found Lucius Malfoy smirking at the crowd.
“Hm. I did manage to get a Weasley, didn’t I? I’d quite forgotten.”
Fear lanced through her like a sharp knife, rattling her shelves. Lucius shook
his head, smiling, as if laughing at a private joke.
The crowd rumbled, and Hermione’s waters trembled.
What did he say?
He didn’t just—
She tuned them out, glancing at the Weasley brothers. George’s face was
bright red.
“You know,” Lucius continued, louder. A smile in tone. “I do have regrets
for my actions over the past few years.” He nodded solemnly. “Mostly, I regret
how slowly I killed Charlie Weasley.”
A shout from the crowd. Hermione’s legs swayed.
That wasn’t how it happened. She’d seen it.
Lucius shifted in his seat, turning his eyes on the Weasley brothers. “His
screams haunt me to this day, truly. No one should have to go through that
much pain.”
Ron shot forward, but Bill yanked him back.

✦ 328 ✦
 She had to make him stop. Hermione moved on shaking legs, her breath
coming quickly. The hall was roaring with noise. Someone in the crowd broke
the line, their shoulder shoving into Hermione’s. She stumbled.
“So much blood,” Lucius said, leaning forward like he held a secret. “And so
much begging. But I suppose that’s to be expected from a Weasley.”
There was a ringing in her ears as she raised her wand to silence him — but
then a sharp movement caught her eye, and she felt like she was screaming un-
derwater as George’s arm arched back, his wand slicing downward — a green
light barreling forward.
The Killing Curse shot through the crowd, landing squarely in the middle
of Lucius’s chest. His chair blew back several feet, his body limp.
Her skin was cold. She’d gone deaf, and she couldn’t feel her arms.
Lucius’s grey eyes were open. His lips curved in a cold smile.
Sound hit her like running into a wall. Her eardrums exploded as the
Atrium celebrated. She turned to see the Weasley brothers roaring.
Her head whipped to the stage where General Pierre was smiling, pretend-
ing to calm to the crowd.
Blacks spots in her vision, growing darker, and deeper. She couldn’t breathe.
In the darkness, words started to form.
Kill his bitch!
Hermione gasped as her eyes flew open, watching as the crowd began shout-
ing, rioting.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
They were Disapparating.
They were going to the Manor. To kill Narcissa.
“No!”
Ten more vanished before her eyes.
She twisted her wand and Apparated to the hill outside the Manor.
The noon sun burst in front of her eyes. A screaming from around her —
the crowd gathering, waiting for more to arrive.
Hermione jerked around, and saw bodies on the ground. True Order guards
that had been stationed at the Manor, laying in a heap on the grass.
Her eyes jumped to the gates. Men on the ground there, expelled from the
house. One of them impaled on the iron, his limbs bent oddly — as though he’d
ejected and landed on the fence.
The crowd from the Ministry roared. A rush of running feet, and Hermione
bolted out in front of them, sprinting to the front gates.
She had to get to Narcissa. She had to save her.

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 The iron gates swung open, as though welcoming the mob. Tears streamed
down her face as her legs pumped to get there first.
Jumping over the tangled body of a True Order guard, she darted through
the gates, her muscles on fire as she ran down the gravel drive.
A gasping, and a boom. And another, and another. Like firecrackers.
She whipped over her shoulder and found a hundred people hurling them-
selves against the gates and ricocheting backward, like a boundary spell had
been cast to keep them out.
Her feet froze, her heart beating in her throat. She was the only one who
made it through.
The crowd trampled each other as they shoved forward. She flinched at the
hiss of the first curse. It bounced up and outward, barreling into the sky.
Her breath fought against her ribs as they sent more and more hurtling to-
wards her. The air crackled, but none passed through. She turned back to the
Manor. The front doors swung open, welcoming her.
“Stop it! Don’t!”
The curses ceased.
“Hermione!”
She stumbled as she spun around. Ron and his brothers were at the front of
the rippling crowd. Ron extended his hand to her, as if he wanted her to grant
them access.
Her gaze fell to his open palm.
Lucius had known. He’d gotten himself killed, and the Manor had locked
down to everyone but her. She glanced to the open doors, and she knew she’d
find Narcissa inside. Safe.
“Hermione!” Ron called again. His voice was frantic — betrayed.
Bill gripped his shoulder with one hand. His other clutching George.
It was quiet. Just the wind in her ears.
With a wave of her hand, the gates of Malfoy Manor began to close on them.
Someone screamed her name, but she was already walking down the
gravel path.
Returning home.

✦ 330 ✦
 CHAPTER 39

S
TEPPING THROUGH THE MANOR DOORS AND INTO THE
entryway was like slipping into a familiar dream. The chandelier glit-
tered, reflecting light onto the pale marble and high arches. The stairs
beckoned her up, where she could crawl beneath the covers and wait for the
nightmare to end.
A distant boom pierced Hermione’s eardrums, and she slammed the door
with a jolt. She sagged against it, struggling to think.
Lucius was dead. George had killed him. Lucius was dead, and the True Or-
der was trying to enter the Manor to kill Narcissa, and she had to find her and
make sure she was safe.
Breathing deep, Hermione locked her shelves into place.
“Narcissa?” she called out. “Mippy?”
She moved swiftly down the hall, her wand drawn as she twisted around
corners and peered into dark rooms. Narcissa’s office was empty — her letters
scattered, her bookshelves overturned. The master bedroom looked empty.
Hermione stepped through the broken lamps and strewn clothing, but found
no one in the bathroom. Nothing in the Conservatory except the flowers wilting
in the sunlight.
Hermione broke into a run as she headed to the library, racing down the
corridor lined with marble men who looked too much like Draco. The doors
were covered in slashing cuts, like someone had tried taking an ax to them to
get inside, but the handles warmed beneath her touch before they gave way.
The room was empty and untouched.
Her shelves trembled as she flew to the dungeons, finding the door open
and the cells unlocked. A cot lay against the stone pillar, looking freshly slept
in — a small blanket folded carefully atop it.
The panic in her chest spiked when she burst into the kitchens and found
vegetables half-chopped, the pots bubbling over. A stool had knocked to the
floor, a cigarette next to it — still smoking.

✦ 331 ✦
 “Plumb?” Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. “Remmy?”
Silence.
She put out the stove and the cigarette, and moved back to the hallway. Her
head felt dizzy as she looked both ways down the sun-dappled corridor.
“Homenum Revelio.” The tip of her wand lit — and then extinguished.
A twisting dread crept over her. Narcissa had to be here. That had been Lu-
cius’s plan all along—
A faint thunder crackled in the distance.
She stalked down the corridor, trying to breathe through the growing tight-
ness in her lungs. Her eyes roved the carpets and walls for clues, flicking past
the paintings and tapestries—
The Manor has many secrets.
Her feet paused. She blinked over her shoulder — staring at the tapestry
Lucius had shown her months ago when he’d forced her on a tour of the Manor.
Her neck stretched to gaze up at the lush landscape, the fields grassy and the
clouds high. A solitary mare grazed in the distance.
Hermione lifted her wand. “Dissendium.”
The mare lifted her head and stared at her through dark eyes.
“Aparecium,” said Hermione, her heart pumping faster. “Revelio. Appare
Vestigium—”
The mare chewed before turning and loping away, deep into the background.
Hermione’s arm dropped. She stepped to the wall, peering behind the tap-
estry and recasting her spells. Nothing. An ache pounded at her forehead. She’d
thought— she’d been certain—
“Miss!”
She jerked on the spot, and found Mippy running toward her.
“Miss comes home!”
“Mippy—” Hermione barely choked out the word before the elf flung her-
self around her legs. Hermione’s vision blurred as she bent to hug her back, but
then Mippy flinched, and she quickly released her shoulders.
There was a heavy metal chain around her neck. It looked like the one worn
by the elves at the Hogwarts Celebration Party, only thicker. Clenching her jaw,
Hermione cast a quick Severing Charm. It didn’t budge. She tried a Vanishing
Charm, then a Finite Incantatem. Neither worked.
She steadied herself, refocusing. “Mippy. Where is Narcissa?”
Mippy released her, dabbing at her eyes. “I can take you to Mistress!”
She wobbled backward, gesturing for Hermione to follow, and together
they raced in the direction she’d come. Mippy grew slower by the time they

✦ 332 ✦
passed the kitchens, panting heavily. Then she turned a corner Hermione had
never seen before.
A small door materialized at the end of a narrow corridor. Hermione
watched as Mippy bolted down it, slipping through the threshold and vanishing
into the darkness. Her heart pumped twice before she followed her, bending
lower and lower until she was forced to crawl.
The moment she squeezed through the tiny doorway, the ceiling raised, and
a cove of strange lights and lampshades appeared before her eyes.
Ten pairs of bright green and violet orbs locked onto her. Hermione pushed
to her feet, gaping at the small bunk beds and hammocks.
The elves’ bedrooms.
In the corner hung the same tapestry of the mare in the field. And below it,
on a cot two sizes too small for her, Narcissa Malfoy lay curled on her side,
facing the wall.
The air left Hermione’s lungs.
Narcissa’s hair had come loose from her chignon, her shoulders curving in
on themselves. Her ribs expanded, and a breath shuddered out of her.
“Narcissa?” She crossed the room quickly, kneeling next to the cot. “It’s
Hermione.”
There was a long pause. And then: “Is he gone?”
Her voice was small — childlike.
The silence stretched. And it felt like she’d been submerged in icy waters,
rising higher over her until she could barely draw air.
Hermione’s lips trembled. She felt herself splintering down the center as she
reached for Narcissa’s arm. A choked sound tore from Narcissa’s throat, and
when she turned over, Hermione broke apart.
They wept together. Hermione cradled Narcissa’s head in her arms as she
sobbed, tracing a hand through her hair like her own mother used to do.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
She glanced over her shoulder to look at the elves. Fat tears were rolling
down Plumb’s waxy cheeks. Hix had a handkerchief to his eyes. An elf smaller
than Mippy had his head in his hands, and Remmy and Boppy were bawling
into each other’s pillowcases.
A heaviness settled over Hermione like a shroud as she turned back to Narcissa.
Lucius was dead, but the world was still spinning. She still had promises to keep.
She stroked Narcissa’s hair. “It was quick. And it was what he wanted.” Her-
mione stared at the ceiling, blinking back her tears. “He did it for you, Narcissa.
I spoke to him. He made sure you were in the Manor before he died.”

✦ 333 ✦
 Narcissa let out a ragged sob. Hermione swallowed, gripping her tightly. “I
need your help. I’m so sorry to ask anything from you right now, but it can’t wait.”
A quiet fell over the room. And with an aching slowness, Narcissa lifted
her head and straightened. Her nose was red and her eyes were wet, but her
face was composed.
She sniffed once and said, “Foolish man.” Brushing the tears from her
lashes, she fixed her tired gaze on Hermione. “What is it?”
Hermione drew a shuddering breath. “There’s a mob at the gates. Lucius
provoked them, and they came for you after—after his trial. But the Manor
blocked everyone out except me. Do you know why?”
Narcissa shook her head, her brows knitted together. “I’m not sure what hap-
pened. I was in the dungeons. The doors burst open, and the guard was dragged up
the stairs by a—a wind of sorts. The elves came for me before I could investigate.”
Hermione nodded. Her mouth opened, but she hesitated at her next question.
“I felt it,” said Narcissa quietly. “So did they.”
Hermione dipped her chin, trying not to imagine how it must have felt.
“They’re still here, Narcissa. They’re trying to get in.” She bit her lip. “We don’t
know what magic is at play. We can’t be certain they won’t eventually break
through—”
Narcissa grabbed Hermione’s hand, clutching it with both of hers before turn-
ing to the elves. “Remmy, Plumb, and Tom-Tom — bring whatever food reserves
we have at once. Yipper and Boppy, fetch the essentials. Hix, check the grounds
and report back as soon as you can. The rest of you can fill in as needed.”
The elves nodded and scampered away, still sniffling. But Mippy stayed be-
hind, twirling her ear.
“Mippy.” Narcissa’s voice trembled. “I’d like my mother’s earrings and the
jade necklace. You know the one. Please bring it here and keep it safe.”
Mippy bowed and tottered to the door, the collar weighing heavy on her
thin shoulders.
A detail clicked into place as Hermione watched her leave. “They can’t Ap-
parate in the chains,” she said aloud.
“No.” Narcissa stood. “The True Order put those on before they were Ren-
nervated. They block their magic.”
She helped Hermione to her feet, and together they crawled out of the en-
chanted passageway.
A boom greeted them the moment they reentered the corridor. Hermione’s
eyes widened at the ceiling, her breath coming in quick pants.
“Is there a way out? A Portkey, or a secret passage, or—”
“Not that I know of,” said Narcissa.

✦ 334 ✦
 Another explosion, rattling the paintings as it rippled overhead.
“You should go, Hermione. If you leave now, I’m sure all will be forgiven.”
Hermione spun, her eyes wide at the suggestion. “And turn you over to them?”
Narcissa was silent. The floors trembled. Hermione threaded her arm
through Narcissa’s and walked with her down the corridor.
“Have they been decent to you here?” Hermione asked her.
“As well as could be expected. I haven’t been physically harmed, at least.”
Narcissa squeezed her arm. “And how have you been?”
As they walked together, Hermione told Narcissa about St. Mungo’s and
her meeting with General Pierre and General Jacobs. She tread carefully when
she reached her visit with Lucius, telling Narcissa as much as she thought she
could manage.
“You shouldn’t have defended him, you know.” Narcissa sighed, and she
sounded so much like Draco that Hermione’s heart clenched. “If I know my
husband, his death was mere castling. I’m certain he has other chess pieces that
have yet to move.”
They turned the corner to the entry room, stopping cold when a huffing Hix
and Jot nearly barrelled into them.
“Mistress,” Hix said. “The intruders can’t get in. They try and try, but noth-
ing. The Generals are here—”
Hermione moved quickly to the tall window facing the front, clutching the
doorframe as she peered through. The crowd outside the gate had grown larger
and more organized. Most were in black military robes. Her eyes caught a pair
of gold sashes near the front — Generals Pierre and Jacobs.
Pierre’s silver hair caught in the sunlight as he strode to the guards around
the perimeter, directing them away from the gates. Jacobs huddled with a group
of blue-robed soldiers, pointing somewhere above the Manor.
“They came to question me in Azkaban,” Narcissa said over her shoulder.
“They brought in a Legilimens, but they soon found out I had no idea where
Lucius, Draco, or my sister were.”
A lead weight dropped in Hermione’s stomach. She turned to Narcissa,
wondering if now was the time to tell her about Bellatrix.
Narcissa stepped around her, standing directly in front of the window.
“They also interrogated me the day I was returned to the Manor. They were
quite put out that they couldn’t get into the library or certain private
rooms. And the fact that their men kept getting lost in the corridors.”
Her gaze was intent on the crowd.
“After looking into my mind, their Legilimens was convinced I had no idea
why the Manor wouldn’t cooperate.” Narcissa folded her hands in front of her.

✦ 335 ✦
“Of course, if they’d bothered to suppress my magic before they read my mind,
the answers they received would have been very different.” Narcissa’s lips
twitched as her eyes met Hermione’s. “Some men are predictable on any side.”
Something bubbled in her belly, and then Hermione felt herself laughing,
her face breaking into a grin.
At three in the afternoon, the elves finished stocking their quarters with sup-
plies just as a dozen more blue-robed wizards arrived. The house continued to
rock with explosions.
A group of decorated wizards in red arrived around seven. They seemed to
confer with Pierre and Jacobs, gesturing animatedly.
As it grew darker, Hermione conjured a couch for the two of them to rest
on. The worst explosion was at ten, chattering Hermione’s teeth and smashing
a clock that tumbled off the mantelpiece. Narcissa startled awake to watch or-
ange flames crackle across the night sky. But the wards held.
By half-three, almost all of the wandlight beyond the gate had vanished.
Hermione sat onto the couch, watching over Narcissa as she slept and fighting
her exhaustion.
・✦・
Hermione’s eyelids fluttered open. Her vision focused on the sunlight over-
head, streaming through the high windows. Birds were singing outside.
She jolted upright and found Narcissa standing at the front windows like a
sentinel. She glanced over at Hermione, her eyes blue and warm.
“Come and see.”
Hermione scrambled to her feet.
A dozen guards were posted around the Manor, silent and still. Hermione
craned her neck in both directions, but she saw no army. No generals.
The wards had held.
Hermione closed her eyes, swaying. Narcissa clutched her elbow.
Relief sank into her. There were still a million obstacles ahead, but for now,
they were safe, just as Lucius had intended. And she was a step closer to bring-
ing the last of Narcissa Malfoy’s family home.
Her heart skipped as a dark memory flitted to the surface — black eyes and
wild curls. Hermione breathed deep, shoving down the dread in her veins. She
needed Narcissa’s help and trust. And that meant no more secrets.
“Narcissa, there’s something I have to confess.” Her hands trembled. “Bel-
latrix is dead. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Narcissa went very still. “You’re certain?”
Hermione nodded. Her heart sunk lower in her ribs.

✦ 336 ✦
 Narcissa released her hand, winding her arms around her stomach. “I al-
ways knew she wouldn’t survive the True Order’s invasion. I had already as-
sumed I would never see her again.”
“Actually, it was… before.” Hermione’s stomach twisted itself in knots. “On
the night of the Hogwarts celebration, she caught Draco and I leaving on a mis-
sion, and—” Hermione’s throat was dry as sandpaper. “She was about to kill
me. So Draco…”
Narcissa spun from the window, pacing to the fireplaces. Her shoulders
rose with a sharp breath. “I need… Just give me a minute. I’ll see you for lunch
in an hour.”
Any lingering relief Hermione felt evaporated like mist as she watched Nar-
cissa walk away. Her shoulders shook as she turned the corner.
Hermione blinked out the window. She thought of her still waters, pushing
her guilt and sorrow beneath the surface. And as her breathing steadied, her
logic clicked into place.
How had she passed the barrier when the rest of them couldn’t? And what
were these wards? She turned her eyes to the sky, thinking.
Only one place would have the answers.
・✦・
Standing outside of Lucius Malfoy’s study felt like visiting his grave.
The wood was marred with burn marks and slashes, just like the library. But
she knew the brass knob would warm beneath her palm when she gripped it,
and that the door would swing open with a creak.
She stood on the precipice and peered inside, feeling her pulse in her fingertips.
Everything looked exactly as she and Draco had left it the last time they’d been here.
The black cabinet containing his Pensieve was closed and locked. The chair
behind his desk was turned to the side, as if someone had just risen from it.
She stepped over the threshold and opened the silver lock on the cabinet
with a touch of her fingers. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she plucked the mem-
ories in the black vials from the shelves and slipped them into her pockets. She
would keep them close to her for as long as the charges against Draco remained.
She prodded the memories in the basin with her wand, flicking through a
few she’d already seen, and a few she hadn’t. They might have been useful in
another life, where Lucius Malfoy was alive and given a fair trial. But she sup-
posed it would do no good to dwell.
As she locked the cabinet, she saw an image of long fingers running down
the dark wood. Warm hands on her face, and grey eyes staring into hers.
That’s not why I’ll do it.

✦ 337 ✦
 Her throat constricted, and her eyes stung. She tucked the image away and
turned to the bookshelves.
The top drawer of Lucius’s desk contained an old leather book with a worn
strap. She unwound it, and the pages fell open to show a datebook of sorts —
almost a journal, enchanted to hold years upon years of information. The dried
petals of a pink flower were pressed between the front pages.
She thumbed through it, finding appointments, passwords to the Slytherin
Common Room, Gringotts vault numbers. But about halfway through the jour-
nal, a picture of Narcissa in a wedding gown fluttered to the floor. Hermione
picked it up, marveling at how beautiful she looked. Someone out of frame
made her laugh before her demure smile returned.
Hermione traced the photo’s edges as she replaced it between pages, her fin-
gers pausing on the words Potion Making for Beginners, written in Lucius’s el-
egant scrawl. Her eyes narrowed.
She closed the journal and turned to Lucius’s bookshelves, skimming the titles.
There, on the bottom shelf, was a tattered copy. Potion Making for Beginners.
Hermione reached for it, tilting the book off the shelf — and the bookcase
cracked, wrenching free of the wall.
She jumped back, watching the bookcase rearrange itself, the shelves shift-
ing and books vanishing until it swung back, revealing a hidden door. Hermi-
one stepped as close as she could and discovered a room no larger than a closet,
rich with the scent of centuries-old books.
Her veins buzzed, her fingers itching to read each of them. She cast a few
spells checking for wards against Muggle-borns, crossed the threshold, and
looked around.
The shelves to her left held volumes dated from the 1100s. She followed
them to 1999. She pulled the 1999 book with a frown, flipping to the last page.
There, in a grand looping scrawl, was Lucius Malfoy III, died 24 May.
She gasped, snapping it closed and spinning around. These were the Malfoy
family archives. Draco knew about this room. He’d come here to research on
the Romania property. When he told her about the “archives,” she’d imagined
a dusty or box or two. Not a small library.
Sliding the 1999 book back on the shelf, she cleared her throat. “Show me
‘death of the owner.’ Cross-reference with ‘Manor defenses.’”
The walls shivered. Several texts pulled from the shelves, their pages flipping
open to the exact pages for her.
Beaming, she summoned them to stack neatly on top of the small desk at
the room’s center.

✦ 338 ✦
 The first was a book entitled Wards and Protections. She scanned the flagged
page until she found the passage she needed.
Untimely death of the Lord of the Manor from poison, curse, or premeditated
physical injury triggers the Familial/Blood Protection Procedures (p. 289). Only
upon the proper acceptance of the heir will the Manor release its Protection
Wards. The below counter-spells, when performed by the heir of Malfoy Manor,
will counteract the Protection Wards.
Hermione conjured a scroll of parchment and tapped her wand to it to tran-
scribe the necessary counter-spells. She flipped to page 289, and read on to find
familiar predicaments — forceful ejection of non-blood and non-familial per-
sons, the sealing of Floo networks, anti-Apparition charms (with exceptions for
familial elves), fortified wards, and external defenses.
Draco had given Dolohov rights to the Manor, but Dolohov was dead, cir-
cumventing his claim. So it stood to reason that the Manor would only become
fully operational once Draco returned and performed the counter-spells. And
none of this explained why the Manor let her run past its barriers. The other
two passages were mere journal entries, noting the untimely deaths of Malfoys
past and when the property was restored.
Hermione rubbed her forehead as she pored over the passage for the fifth
time. It was possible that she’d been inadvertently tied to the Manor through
her tattoo. Or perhaps Draco’s blood had lingered in her system somehow after
he’d given it to her in Romania.
She grimaced as her temples began throbbing. She would have to consider
all of this later. For now, the Manor would remain locked down, and Narcissa
would be safe inside its walls. She replaced the books on the shelves and stepped
out of the small archive room. Lucius’s bookshelf slowly closed behind her, and
she swept from the room.
That evening, Hermione had dinner with Narcissa in the dining room. It
was a small meal, and as Hermione pushed her roast around, she tried not to
think about what they would do when they ran out of food.
Narcissa didn’t say a word about Bellatrix or Lucius, seemingly set on griev-
ing in private. Hermione followed her lead, pretending not to notice the redness
around her eyes.
“I found the Malfoy archives,” Hermione said over her vegetables. Narcissa
gave a polite hum, and Hermione played with her napkin. “The… heir of Mal-
foy Manor must perform counter-spells to lift the restrictions. So, I suppose it’s
good that you and I are safe here for now, but we can’t move freely until Draco
comes home.”

✦ 339 ✦
 Narcissa lowered her fork with a weary expression, her eyes closing. “Not
Draco. Dolohov.”
A prickling coldness shot down Hermione’s spine. “He’s dead. Dolohov is
dead, so—”
“Hermione,” Narcissa said softly. “Inheritances are entailed on estates. It
doesn’t matter that Antonin Dolohov is dead. The Dolohov estate owns the
Manor now that Lucius is dead.”
Hermione stared at her, balling her napkin in her fists. “So, we’re waiting
for some Dolohov distant cousin to come waltzing through those doors?”
“Yes. It would be up to Gringotts to find them. But I’m sure Gringotts has
a copy of the counter-spells somewhere. They serve as a registry of sorts, for
older families.”
It felt like the room was tilting. “Well, it will take some time, at least. In the
current climate, there’s no way the goblins will be able to transfer a massive
property to a relative of a known Death Eater—”
“I wouldn’t be so certain.” Narcissa pressed her lips together. “The goblins
pay no mind to petty matters like human governments, Hermione. Gringotts is
very much operational.”
The truth of Narcissa’s words hit her like a blow to the gut.
Of course it was. She’d learned about this in History of Magic. The Ministry
had never been able to control Gringotts, and neither would the True Order.
Narcissa placed her elbows on the table, pressing her forehead into her
palms. “I’m sorry, Hermione. We may not be as safe here as we thought.”
Hermione sucked in air. “No use in worrying about it before it happens, I
suppose.”
“Yes.”
They finished their dinner in silence. Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling
that Lucius Malfoy was far too clever for that end. He wouldn’t leave them in
such a vulnerable position. But then her doubt crept in, and she settled on Oc-
clumency to bury her anxiety.
After dinner, Hermione offered to sit with Narcissa in the library for a few
hours. She declined, blaming a headache. The black vials clicked in Hermione’s
pockets as she prepared to climb the stairs, and she paused. If there was a chance
the boundary spells could come down at any moment, she needed to gather
everything now. She couldn’t be caught without everything on her person.
Turning on her heel, she flew down the stairs to the potions laboratory. The
door was unlocked, but the room was untouched — likely due to its Notice-Me-
Not charm. The vials and cauldrons were just as she’d left them, her instructions
and list of ingredients still on the workbench. Taking a deep breath, she filed away

✦ 340 ✦
her memories, grabbed all of her notes, and shrunk them down. She went through
the bottom shelves, where she knew she’d find a small leather pouch for carrying
ingredients. She emptied her pockets on the table, shrank down the black vials,
and cast an Extension Charm on the leather pouch. Just like the one on the
beaded handbag she’d used while on the run with Harry and Ron.
Clicking the door closed, she went upstairs to her bedroom for the first time
since she’d returned to Malfoy Manor. It was also untouched. Almost as if
Draco could appear at any moment, making a snide remark about dinner and
“practicing.”
She crossed the room to her nightstand, and a bright white light flooded the
dim room as she pulled open the bottom drawer. The glass jar holding the mag-
ical signature of her virginity glowed like a firefly. She shrunk it down, and
added it to the leather pouch. She extended the straps and slipped it around her
neck, resolving never to take it off.
She looked around her old room, clutching the pouch to her chest. Compared
to the Burrow, it felt closer to easing the ache in her chest. But it still wasn’t enough.
Hermione plucked a nightdress from her wardrobe, and moved through the
panel to Draco’s bedroom. She jumped when she found Boppy folding the sheets.
“Miss! Boppy is expecting you. Boppy didn’t change the pillows for you, just
as you like.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, but there was no point in denying it. She smiled,
warmth sparking in her chest. “Thank you, Boppy.”
Boppy nodded solemnly. “And Boppy knows Miss likes to see the Prophet,
but Boppy did not want Mistress to see. It arrived this morning.”
He moved to Draco’s desk, and held up the copy of that morning’s Prophet.
LUCIUS MALFOY DEAD, MURDERED ON THE STAND
Hermione clutched the bedpost before her legs gave out. “Yes, very good,
Boppy. Let’s not share this with Narcissa. And I’d like to see the New York
Ghost as well, if you have it.”
Boppy bowed and wobbled out. Hermione collapsed in Draco’s desk chair
and unfolded the Prophet with shaking fingers. The cover photo was a picture
of the guards leading Lucius to the stage. His spine was straight, his lips curved.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before reading.
After surrendering himself to the True Order last week, General Lucius Mal-
foy of the Great Order stood trial yesterday morning before the Provisional Gov-
ernment of England’s Justice Tribunal. Malfoy’s crimes included mass murder of
Muggle and magical lives in Canada, conspiracy to commit mass murder in Italy
and Switzerland, and the murder of over a dozen True Order members and

✦ 341 ✦
British citizens. But before the presiding judge could finish reading the charges
against him, Lucius Malfoy was killed by a Killing Curse from the crowd.
In a statement to the Prophet, General Jacobs indicated that “the people have
spoken. Had he stood a full trial, he undoubtedly would have joined the ranks of
his comrades.”
Rage simmered beneath her skin. She thumbed through the rest of the pa-
per, searching for a mention of what happened afterward, but there was noth-
ing. After her second reread, the Ghost appeared on the desk. She flipped
through the pages until she found mention of it. Gertie Gumley wrote:
The so-called Justice Tribunal, formed to prosecute the U.K.’s most dangerous
supporters of Lord Voldemort, dissolved into a mob this morning when Lucius
Malfoy, Voldemort’s right-hand general, was murdered on the stand. Witnesses
say that Lucius Malfoy had a defensive solicitor ready to speak on his behalf, but
the Tribunal quickly lost control of their “audience,” and a Killing Curse was cast.
Multiple eyewitnesses reported that the trial was presided over by General Robert
Pierre, a French citizen, although the Provisional Government of England has
assured concerned allies that he will play a secondary role.
From there, eye-witnesses report that the mob Apparated to Lucius Malfoy’s
estate, intent on storming the manor house and killing his yet-to-be-tried wife
inside. Boundaries and defensive spells at the old wizarding estate kept the rioters
from entering, but it seems no one is safe from General Robert Pierre and his
Justice Tribunal. For the third week in a row, M.A.C.U.S.A. President Harrison
declined to comment.
Hermione’s heart raced as she read the article again, and again. The True Or-
der had managed to withhold details from the international community, but Ger-
tie Gumley was onto them. And Hermione would see to it that she closed in.
Summoning a quill and parchment, she flipped to the back of the paper,
finding the contact information for Gertie Gumley. She wrote her a letter, of-
fering all the information she had.
At four in the morning an owl arrived from America, startling Hermione
from her fitful sleep in Draco’s bed.
Gertie Gumley had a page of questions. And Hermione was eager to an-
swer them.
・✦・
The front page of the New York Ghost the following morning had a picture
of Hermione with the snappy headline: SOLD, SAVED, SILENCED.

✦ 342 ✦
 Hermione’s story received three full pages. Hermione was careful to avoid
discussing her captivity at Malfoy Manor, focusing exclusively on her time fol-
lowing her release at St. Mungo’s and the trial of Lucius Malfoy.
“It’s the principle of the matter,” writes Miss Granger, who has declined to
share her location. “I’ve been eager to share my memories with the True Order,
but they’ve refused me repeatedly. It sickens me that Alecto and Amycus Carrow
were killed without facing a comprehensive list of their crimes, or a single state-
ment from one of their victims. Mob justice is no victory. As monstrous as they
were, justice, and closure, requires every defendant to have their day in court.
And I’ll continue to fight for it.”
Miss Granger was present at Lucius Malfoy’s trial, and accompanied the mob
when it attempted to storm his manor house. Unlike the rest of the mob, however,
Miss Granger was able to pass through the boundary, which she suspects was due
to the magic associated with her tattoo.
She confirms exclusively to the New York Ghost that Narcissa Malfoy is alive
and well inside Malfoy Manor. Moreover, she alleges that the True Order joined
the mob, using military force in an attempt to penetrate the estate’s defenses while
she and Mrs. Malfoy were inside. “The use of such force on any British citizen is
harrowing, let alone a defendant with vague, ill-defined crimes. If Britain exe-
cutes every individual who was associated with a Voldemort supporter, none of
us will be left. Focusing on the family members of Death Eaters is a distraction
from what they should be doing, which is pursuing Great Order officials who have
fled the continent.”
The Ghost that had arrived at her window that morning held a note from
Gumley: Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Granger.
Narcissa came to Draco’s room that afternoon. Her eyes were red, and she
struggled to speak. After embracing Hermione, she managed to excuse herself
for the rest of the evening.
The following morning, the Prophet contained an announcement that all
trials would be postponed until the following week.
As Narcissa grieved, Hermione spent hours in the Malfoy library, research-
ing ways to remove the elves’ chains while the elves rotated as her guinea pigs.
After three rigorous days of research, she was able to unlock it. Plumb buried
her face in her hands and wept as the metal fell off her shoulders. Hermione
spent the rest of the night patting the backs of a parade of crying elves.
The food at the Manor improved. Thanks to their exemption from the
Manor’s anti-Apparition wards, the elves were able to Apparate to buy food
and other supplies to replenish the pantries, and Hix was very pleased that he

✦ 343 ✦
could tend to the grounds again, muttering under his breath about the weeds
in the bluebells.
The Ghost continued to escalate its criticism of the Justice Tribunal. A new
editor was announced at the Prophet, and Hermione almost spilled her coffee
on an article that read slightly critical of General Jacobs. But whatever was pub-
lished, the guards outside the Manor remained.
Hermione had taken to glaring at them when she was bored, but the only
times they lifted their eyes from the horizon was to stare up at the owls soaring
through the boundaries.
She began receiving letters from all around the world, supporting her story
and her struggles. Some were personal; others professional. One human rights
organization gave her a standing offer of free counsel. She directed them to Ol-
iver Wood’s case, expressing her concerns that he was being held without cause,
and requesting that they address it quietly. She heard from the American Soci-
ety for No-Maj-Borns, and a new coalition in Austria looking to protect Mug-
gle-borns’ right to an education. Narcissa helped her answer every one of them,
and Hermione screened all correspondence for Narcissa, finding condolences
from acquaintances and Lucius’s business partners.
Among the letters was a pale blue envelope addressed to her in a familiar
handwriting. She ripped it open, finding a short note from Ginny.
Hermione,
I believe you about the Malfoys. I have since the morning you left, when
George told me about your tattoo antidote potion. I’m not speaking to
him at the moment. Or Ron.
I’m sorry they came after you at the Manor, but I can’t find it in me to be
sorry that my brother’s killer is dead. I hope you can understand that.
I miss you.
Ginny
Hermione folded it carefully, sank onto the carpets in Draco’s bedroom,
and wept.
She thought she’d lost her. But Ginny missed her.
When her tears had dried, she quickly wrote out a response, keeping it short
so as to not overwhelm her.
By the end of the week, they had passed eight owls back and forth, asking
small questions, giving detailed answers. Hermione had learned that Ginny was
going through Molly’s cookbook, trying each recipe no matter how disgusting
they sounded. She’d declined attending a mission to Egypt, where several

✦ 344 ✦
members of Romano’s cabinet were said to be in hiding. Ron and Percy were
in Argentina as part of the team to track and capture Minister Santos of Spain;
George was relegated to paperwork for General Jacobs. In turn, Hermione told
her all about the meeting with Pierre and Jacobs, and the letters she was receiv-
ing around the world. She told her bits and pieces about her time in “captivity.”
The meeting with Cho. How Draco had Obliviated Charlotte the night Edin-
burgh was attacked. Ginny never replied to the stories directly, but she kept
writing. And that was all Hermione asked for.
She tucked every last one of Ginny’s letters into the pouch around her neck,
keeping them close to her heart.
Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair. June 5. Last year, Draco had
been injured on his birthday. This year, she could only pray.
Narcissa and Hermione were just finishing their tea when a crack! jolted
them. Hermione spun in her chair to see Hix wringing his hands. “Mistress,
Miss. There is a person at the gates.”
Hermione frowned and darted to the front window, Narcissa on her heels.
Hermione could just make out the figure of a woman in her black True Or-
der uniform, her brown hair pulled into a sharp bun and her hands folded be-
hind her back. Hestia Jones. Apart from the guards stationed ten meters to ei-
ther side of her, she was alone.
Hermione stared at the solitary figure, her mind working quickly. She’d
been wondering when she’d hear from the True Order again. The pressure on
them had been growing. The Prophet was more critical by the day; just last
week, over two dozen countries had signed a statement by the International
Confederation of Wizards sharply rebuking their actions post-war. But she cer-
tainly hadn’t expected them to show up at the gates.
Nodding to Narcissa, she checked her wand at her hip and pulled open the
front doors. Hestia rolled her shoulders back and nodded to her. Hermione de-
scended the steps and moved down the gravel drive at her own pace. The clouds
drifted away from the sun, and the grounds lit up as she approached the gate.
Stopping five steps away, she examined Hestia’s set expression.
“Miss Granger. How are you?”
“Splendid,” Hermione quipped. “How can I help you today, Hestia?”
Hestia tilted her head at her. “I’m not here to mince words, Miss Granger.
The Provisional Government recognizes its missteps, especially where the Jus-
tice Tribunal is concerned. I’m here on their behalf.”
Hermione lifted a brow. “Is this an apology, then?”
“It could be. But I don’t think you’re particularly interested in that.” Hestia
squinted up at the sun, and stepped closer. “The Justice Tribunal is being

✦ 345 ✦
disbanded. We’re forming a new council to prosecute the political and military
leadership of the Great Order. The International Magical Military Tribunal.”
It was Hermione’s turn to tilt her head. “‘International.’ Which countries
are participating, then?”
“Switzerland, Italy, Canada, France. And Great Britain, of course.”
Hestia’s face was impassive. Hermione strove for the same. “Do you expect
me to applaud your efforts?” she asked.
“No,” said Hestia. “I expect you to accept our invitation to join.”
Hermione blinked at her, stunned.
She quickly looked over her shoulder at the horizon. “Give me one reason I
should join.”
“I’ll give you several. Due process. Fair trials with representation. Sentenc-
ing agreed upon by a two-thirds majority vote. These are just a few things that
are in discussion. Nothing is concrete yet, but we’re in talks with the I.C.W. for
guidance and approval.”
Hermione stared at her through narrowed eyes. “Tell me, are other nine-
teen-year-olds being invited on this council? Or just the celebrities?”
“No, and yes, in a manner of speaking,” Hestia said. “I’m not here to insult
your intelligence, Miss Granger. Of course your public platform is a key reason.
But we have others.”
“Which are?”
“You have a unique viewpoint. You would be the only member of the coun-
cil that spent a year enslaved.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “And in what capacity would I
be serving?”
“You’re too young to be a judge, and you lack the training to serve as pros-
ecutor or defense counsel. But you will have a place at the table of advisors. And
if I know anything about you — and I flatter myself that I do — you want to be
sitting at this table. Trust me.”
Hestia’s face was calm and composed as Hermione weighed her options.
There were two possibilities: Hestia was telling her the truth — and her expla-
nation certainly seemed sensible and frank — or there was some game or ploy
she hadn’t considered.
Either way, the answer was irrelevant. Her heart, gut, and logic all whispered
to her in tandem, telling her that there was no way she could pass up a seat at
the table that would help decide Draco’s fate. Or his friends’.
Still, she’d learned a thing or two in a house full of Slytherins. She fixed
Hestia with her iciest stare.
“I want all charges against Narcissa Malfoy dropped. Immediately.”

✦ 346 ✦
 “That’s certainly something you can propose at the first meeting—”
“No. Now,” Hermione said. “I’m not joining any council that can look at
Narcissa Malfoy’s supposed ‘crimes’ and choose to proceed with prosecuting
her using the weight of a full military tribunal.”
Hestia’s lips twitched, and for a split second, Hermione wondered if she was
trying to hide a smile. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
“Once we receive the official pardon, I expect it to be printed in the papers.
Owl me with the meeting information. Thank you for your time today, Hestia.”
She turned on her heel and walked back to the house, dismissing her.
・✦・
Two days later, the Prophet announced the dropped charges against Nar-
cissa Malfoy and the creation of the new International Magical Military Tribu-
nal, with a full list of all members. Hestia sent an owl with the official pardon,
and an invitation to the first meeting that following Monday. Hermione took a
full day to respond, intent to spend the day celebrating with Narcissa. Narcissa
showed her where they stored the champagne from the winery in France, and
for the first time in her life, Hermione had the pleasure of seeing Narcissa Mal-
foy slide into less-than-perfect articulation.
When the True Order guards had still not been released from their posts
outside the Manor the following morning, Hermione sent back her reply, in-
quiring as to their purpose.
They were gone by that afternoon.
More letters arrived. Most were supportive, but others spewed hatred and
rage. Hermione looked up a spell for destroying Howlers, and made sure she
reviewed the post before Narcissa. One night, an unsigned letter arrived from a
peevish owl, calling Hermione a traitor and a whore. Hermione tossed it into
the fireplace before Narcissa could ask about it. As she watched it burn, she
summoned a letter from her pouch that she’d received earlier that day, reading
it over and over:
I read about Narcissa today. I’m happy for you.
Ginny
They agreed that it still wasn’t safe for Narcissa to leave the Manor. Luckily,
she didn’t have much reason to. The Prophet article was followed by a flurry of
letters from friends. She started corresponding with Neville, and told Viktor
she’d be happy to meet once her schedule lightened.
She was finishing breakfast with Narcissa on Thursday morning when Hix
appeared at the table. “Mistress,” he whispered. “The goblins are here.”

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 Hermione set her coffee cup down with a sharp clink.
Narcissa stiffened. Then she rose from the table, patting her mouth. “Thank
you, Hix. Please see them over the barrier and escort them to the drawing
room.” Hix popped away, and before Hermione could think past the panic in
her chest, Narcissa was calling for Mippy. She appeared with a sharp crack!
Narcissa inhaled before speaking. “Be prepared to pack up our things to
transfer to Grimmauld Place.”
Mippy Apparated away with wide eyes, and Hermione pushed out of her
chair. The goblins were here to discuss the Manor. They’d found the heir to the
Dolohov estate, and they were here to tell them to pack up and leave.
Narcissa nodded at her once, her face pale as a sheet, and Hermione followed
her from the dining room. She hadn’t asked what it would look like, when they
were forced to leave — what they could take, what they could leave behind.
Her mind drifted to the brass jewelry box in her old bedroom as she followed
Narcissa into the drawing room. Swallowing, she gripped her leather pouch in
one hand, and took Narcissa’s in the other. She had everything she needed.
They’d no sooner taken a stiff seat on the sofa then the door opened, and two
goblins in waistcoats and trousers filed in, following Hix. One was focused on his
pocket watch attached to a golden chain; the other was thinner with a pair of specs.
Narcissa stood and bowed her head. “Welcome. Would you like to sit?”
“No,” the thin one croaked. He had puffs of white hair growing from his
ears. “Boggleben?”
The other — Boggleben, presumably — waddled forward and dropped a
thick folio of aging leather onto the coffee table. He dragged his forefinger down
the spine, and it fell open.
“Lucius Malfoy III is dead.” Boggleben stated it, but still looked to Narcissa
for confirmation.
Narcissa rolled back her shoulders. “Yes. On 24 May.”
Boggleben nodded and gave Hix a stern look until he jumped and exited
the room. He cleared his throat and stood to the side. “Gnarland will begin
proceedings.”
Gnarland clasped his stubby hands and said, “As Lucius Malfoy III has
passed on, it is incumbent upon Gringotts to ensure that the Wiltshire Manor,
along with his remaining estates, properties, and assets, are properly transferred
to his named heir in his family line. His next of kin.”
Hermione’s tongue felt thick in her throat. How could Dolohov’s distant
relative be Lucius’s next of kin? She stole a glance to Narcissa, who was trying
to mask her confusion.

✦ 348 ✦
 Narcissa’s voice shook once as she said, “Thank you, Gnarland. And Lu-
cius’s next of kin is... who in your records?”
Gnarland peered down at the paperwork. “This estate passes to his daugh-
ter. A Miss Hermione M— Granger.”
She felt like she was made of stone. There was a ringing in her ears.
Narcissa was still. “Oh?”
Gnarland wobbled to the folio and began gathering documents. “Yes. Grin-
gotts was notified of a new Malfoy during the early hours of 26 July 1998. As
the child was said to be—19, we penned a letter to Lucius Malfoy III seeking
additional confirmation. On 26 July at mid-day, we received his affirmation
using his personal magical seal.”
Narcissa’s mouth fell open as she took the offered letter. Hermione looked
over her shoulder, finding Lucius’s elegant scrawl confirming the legitimacy of
Hermione Jean Granger as his blood heir.
She blinked several times, her mind spinning in a thousand directions. “Lu-
cius Malfoy told you that he — fathered me?”
Boggleben scoffed. “No. We wrote to him, seeking confirmation. Our books
are magically binding. One cannot just create a blood heir out of the ether.”
Gnarland mumbled something that sounded like, “Highly irregular.”
The letter drifted from Narcissa’s fingertips.
Hermione’s mind spun. 26 July — after Dover Beach, but before Switzerland.
Before Harry’s birthday, but after the first night at Edinburgh.
A flicker of memory shocked her like an electrical current. A flash of a
blade slicing a line over her heart. Narcissa’s fingers brushing water against
her eyes and lips.
Her hand rose to the leather pouch around her neck — the jar containing
the magical signature of her virginity inside.
The mother cleanses, the father bleeds her. It wasn’t a metaphorical phrasing.
They had claimed her during that ancient ritual.
Hermione turned to Narcissa, but she was blinking down at Lucius’s letter
again, lowering herself back to the sofa.
“May we continue?” Gnarland warbled.
“I don’t understand,” said Hermione suddenly. She opened her mouth,
and closed it.
“Forgive me, but neither do I.” Narcissa looked up, extending the letter back
to him. “Lucius and I have a son, Draco. I would have thought the male line
would carry the inheritance and Manor. And Draco— well, he— “
“We questioned that as well.” Gnarland took the next letter Boggleben was
handing him. “But on the evening of 26 July, we received a second letter from

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Lucius Malfoy III, requesting that the Male Line Proviso and the Pure-Blood
Heir Clause, both signed by Armand Malfoy I, be overridden and replaced with
an Eldest Progeny Rider.”
Hermione’s mind swam. She braced her hand on the sofa as Gnarland
passed the letter to her..
She was nine months older than Draco. If Lucius claimed her as his heir and
signed the paperwork for the Manor to be passed to his eldest, then Draco’s
deal with Dolohov—
Narcissa cleared her throat. “Last summer, my son signed over the rights to
his full inheritance to Antonin Dolohov. I’m not sure if you’ve communicated
with his estate—”
“We’re well aware.” Gnarland’s mouth twisted. “A claim on the Malfoy
holdings was filed by Mr. Dolohov on 9 May. It was legitimate at the time, but
recall, that was a contract signed by Draco Malfoy I. As of Miss M— Granger’s
adoption, and the paperwork filed 27 July 1998, Draco Malfoy I is no longer the
heir, and all legal proceedings assuming said designation are null and void.”
Hermione’s fingers shook as she brought them to her lips. She wasn’t sure
if she was about to laugh, cry, or vomit out of pure nerves.
Lucius Malfoy had left the Manor in her name. That was why she could cross
the estate line while the mob was repelled. That was why she could enter Lu-
cius’s study when only Narcissa and Draco should have been able to. Draco had
bled for her in Romania, but he never needed to.
As far as Gringotts was concerned, she was a Malfoy. A blood heir.
“Ahem.” Boggleben set down his pocket watch, looking cross. “Lucius Malfoy
also requested the following: Property records are not to be released to the Ministry
for five years upon transfer of assets to the heir, and Miss Hermione Granger’s true
surname is sealed and not to be passed to the Ministry until she requests it.”
“My true surname?” said Hermione weakly.
Narcissa looked over at her, a small, exasperated smile on her face.
“Miss Granger?”
She stared up at Gnarland, dazed, as he unrolled a scroll and extended a quill
to her. She struggled to process the legal jargon through the fog in her brain,
her eyes popping at the itemized list of her inheritance at the bottom — the
Malfoy assets, totaling an astronomical sum, and the Malfoy estates in the U.K.,
France, Monaco, America, Brazil, and Japan.
Hermione swallowed thickly. “But what about Draco? And Narcissa?” She
looked down at the contract again, searching for their names. “Neither of
them are listed.”

✦ 350 ✦
 Gnarland raised a grizzled brow over the top of his thin specs. “Miss Granger,
the practice of a solitary child serving as heir is a long-respected tradition among
the Malfoys. Once the account is in your name, you are trusted to act dutifully on
behalf of your family. Anyone can live upon the property, as long as you approve.
The money can be passed into whatever account you wish.”
Hermione shook her head, as if clearing the water from her ears. She glanced
to Narcissa, and found her smiling at her with wet eyes. She nodded once.
Sucking in a breath, Hermione took the quill from Gnarland. She signed,
wincing slightly as her name appeared in her own blood on the parchment. As
she stared at her signature above Lucius’s, it felt as if a warm wind had envel-
oped her. Like she’d slipped into a hot bath after a long day.
The Manor seemed to gleam when she finally looked up. The curtains bil-
lowed and the walls hummed. A new life in her veins.
“Miss Granger, would you like the Malfoy vault emptied and directed into
your own?”
She started. “No, not at all.”
“Very well. Please note that all family members will have access to the Mal-
foy vault unless you specify otherwise.” Gnarland slammed his folio shut before
she could respond.
“That should do it, Miss Granger.” Boggleben checked his watch again with
a sigh. “As one of Gringotts’ largest vault owners, you will have premier service
at our locations internationally. You can find all the information here.” He pro-
duced a golden scroll, which she took with clammy fingers. “Please send us your
chosen artist within exactly two weeks. There are approved names at the bot-
tom. Should you fail to respond, one will be chosen for you.”
Hermione felt her eye twitch. “Artist?”
“Yes. As heir, you will have your painting added to the Malfoy gallery, as
well as—”
She laughed at him before she could stop herself.
He stopped mid-sentence, clearly affronted.
Her hand fell from her mouth. “I’m sorry, but— this is ridiculous. I’m not
having my portrait hung in the Malfoy gallery.”
Gnarland stared her down through his specs. “This is a non-negotiable
clause, Miss Granger, of the contract you just freely signed. Should you need a
notarized copy, our office will be more than willing to—”
Her legs moved without warning, carrying her out the doors of the drawing
room and into the entry hall where she couldn’t hear Narcissa calling for her.
Her lungs struggled to take air, and her skin was cold with sweat.

✦ 351 ✦
 Hermione leaned against the fireplace, wishing the Floo was open so she
could take it somewhere and just run.
She glanced at the distant noise from the drawing room and moved quickly
away, letting her feet take her down the nearest corridor.
When had Lucius decided that he would give it all to her? In the split second
he’d read the German translation of the ritual in the dead of night? When the
goblins had written to him about a new Malfoy in their books?
Had he hoped to take it back from her once he’d guaranteed Dolohov
couldn’t have it?
She didn’t want it. There was only one thing she wanted from the Malfoys,
and he wasn’t here.
Her eyes stung as she stopped in front of the portrait hall — a long room
covered floor-to-ceiling with paintings of Malfoys past. She’d only been here
once, less than eager to repeat the experience of being surrounded by pure-
bloods staring down at her like she was dirt beneath their shoes.
Stepping inside, she felt hundreds of grey eyes turn on her. Portraits whis-
pered to each other, running through frames, pointing fingers.
She ignored them, moving to the other end of the room, where a family of
three blond heads posed for a portrait. Lucius stood behind a wingback chair
that Narcissa was perched in, smiling serenely. A ten-year-old Draco scowled
down at her from the other side.
Hermione smiled, remembering him that young. So pointy and pouty. It
hurt to look at him for too long, so she turned away.
Her eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where Lucius Malfoy’s official
portrait looked down on her. It was a recent painting — perhaps done within
the past few years.
“Why did you leave it to me?”
Lucius’s painting lifted a brow. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on
about, Miss Granger.”
The familiar drawl welled tears in her eyes. She looked to the blank space
next to him — where Draco’s portrait should have been.
He should have been here. Not her. It was his birthright. He’d lost his father, his
friends, and now his home. She’d give him all of it, if she could. But he was gone.
In another life, she would have wanted this. With him.
But not all alone. Not when she didn’t know where he was, or if he was ever
coming home.
The floor creaked, and she spun to find Narcissa standing in the doorway.
Hermione crossed the room to her, feeling the portraits’ eyes follow. She

✦ 352 ✦
twisted her hands as she stopped in front of Narcissa, wondering if perhaps she
felt cheated out of something as well.
But Narcissa laughed softly instead. “Well. What now, Lady Malfoy?”
Hermione was spared a response by a loud tinkering, like the elves were
cooking in the middle of the hallway. Hermione peered out the doorway, and
followed the sound down the corridor.
The goblins stood in front of the library while Boppy and a few other elves
worked together to lift something. Hermione moved like she was underwater, pass-
ing the marble bust of Armand Malfoy and heir after heir until she reached Lucius.
She joined the goblins, and watched the elves lift a heavy bust etched in marble
onto the pedestal next to him. She stared back at her own face, her skin smooth,
her hair wild. A soft smile on her lips, facing the doors to the Malfoy library.

✦ 353 ✦
 CHAPTER 40

O
N SUNDAY, MIPPY PICKED UP AN ORDER FOR HER AT
the newly-reopened Madam Malkins. Despite having a full ward-
robe full of Pansy’s clothes, there was nothing fitting for her new
role. So Narcissa had helped her place her order by owl that Friday, enclosing a
clipping of an article from the Prophet that morning.
The headline had read: From Slave to the Youngest Member of the Magical
European Advisory Council: Meet Hermione Granger!
On Monday, Hermione was dressed in her new navy robes a full hour and a
half before her meeting. She stared at herself critically in Draco’s mirror before
turning on her heel and heading through the passageway to her old bedroom.
The creams, powders, and brushes were just as she’d left them last. She set-
tled on a bit of light makeup and left her hair alone, ignoring Pansy’s nagging
voice in her head.
After bidding Mippy and Narcissa goodbye, Hermione walked down the
Manor’s drive, readying herself to leave the property for the first time in three
weeks. The gates swung open for her, and she felt the wards shiver as she
walked through.
Fear rose sharply in her belly as she glanced around, bracing herself for
something — a curse, perhaps, or an encroaching army. But there was nothing
but the summer wind rustling the grass.
The gates clicked closed, and she remembered herself, walking briskly to the
edge of the estate’s Anti-Apparition line and Disapparating to the location
Hestia had given her.
She appeared on a cobblestoned street, usually bustling with tourists and
open shops, but there was no one. A layer of ash was heavy in the air, blanketing
the street like fog. Hermione’s gaze drifted to the skyline, where the remains of
Edinburgh Castle came into view, still smoking. She drew a deep breath, spun
to the south, and began walking.

✦ 354 ✦
 The Magical European Advisory Council would meet in Edinburgh, as
would the International Magical Military Tribunal. “A fitting pace for the death
of the Great Order,” the Prophet had proclaimed.
Hermione walked the empty street, ghostly in the morning light. The build-
ings were more intact the farther south she walked. She looked closely at the
vacant shops and restaurants until she found the Muggle travel agency and
chemist Hestia had told her about. She stepped up to the two storefronts and
watched an old building materialize between them, just like the Leaky Cauldron
in Muggle London. The wooden sign above read, Thistle & Rose.
Squaring her shoulders, Hermione opened the door and stepped inside. The
pub was empty apart from two occupants — Hestia Jones, half-resting on a
barstool, and a light-haired older man behind the bar. Hestia broke off their
conversation when the door closed, giving Hermione a quick nod.
“Miss Granger.” She slipped off the stool and stepped forward to shake
Hermione’s hand.
“General,” said Hermione, returning the pressure.
Hestia gestured to a narrow corridor behind her. “Shall we?”
“Oh.” Hermione frowned at the clock above the bar. It was only half-seven.
“Aren’t we waiting on any others?”
“No.” Hestia clasped her hands in front of her. “Most of the Council is mil-
itary. I’m afraid we all have a habit of being pathologically early.”
Pressing her lips together, Hermione nodded. She was silent as Hestia led
her down the dingy corridor, stopping at a door with a faded sign that read, Pub
Staff Only. The moment she pushed it open, a twisting staircase appeared.
Hestia had to duck her head as she descended, and Hermione followed.
They poured out into a large waiting room filled with stiff chairs and an
empty reception desk. Hermione examined the layer of dust on the coffee table
as Hestia led her briskly down another long corridor.
Noise rumbled from the end of it, where a large room with open doors
awaited them. Hermione tried to steady her nerves as they strode towards it,
her heels clicking next to the thud of Hestia’s boots.
“I presume you’ve read the papers,” said Hestia. “We’ll be voting to formalize
laws and procedures all week. The most important item today is the judges’ vote.”
Before Hermione could process it all, they were stepping inside the open doors.
Fifteen to twenty people sat around a square-shaped table, speaking in low voices.
Hestia paused at the threshold. “Miss Hermione Granger, everyone.”
Every gaze snapped to her. Hermione managed a curt nod, ignoring her
pounding heartbeat. Some faces were familiar; others were new. Most were in
military garb.

✦ 355 ✦
 Hestia led her to an open seat, and Hermione locked eyes with General
Pierre as she sat down. His mouth tightened before he resumed his conversa-
tion with General Jacobs. On Pierre’s other side was Fleur Delacour, dressed in
full regalia. Hermione blinked as Fleur nodded at her, then turned to her left,
angling her shoulders away from General Pierre. The wizard next to her began
speaking in Canadian French, his hands gesturing on the table.
Hermione skimmed the table and found a pair of stony-faced wizards in
grey military robes. The Swiss. She followed a line of unfamiliar faces until her
eyes caught on a wizard in black — Gawain Robards. She remembered him
from the papers. He’d worked under Scrimgeour as the Head of the Auror of-
fice, but vanished when the Ministry fell.
To Robards’ left were a witch and wizard who she presumed to be Italian,
based on their olive-green robes. She was just trying to remember where she’d
seen the wizard, a man with a thick beard and dark eyes, when he nodded at
Hestia and abruptly stood.
He cleared his throat and introduced himself as Luca Bianchi in a heavy
Italian accent. Hermione’s brain clicked. He was a member of Antonio Bra-
vieri’s Ministry — one of the council members who had gone missing in Au-
gust, right underneath Romano’s nose.
He welcomed everyone around the table, introducing military leaders, law-
yers, and representatives from around the globe who all had the same goal —
to ensure justice in the wake of the Second Wizarding War, and see to it that
the political and military leadership of the Great Order would be held respon-
sible for their war crimes.
“Here in the United Kingdom, the Justice Tribunal began this difficult work,”
said Bianchi delicately. Hermione watched Jacobs shift in his seat. “But we thank
the Provisional Government for correctly recognizing the need to disband said
Tribunal, and work closely with other affected nations to allow the pursuit of in-
ternational justice in a manner befitting their international crimes.”
Fleur sniffed next to General Pierre. Hestia took a sip from the water goblet
in front of her.
“My friends, this is our mission, our charge, and our purpose for gathering.
With the help of the I.C.W., and the tireless preliminary work contributed by
you, our Council Members, we have been able to draft the legislation you will
review today for the prospective International Magical Military Tribunal. Each
of you deserves gratitude for this effort.”
Hermione felt her eye twitch as she joined Bianchi and the rest of the room
in applause. Before she could turn to Hestia, Bianchi flicked his wand, and a

✦ 356 ✦
copy of a heavy binder appeared before each of them — easily 300 pages long.
Hermione stared at it.
“And yet, much hard work remains. This week, we will seek to finalize and
formalize the Edinburgh Charter. Our goal is to submit to our five member
nations for ratification early next week. I now turn the meeting over to General
Jacobs, who will preside over today’s agenda.”
Bianchi gestured to General Jacobs to continue, and took his seat.
Jacobs stood, looking around the room with a cold smile. “We’d like to
begin the morning by confirming the list of the twenty-four indicted. The ‘ma-
jor players,’ if you will.” He flipped his binder open, and the table shuffled to
do the same. “Of course, this will perhaps be our easiest vote,” said Jacobs. “The
Council has already reviewed evidence of the defendants’ charges, though they
are re-listed for your convenience.”
Hermione turned to page 7 and found Bellatrix Lestrange and Draco Malfoy
listed in the first two positions, a litany of crimes following each of their names.
Her stomach churned as she read the charges against Draco:
War Crimes; Crimes against Humanity; Crimes Against Peace, Conspiracy to
Commit War Crimes, Crimes against Humanity, and Crimes Against Peace;
Membership in Criminal Organization.
She’d expected this, but she thought she’d have time to discuss them. Possi-
bly get some of them dropped. How much work had the Council accomplished
without her?
She scanned the list, pausing for half a heartbeat on Rita Skeeter and Ludo Bag-
man, but the room began spinning when she reached Blaise Zabini at the bottom.
Her ears tuned in to General Jacobs discussing the expected timeline for
the trials.
“And where can I find a copy of the full indictments outlining the basis of
these charges?”
Pages stopped turning; murmuring ceased. And General Jacobs’ eyes bored
into her like ice. “Appendix A,” he said.
Hermione turned to the Appendix, skimming quickly.
“Is there a problem, Miss Granger?”
Her ears felt hot as she looked up. Jacobs was tilting his head at her; Pierre
was leaning forward in his chair. Fleur stared at the table while Bianchi gazed
at her with interest, his fingers drumming on the table.
And to her left, Hestia gave the slightest shake of her head.
“Not at all.” Hermione cleared her throat. “If there are unfair charges, I trust
that the court will weigh the evidence fairly.”
A chilly silence. Hermione’s heart began thudding against her ribs.

✦ 357 ✦
 “I’m curious, Miss Granger,” said General Pierre, straightening in his seat.
“Might you be so kind as to share with the Council which of these charges have
concerned you? I’m sure my colleagues and I would be interested to hear.”
Hermione blinked at him. She glanced to her left, but Hestia’s eyes were
firmly on her binder. Hermione’s lips parted as she thought of the antidote po-
tion, and the Horcrux — a green light barreling into Bellatrix’s back—
“The charges against Ludo Bagman and Rita Skeeter,” she said. “‘Conspiracy
to commit crimes against peace’ seems excessive. It’s quite possible that they
were under duress.”
“Miss Skeeter’s lies contributed to the loss of thousands of Swiss lives,” said
one of the grey-robed wizards. “If she felt that she had no choice, let her state
that before the Tribunal.”
Hermione managed a slow nod. “Fair enough.” She looked up to General
Jacobs. “I have no further comments.”
Jacobs masked his disappointment with an insincere smile. “Good. Let’s put
it to a vote, shall we? Unless Miss Granger needs a recess.”
The Swiss wizards bored holes into Hermione’s head, and Fleur’s gaze
flickered to her.
“That won’t be necessary.” Hermione raised a brow. “However, I would like
to recuse myself from this vote, as I haven’t had time to review the evidence. I
trust a majority vote will suffice.”
“It will,” said Pierre coolly.
It felt like she was sinking into the floorboards as she watched Jacobs smirk
at her, unfurl a scroll, and call out Bellatrix’s name before the Council. Nineteen
hands lifted in the air, and Jacobs recited each member as his enchanted quill
scribbled them down. By the time he reached Draco’s name, Hermione had
drifted deep into her still waters.
They voted on procedures next. Trials would consist of a prosecution, a de-
fense, and five presiding judges. The Council would elect ten judges in total —
one judge and one alternate from each country participating in the Tribunal.
Appeals would be possible to a new Council presided over by all five countries.
For the first time in her life, Hermione felt like there was an exam she hadn’t
prepared for. She tried to appear composed as she turned the pages in her
binder, her mind spinning with all the legal jargon. Some of the terms were
familiar, thanks to her preparation before Lucius’s trial, but others were entirely
new — the Tribunal seemed to blend legal traditions across countries and forms
of law. She had no choice but to follow Fleur and Hestia’s leads, raising her
hand every time they did, swallowing her anxiety about whether she’d just
voted for something that would make it harder to exonerate Draco or Blaise.

✦ 358 ✦
 They announced a lunch break before the judges’ vote. The others lingered,
but Hermione left the room quickly, struggling to catch her breath in the cor-
ridor. Once more, she was playing a game in the dark without knowing the
rules. She had an hour in which she could eat lunch, review the judges’ files,
and file back into the room to vote, just like they’d asked.
Or an hour in which she could use the little bargaining power she had to tip
the scales in her favor.
The doors opened, and Hestia and Jacobs exited the room, speaking tensely.
Hestia cut him off just as Hermione stepped in front of them..
“Miss Granger,” she said with a nod. “How do you find your first Council
meeting?”
Hermione tucked her 300-page binder under her arm. “It’s certainly been
informative.” She rolled her shoulders back. “I’m considering joining.”
Jacobs’ jaw clenched. Hestia simply assessed her.
“You’re already here,” said Jacobs brusquely, as if explaining things to an
unruly toddler. “You’ve already cast votes.”
“I agreed to attend the meeting. I didn’t agree to join.” Hermione sent him
a cool smile. “I do hope it won’t be too much work for you to strike me from
your records should I decline the opportunity, General Jacobs. I’ll be sure to let
you know by the day’s end.”
Hestia shifted her weight. “Miss Granger—”
“In fact, it seems there’s been quite the head start without me. Just how long
has the Council been meeting for ‘preliminary work,’ General Jones?”
“A couple of weeks.” Hestia pressed her mouth in a hard line. “You’ll recall,
Miss Granger, that I informed you the Council’s work was already underway
when we met last week.”
“Yes, but you neglected to tell me how extensive it was. When I arrived this
morning, I had no idea that I would be expected to vote on nearly-finalized
matters I had no prior knowledge of.”
The silence stretched. Hermione tapped her heel on the floor. “I suppose
you expect me to join to be your pretty face? Your media spokesperson?”
Jacobs sneered at the phrase “pretty face.”
“If I am to join this Council,” Hermione continued, “I expect to be kept in
the know. I should have been given the chance to participate in these ‘prelimi-
nary discussions.’ At the very least, I should have been given these materials as
soon as they were available.”
“Noted.” Hestia clasped her hands in front of her. “And what else do you
require for reassurance, Miss Granger?”

✦ 359 ✦
 “I’d like to speak about Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione, shifting her gaze
between them. “How good of you to ask.”
Jacobs didn’t bother hiding his scoff.
“Parkinson’s case will be handled domestically by a court under the Provi-
sional Government of England,” said Hestia.
“And the top leadership of the Provisional Government is the two of you,
isn’t it? Wonderful.” She shifted her binder into her arms and conjured a quill.
“When do you meet?”
“Meet?” Jacobs’ eyes jerked to hers.
“To discuss the legal process for domestic cases,” said Hermione, in a sweet
tone that would have made even Umbridge’s skin crawl.
“It should closely resemble the Wizengamot,” said Hestia slowly. “We are
seeking to fill seats now—”
“How lovely.” Hermione tapped her quill. “The time?”
Hestia took a sharp breath. “Miss Granger, you were given a seat at the Eu-
ropean Advisory Council. The Provisional Government’s legal system is a sep-
arate affair—”
“You can’t just name yourself a part of it,” Jacobs hissed.
“Oh.” Hermione brows rose innocently. “And how were the two of you
given a seat at the table? By election?”
Before either of them could reply, the doors flew open. A chilly quiet de-
scended as several members filed out of the room, casting a curious glance at
the three of them as they passed by.
A vein throbbed in Jacobs’ temple as he leaned into Hestia, muttering, “This
is your problem. So handle it.” He stormed off, turning the corner sharply and
disappearing from view.
Hestia waited until the corridor was quiet. “The Council was torn on admit-
ting you, Miss Granger. In fact, most were strenuously opposed.”
Anger flared in Hermione’s belly.
“You must understand,” said Hestia quickly, “that we are speaking of a
group of political and military elite here. Most of their careers span longer than
you’ve been alive.”
“Yes, and age clearly involved wisdom where the Justice Tribunal was con-
cerned—”
“That’s the very point.” Hestia glanced over her shoulder before speaking
again. “Great Britain stands to benefit significantly from your involvement in
this Tribunal. France does as well, though to a much smaller extent. The other
three countries gain nothing, and it took quite a bit of persuasion to sway them
in your favor.”

✦ 360 ✦
 “You mean, none of the other countries have bloody stains to mop up.”
“I won’t argue with you there,” said Hestia flatly. “In an ideal world, you would
have been involved from the start. But involving you now was the best I could do.”
“I see.” Hermione inhaled sharply. She could appreciate Hestia’s directness,
at least. “Well, now that I’ve heard your position, you’ll have to hear mine.”
Hestia folded her hands and cocked her head. “You’d like a position in the
Provisional Government?”
“No,” said Hermione, lifting her chin. “I would like for Pansy Parkinson to
be released at once.”
“We’re sifting through hundreds of cases from the Justice Tribunal. Most
are being dismissed, so if the charges against Parkinson are as flimsy as you
claim, I’m sure hers will be as well.” Hestia’s face was impassive as Hermione
frowned at her. “Parkinson is considered a lower-level criminal. I can assure
you that her treatment is quite humane—”
“Strange,” Hermione cut in. “I would have considered Siobhan Selwyn the
same, and she’s dead.”
Hestia’s face clouded with something, and her gaze fell to her boots. “I voted
against that,” she finally said.
“Still.” Hermione let the word hang between them. “Have you reviewed Pansy
Parkinson’s file, General?” The press to Hestia’s lips gave Hermione her answer.
“Once you do, I’m sure you’ll see how baseless it is. I’d appreciate if you pulled
her file — as well as the file of Daphne Greengrass. I wasn’t able to find her name
in the Prophet, but I’m sure she’s being charged with similar crimes—”
“Greengrass—” Hestia lifted her gaze with a furrowed brow. “She’s not in
Azkaban.”
Hermione blinked. “You’re sure?”
“Quite.” Hestia looked over her shoulder. “The Greengrass family has ties
to the Canadians. She has been released to the consulate, and sent back to her
family in Montreal.”
Relief surged through her, then mingled with a growing fury. “I see. And
you think that’s fair, General?”
“Of course not. But since when has this world been ‘fair,’ Miss Granger?”
Hestia leveled her with an intent stare. “Provide me with information as to why
Pansy Parkinson was sold at the Auction, and I’ll see what I can do to get her
charges dropped. If I recall correctly, that was the main point of contention.”
Hermione’s mouth felt dry. “I can get it. If you let me speak to her — let me
go to her at Azkaban, and I’ll get it.”
Hestia nodded once. “I’ll clear you for visiting as soon as I return to the
Ministry this afternoon.”

✦ 361 ✦
 “Thank you.” Hermione took a deep breath as she studied her — trying to
figure out what kind of ally she would be. “There’s one last thing. Assuming I
join the Council, I expect to be informed from here on out. If there are matters
I should be aware of, I expect you to tell me. If not…”
“Understood, Miss Granger.” Inclining her head, Hestia moved past her.
By the time she went to the loo to splash water on her face, it was almost the
end of the lunch hour. Hermione returned to the table with an empty stomach
and the same feeling of ignorance as when she’d first left it.
Each member could only vote for the judges representing their own coun-
try. Of the long list of names, Hermione only recognized one: Tiberius Ogden,
who had resigned from the Wizengamot when Fudge had made Umbridge the
High Inquisitor of Hogwarts.
Hermione sat at the table and tried to keep her knee from bouncing when the
vote commenced for Great Britain. Hestia raised her hand for Ogden and another
name, and Hermione followed suit. It was impossible to know if she’d made the
right decision, but she felt certain of two things: first, that Hestia still had a con-
science beneath her hardened pragmatism, and second, that if Tiberius Ogden
had issues with Dolores Umbridge, they at least had one thing in common.
The rest of the afternoon was met with lengthy discussions of logistics and
courtroom proceedings. When the meeting was finally adjourned, Hestia bid
her a swift goodbye, and exited the room with the speed of someone who had
ten other meetings to get to. The other members ignored her, and Hermione
was happy to return the favor.
Hermione carefully organized her paperwork as the room emptied. She was
just pushing in her chair when a voice behind her said, “‘Ermione.” Hermione
spun, and then she was being enveloped in a hug by Fleur Delacour. It took a
moment for her brain to catch up, but then she was squeezing her back.
“It is good to see you,” said Fleur, when she pulled away. “My apologies zat I
did not greet you sooner. Most of zese men are quick to judge hugging women.”
“Oh, that’s— it’s fine.” Hermione waved it away.
“I ‘oped to find you at lunch, but you seemed preoccupied.”
“Yes. I mean, a bit.” Hermione shifted her binder into her arms, like a guard
between them.
There was a familiar ache in her chest as she watched Fleur study her. She
wanted to pull up a chair, confide in her, and ask for her advice.
Her mind whispered that the fewer people in her confidence, the better.
“I’m very glad you are on this Council,” said Fleur quietly. “I know you will
do well. Bill said the same.”
Emotions bubbled in her chest. Hermione looked to the other wall.

✦ 362 ✦
 “‘e asked me to send ‘is regards. And ‘is apologies for what ‘appened at the
Manor.”
Hermione was quiet, searching for the words. Turning back to Fleur, she
settled on, “Thank you.”
Fleur gave her a small smile. “Can I convince you to join us for dinner at
the Burrow tonight? It will be just a small group of us. I know Ginny would
like to see you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea quite yet,” said Hermione, pushing down
the sharp stab of guilt in her stomach. “But maybe soon.”
Fleur nodded. She squeezed her arm before turning away, leaving Hermione
alone in the empty room.
Hermione ascended the stairs and walked out of the Thistle & Rose in silence.
Her eyes squinted at the late afternoon sun, watching it shine over Edinburgh.
“You are very passionate, Miss Granger,” a voice said. She turned around and
found Luca Bianchi leaning against the side of the building, lighting a cigarette.
She tossed him a thin smile. “So I’ve been told.”
He chuckled at her and took a slow drag. “I expected nothing less from Harry
Potter’s best friend.” His neck stretched to blow out a stream of smoke. “Though
I confess myself surprised at the people you seem to direct your passion for.”
Hermione’s heart skipped. “My only interest is in the pursuit of justice, Mr.
Bianchi. Justice isn’t personal.”
“Oh?” Bianchi chuckled around his cigarette. “You’re not fooling anyone, Miss
Granger. Personally, I care little for the Malfoy boy. You’ll find no quarrel from me
there. His friend, however”—Bianchi took another drag—”is another story.”
Hermione stared at him. Her hands felt sweaty on the binder.
“Blaise Zabini has committed crimes in my country. I do not intend to let
him go lightly. Should you expect to keep a… friendly relationship with my
colleagues and I, this is something you should know.”
“Mr. Bianchi, I can appreciate how horrible this past year must have been
for you. But—”
“Antonio Bravieri was my cousin, Miss Granger.” His eyes were hard as flint
as he tossed his cigarette to the cobblestones. “I have visited Giuliana at St.
Mungo’s. She is not well.”
Hermione stood as still as stone. Bianchi stamped it out, then buttoned his
robes with a flourish. “It is personal for all of us.”
As she watched him disappear down the dusty streets, she slid Blaise Zabini
higher up on the list of things she had to worry about.
・✦・

✦ 363 ✦
 Early the next morning, Hermione dressed in a second set of robes she’d got-
ten from Madam Malkins, downed a cup of coffee, walked down the Manor’s
drive, and Apparated to the guest receiving desk at Azkaban. A few hours after
she’d returned home from Edinburgh yesterday, she’d received an owl from
Hestia Jones with a full copy of Pansy Parkinson’s indictment. A hand-written
note confirmed that she was authorized to arrive at Azkaban at six o’clock sharp,
and would be allowed to collect memories with the assistance of a guard.
The guard checked her name from the approved list and stared at her for a
few moments before taking her wand and reading the safety instructions detail-
ing the magic suppression potion used on the prisoners. Hermione pursed her
lips, but nodded.
He led her down a damp stone hallway silently. There were no Dementors,
but she felt a chill settle deep under her skin.
He stopped at an unmarked door, opening it and standing aside as she entered.
Pansy Parkinson sat cross-legged in a metal chair, inspecting her fingernails.
Even with sallow skin and limp hair, she still managed to look superior.
It felt like Hermione’s lungs were collapsing. “Pansy.”
“I was wondering when you’d show.” She lifted her eyes and looked her
over, like she had mud all down her new robes. Her lips curled in disdain. “My,
my, Golden Girl. Freedom certainly looks good on you.”
Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’ll look better on you, come
tomorrow.”
Pansy scoffed and went back to staring at her fingernails. “Everything looks
better on me.”
There was silence.
“Pansy—” Hermione’s voice shook. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come
see you. I tried to come sooner.”
“So I hear.” She recrossed her legs. “The guards were gossiping about how they
threw you in St. Mungo’s.” Another pause. “You tried to defend Draco, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Just like you tried to defend Lucius?”
Hermione drew in a rattling breath. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” Blue eyes flicked up to hers. “Then excuse me for having less than
full confidence in your Gryffindor idealism.”
Hermione closed her eyes. She could stand her ground before the most pow-
erful people in Great Britain. And yet Pansy Parkinson still somehow managed
to cow her.

✦ 364 ✦
 “It took me a while to learn the game. But I’m getting better.” Hermione
paused. “I can get you out, Pansy. I just need you to tell me why you were in the
Auction.”
Pansy’s face split into a smirk, and she let out a scathing laugh. “You really
don’t give up, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Pansy uncrossed her legs, putting both hands on her knees. “Enlighten me
then, Granger. They haven’t even bothered to tell me why I’m here. No one has
even questioned me.”
“One of your charges is espionage. They think your place in the Auction and
your staged death were part of some collusion with Draco and Blaise…” Hermi-
one cut off, waving her hand in the air. “The charge is ridiculous. The Provisional
Government is still wading through the mess of indictments from the Justice Tri-
bunal. But give me your memory of why you were there, and I’ll get you out.”
Pansy snorted. “How, exactly? By stomping your foot and making demands?”
“Because they’ve seen what happens when Hermione Granger writes an ex-
posé in the New York Ghost.”
Pansy was silent for a moment, looking straight ahead at the blank stone
wall. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? You have to save everyone.”
Hermione frowned. “When they’re innocent, yes. Pansy, you don’t deserve
to be in here—”
“Save your charity for someone who wants it.” Pansy dropped her head
back, closing her eyes. “I have nowhere to go. No family. My friends are—” She
broke off, her chest rising and falling sharply.
“Pansy.” Hermione took a small step forward. “There are places for you.
You still have friends.”
She saw Pansy swallow.
“Tell me where you want to go. The Malfoys have properties in several coun-
tries, and they’re— still under Narcissa’s control. Name one and it’s yours.”
Pansy crossed her arms tightly. “If you want to stay in the country, you can go
back to Grimmauld Place—”
“And live alone with that insufferable house-elf?” Pansy lifted her head and
leveled a glare at her. “Thanks, Granger, but I think I’ll pass.”
“It’s empty. Kreacher is with D—” Hermione froze, glancing to the door.
“He’s away.”
Pansy sat up straight again. Hermione counted her heartbeats.
“I don’t know where he is, or how he is. But I’m going to see to it that
Kreacher feels safe to come home.” She looked at the tabletop. “I’m sure he’ll
feel much better if he knows that you’re safe as well.”

✦ 365 ✦
 Her gaze lifted to see a flicker of something in Pansy’s eyes.
“What about Blaise and Daph?”
“Daphne is in Canada with her family. As for Blaise, well—” Hermione
cleared her throat. “I’m working on him.”
Pansy tilted her head, her bobbed hair falling at an angle. “Fine. If
you are able to pull this off, I’ll go to Grimmauld.”
Hermione nodded, spinning to the door before Pansy could change her
mind. She knocked twice, and when the guard opened for her, she told him,
“Miss Parkinson has agreed to provide memories as evidence.”
The guard glanced at Pansy. She dipped her chin with a roll of her eyes.
The guard followed her inside and conjured a vial, looking at Hermione with
a disinterested expression. Hermione stood in front of Pansy and instructed her
to pull forward the memory, assuring her it was possible without magic.
When the guard stepped forward, Pansy lifted a hand to pause him.
“Please don’t be here when they release me,” she said, not meeting Hermi-
one’s eyes. “Set me up with a wand if you can, and let me take the Floo.”
Something twisted in Hermione’s chest. “Alright.”
The guard raised his wand. “Wait,” Pansy snapped. There was a long
pause. And then: “Is there any chance you won’t be watching these? Perhaps
someone else—”
“No.” Hermione bit her lip. “I have to review them first, Pansy. There’s no
other way.”
Pansy dropped her hand, and the huffing guard stepped forward. “It was for
Draco.” She closed her eyes. “Not for you.”
The guard tapped his wand to her temple and pulled forth the delicate
threads of her thoughts.
・✦・
Hermione had exactly one hour before she needed to arrive in Edinburgh.
Whatever was in this vial, she had to watch it before she turned it over to Hestia.
She slipped inside quietly and rushed to Lucius’s study. After unlocking the cab-
inet, she tipped Pansy’s memories into the basin, watching the threads swirl inside.
And with a deep breath, Hermione tilted downward, plunging into the past.
Her feet landed in an unfamiliar room — a drawing room, with dark wall-
paper and large windows. No furniture. Voices echoed beyond the door, and
when she spun around to take in the whole room, she found a figure just behind
her. She gasped.
It was her.

✦ 366 ✦
 She was hanging midair, unconscious, her trainers hovering a few inches off
the ground. Her head bobbed on her shoulder. She was in the pink hoodie she’d
been wearing at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Her heart beat a thunderous rhythm against her ribs. She dug her nails into
her palms to center herself as the voices came closer.
She startled when the door banged open to reveal Yaxley, wearing a smug
grin. “—caught her in the corridors just inside the castle,” he was saying. He
held the door open and stepped to the side. “After you…”
A shuffle of footsteps, and then Draco walked into the room. She staggered,
searching for something to hold onto as Draco’s gaze drifted over her floating
form, as if taking stock.
Her eyes widened as Pansy and Blaise strolled in behind him. Pansy froze at
the sight of her, clapping a manicured hand over her mouth. Then she laughed.
“Merlin.” Hermione watched her walk in a leisurely circle around her past-
self before turning to Yaxley. “How long has she been out?”
“Two days,” Yaxley said, leaning against the doorway. “It’s the first day I
opened her for viewing, though. You’re the fifth group.”
“Really?” Pansy smirked. “Clearly the Mudblood is more popular than I
gave her credit for.”
Draco’s eyes were cold and dead as he looked up at her limp body, walking
a circle like Pansy had. His expression was blank. Occlumency.
Hermione’s throat choked. Staring at him felt like a knife in her chest, bur-
rowing deeper and deeper. She wanted to reach out and touch him. To sink her
fingers into his hair, and feel his warmth as he wrapped his arms around her.
Her tears dropped from her cheeks and vanished before they hit the floor,
disappearing in the Pensieve.
“What’s your starting bid, Yaxley?” Blaise stepped up to her body, crossing
his arms.
“You already know it’s ten thousand Galleons.”
Blaise lifted his brows and turned over his shoulder.
“Fifteen,” came a cold voice. Draco stepped around her body and hummed,
“What? You don’t think swotty Mudblood Granger is a virgin?”
The sound of his familiar drawl sent shivers racing down her spine.
Pansy giggled. “Draco is right. I’m sure it’ll be fifteen.” She tilted her head
up and appraised Hermione before scrunching her nose. “A terrible waste of
five thousand Galleons, if you ask me.” Her eyes flicked to Yaxley, and a coy
smile crossed her lips. Hermione watched something strange pass between
them before Pansy reached for one of Hermione’s curls.
“No touching, Pansy,” he said.

✦ 367 ✦
 Pansy pouted. “Why? Am I not allowed to inspect the goods?”
“No one’s touching her until they sign the paperwork after the Auction. I
have about a dozen wards on her.”
A muscle in Draco’s cheek twitched.
“Anything else?” said Yaxley, checking his watch. “I have another viewing
in fifteen.”
Cold horror pricked through Hermione’s skin. She tried to focus, reminding
herself that none of it had mattered—
Draco pivoted to face Yaxley, and Hermione saw his walls flicker. “What is
your asking price?”
Yaxley pushed off the doorframe. “I already told you. Starting bid is—”
“And what is your price?” Draco rolled his shoulders back. “What price
would you find acceptable to buy her prior to the Auction?”
“None.” Yaxley gave him a tight-lipped smile. “First, I expect she’ll go for
much higher a price than I could name—”
“But you could name it,” Draco said. “And then I could pay it.”
“Second,” said Yaxley, his teeth gleaming, “The Dark Lord has made it clear
that Potter’s bitch must be made an example of. You’re not the first asking to
buy her outright, Malfoy. Why your father thinks I’d give you a different answer
than the one I gave him, I have no idea.”
Draco sucked in a sharp breath, and Blaise spun around. Hermione’s heart
pumped heavy in her chest as she watched the last fragments of Draco’s Occlu-
mency shatter.
“Now if you’ll excuse me.” Yaxley gestured to the door. “You’ve had your view-
ing, and I’d appreciate the chance to take a piss before the next visitor arrives.”
Draco paled, his fists clenched at his sides. He swept from the room without
another word. Hermione watched Blaise glance with Pansy before excusing
himself and exiting the room.. Pansy moved to the door to follow them, but she
stopped in front of Yaxley.
Hermione stepped closer to them as something clicked into place.
“Pans?” came Blaise’s voice from the hallway.
“Coming,” she sang. Her eyes locked on Yaxley’s as her tongue wet her lips,
and Hermione felt her stomach churn as his eyes followed the movement.
“Later,” she mouthed. Then she sashayed away from him, following the boys
into the corridor.
The room spun again, the shapes swirling like a thousand unanswered ques-
tions. Her legs steadied on an expensive rug in an unfamiliar corridor, and then
she was staring at Pansy as she pounded on a door. Blaise yanked it open and
wedged a shoulder in the opening, blocking her view inside.

✦ 368 ✦
 “Go home, Pansy.”
“No. I know exactly what you’re going to do and you’re both fucking idiots.”
She pushed at his chest. “You’re going to get yourselves killed—”
“You think I don’t know that?” Blaise hissed. He dragged a hand down his
face. “I’m managing it. Don’t involve yourself—”
Pansy slammed a hand on the door, trying to open it, but Blaise blocked it.
He lifted his head slowly to glare at her.
“Go home, Pansy,” someone called from inside the room. “Please.” Hermi-
one squeezed her eyes closed at the raw sound of Draco’s voice.
With an apologetic look, Blaise shut the door in Pansy’s face.
Pansy kicked the door in frustration, and Hermione watched every inch of
her harden. She spun on her heel, and as Hermione startled to catch up with
her, her surroundings shivered again.
When the room ground to a halt, she landed in a small entryway facing a
fireplace. She took in the high ceilings and snoozing paintings, blinking up at
the moonlight beaming through the tall windows. There was a corridor to her
left, and a closed door to her right.
The whoosh of the Floo made her spin around, and she watched Pansy step
through the fireplace. She was wearing the same clothing as earlier — it was the
same day. She looked around quickly, her wand in hand. She darted to the
closed door, and Hermione followed. Pansy opened it with an unlocking spell
and peered inside.
It was Yaxley’s drawing room again. Hermione heard blood rushing in her
ears as she stared at her suspended body, ghostly in the pale light.
The truth was choking her, weighing heavy on her shoulders, down her
throat. Hermione felt herself gasping for air.
It was for Draco. Not for you.
“What a surprise,” a voice hummed, and Pansy and Hermione both whipped
around to the entryway. Yaxley stepped out of the shadows, and Hermione closed
her eyes in resignation. “You’ve already had your viewing, Miss Parkinson.”
Pansy grinned at him through her lashes. “But the curator is a close family
friend. I think he’ll let me in after hours.”
Hermione’s throat was dry as images flashed through her head of Yaxley
and Quincy Parkinson at Edinburgh, leering at the Carrow Girls. It was that
same look on Yaxley’s face now. Pansy stepped up to him, swaying her hips.
Yaxley’s mouth twitched as he stared down at her. “You seem to have
changed your tune.”
“What tune is that?”

✦ 369 ✦
 Yaxley scoffed at her even as his pupils bloomed. “‘We can never discuss it
again,’“ he mimicked. “‘It was a mistake. We were both drinking and never
should have let it get that far.’“ His eyes dropped low to her bare legs. “And then
today you decide to give me that look in front of your Malfoy boyfriend—”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Pansy arched her brow at him and slid her hands
up his chest. “You already know that. Better than anyone.”
His voice was husky as his hands moved to her hips. “Why are you here, Pansy?”
“Why do you think?” She pressed her torso into his, and Hermione felt vio-
lently ill as she reached to adjust his collar. “Tell me you still have it,” she whis-
pered, with a twist to her lips. “The dwarf wine.”
“Pansy—”
“You remember what happened the last time we drank it.”
Yaxley’s eyes were dark as he grabbed her wrist.
“That’s a five-hundred Galleon bottle, Pansy. What do I get in return?”
She bit her cheek hard enough to draw blood as Pansy laughed throatily and
said, “A lot more than you could get for five thousand, that’s for sure.”
Hermione’s eyelids closed, and her head spun. She breathed deep trying to
block out the way Yaxley looked at Pansy’s lips and neck.
She forced her eyes open just when she heard Yaxley huff. “One bottle.”
Pansy’s smile could have lit the dark corners of the room.
He pushed her back and cleared his throat. “I’ll get it. You know where the
bedroom is.”
Yaxley reached for the doorknob, ready to shut the drawing room door.
Pansy’s hand shot to grab his wrist.
“I—” She laughed, shaking her head before taking a deep breath, like work-
ing up to a difficult question. “Can I interest you in an audience?” Her brow
lifted, and she cast her eyes toward Hermione’s body.
Hermione pressed her fingers to her mouth, swallowing down bile.
Yaxley followed her intentions. “Yeah?”
Pansy nodded and leaned into his ear. “Maybe she’ll learn a thing or two.”
Yaxley threw his head back and laughed. “Be right back.” He turned on his
heel and disappeared into the shadows.
The second he was out of sight, Pansy slipped into the drawing room and
drew her wand, pointing it at Hermione’s body. “Revelio!”
Hermione staggered as the spell flicked over her past-self. There was a fa-
miliar fire in Pansy’s eyes.
Pansy quickly assessed the wards that flashed and flared around her body,
hissing through several counter-spells.

✦ 370 ✦
 There was a pause, and Hermione saw the moment her mind landed on the
right spell. She flicked her wrist, and the shimmer around her body vanished.
Darting her eyes at the doorway, Pansy pointed her wand at the one fireplace
in the room. The flames didn’t jump. It wasn’t connected to the Floo network.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Pansy muttered.
She twisted to the closed door across the room. It flew open with an Aloho-
mora. Pansy ran to it, Hermione just on her heels. It was a small sitting room.
A fireplace in the corner. Pansy pointed her wand and it burst to life, the flames
flickering shadows over the walls.
Spinning back, she called Hermione’s floating body to her. Like a specter, it
obeyed. Hermione felt her body shaking as Pansy found the Floo powder and
reached for her lifeless hand.
A high whistle pierced the air as soon as Pansy touched her. Hermione’s
heart rattled as she and Pansy both spun to the doorway.
She hissed and tossed the Floo powder, dragging Hermione’s body into the
fireplace with her just as the door to the sitting room burst open.
A jet of red light caught Pansy by the shoulder, and then she dropped beside
the hearth, screaming.
The Cruciatus Curse. Hermione’s fingers curled into fists, trembling to do
something to stop it.
“You little cunt!” He released it with a hiss. “I knew you were up to something.”
Pansy panted on the bricks. “It’s—it’s supposed to be a joke!” She fought to
catch her breath. “You’re obsessed with that Mudblood. I was trying to mess
with you—”
“You want an engagement present for your boyfriend?” Yaxley slashed his
wand down again. Hermione stumbled backward, begging the scene to end as
Pansy shrieked. “Did the Malfoys put you up to this?”
Pansy screamed again, and the walls shivered around Hermione. She
floated, numb, as the world shook and reformed around her. And then she was
standing in the first room again, like a nightmare that wouldn’t end.
Her unconscious body was back in its position, the old wards shimmering
over her. Pansy knelt at her feet, hands tied and blood dripping from her nose.
Hermione’s face stung. Her cheeks were wet.
Footsteps from outside the doorway, and Pansy lifted her chin as Yaxley
entered. Quincy Parkinson followed, and Hermione felt her vision darken
around the edges.
“Just like I told you, Quince.”
Pansy sat up tall, but Hermione could see her quivering in her binds. Quincy
tilted his head and approached his daughter with slow steps.

✦ 371 ✦
 “Daddy,” she whispered, imploring him. “I was getting her for you. She’s
valuable—”
Quincy Parkinson backhanded her. Hermione clapped a hand over her
mouth as Pansy flew backward.
Her shoulders shook as she watched Pansy sucked in air, laying on her side.
Her father took one step forward, his heavy boots landing loudly in front
of her face.
“Looks like you have another whore to sell, Corban.”
There was a long pause. Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off Pansy, her tears
leaking down her cheeks.
“Quince,” said Yaxley lowly. “We can forget about this. I trust you to disci-
pline your daughter as you see fit—”
“I don’t have a daughter.” Hermione glanced up to see Quincy Parkinson
turning on his heel and sweeping from the room.
The world started to blur again, and the last thing Hermione saw before
the room collapsed around her was the look in Pansy’s eyes, turning flinty
and dangerous.
And then she was standing at the Pensieve in Lucius’s study, her ears ringing
and her chest tight. The bile pressed against her throat, and she spun, retching
into the waste bin.
She focused on a lake with still waters, letting her Occlumency shelves bury
Pansy’s memories until they no longer made her retch.
Pressing up to her feet, she collected the threads from the Pensieve back into
their vial with shaking fingers. This was enough. This would exonerate her.
She capped the vial. She smoothed her robes. With a deep breath to center
herself back to present, she headed out to Edinburgh again.
・✦・
At lunch, she gave Hestia the vials and asked her to be quick about it. She
informed her that Pansy would need a wand, and excused herself before she
could ask further questions.
She was better prepared that day. She flitted in and out of her Occlumency in
between her questions and notes, ignoring Fleur’s concerned gaze across the room.
On Wednesday morning, Hestia informed her personally that Pansy would
be released that evening. True to her word, Hermione didn’t meet her at Azka-
ban or come calling at Grimmauld, but she did send Plumb to stay with her.
Narcissa was tactful enough not to press her about it.

✦ 372 ✦
 Hermione tossed and turned that night, pressing her face into Draco’s pil-
low. Try as she might, she couldn’t find joy in Pansy’s release. Not when she
was the one who’d put her there in the first place.
The Edinburgh Charter was approved eight days after the Council’s first of-
ficial meeting. And as the Council transitioned into assisting the governance of
the International Magical Military Tribunal, one of the first rules of business
was to set trial dates.
Hermione listened to the voices argue that day with a half-Occluded mind.
After some debate, Yaxley’s trial was set first — on Monday 5 July. There had
been a tense standoff between the Swiss and Italians over who should be next,
but the Italians won — Blaise Zabini’s trial would be second; Bellatrix
Lestrange’s third, in absentia.
Hermione’s mind sharpened at the discussions of Bellatrix, but she kept quiet.
If she’d learned anything from Lucius Malfoy, it was the value of keeping your cards
close to the vest. Especially when it might be key to Blaise’s survival. And Draco’s.
Then they listed Draco Malfoy’s trial fourth, in absentia, and she drifted.
As the days dragged on, the question of what kind of political upheaval she’d
cause by withholding the information began to weigh heavily on her. She pored
over the fine print in her contracts and binders, and determined that because
she was only on the Advising Council — not an official member of the Tribu-
nal’s Secretariat — she had no obligation to provide information regarding the
charges against Blaise prior to his day in court.
Even after ruling out legal consequences, the idea still vexed her. She’d yet
to make any real friends on the Council, but Hestia had won her trust — provid-
ing background information on lunch breaks, steering her away from skir-
mishes with a simple cough or a tap of her quill. If she kept this information
from Hestia, what might she lose?
What might Draco lose?
She finally voiced her fears to Narcissa, who declined to advise her either
way. “Trust your instincts,” she said. “Only you can judge what you stand to
gain or gamble away.”
By the end of the second week, Hermione had decided to tell Hestia directly.
She was fully aware of what Hermione planned to do for Draco, but had chosen
to mentor her nonetheless. And the consequences of not telling her seemed to
outweigh the risks of telling her. But Hestia had to skip Friday’s meeting. And
Hermione felt her heart sink at the news, knowing the Council would enter a
one-week recess the following week so the members of the Secretariat could
prepare for the trials.

✦ 373 ✦
 Hermione sent her an owl immediately upon returning to the Manor that
afternoon. She waited all weekend for a reply, only to receive letters from
Ginny, Neville, and a handful of reporters with questions about the upcoming
“Edinburgh Trials.” It wasn’t until Tuesday that Hestia’s owl arrived with a one-
sentence reply: Meet with you after Yaxley’s trial.
They both would be there. Hestia on the Prosecution Counsel, and Hermi-
one as a witness testifying against Corban Yaxley.
She had to Occlude for three hours after she received a letter from the Pros-
ecution asking her to testify. They’d told her there were roughly a dozen former
Lots deemed fit to testify against him, including her.
A dozen. Out of all the people who’d been bought and sold there.
She’d written Pansy afterward, asking how she was. In the post-script, she’d
informed her about Yaxley’s trial, and asked her if she’d like to testify against
him. She’d scrambled to the window when Draco’s eagle owl returned at one in
the morning, tearing open the letter to read:
I’m fine. And no, I’d rather not.
-P
Later that week, she learned in a letter from Ginny that she too would testify.
Angelina would travel in from France, where George was taking a long holiday.
She’d miss them in court by one day.
The decision to hold the trials in Edinburgh had been one of the Council’s
easier votes. The evacuation of Edinburgh a year ago meant that the Parliament
Hall was empty, the building untouched by the Americans’ bombs. So they
agreed to use the Muggle courtrooms. No wands would be permitted inside
except for the guards, and only the members of the Tribunal could sit in the
gallery. They were given two guest passes per day.
There was a certain poetry in it all.
Hermione took the stand on the first day of Yaxley’s trial, breathing deep
into her still waters as she spoke to her days in the Ministry holding cells, the
quick way he’d sliced Lydia Baxter’s neck, and Parvati’s final choking screams.
It was widely known that he had entered her into the Auction, but she was the
one to present it to the judges, detailing the Palace Theatre and the specific
comments he’d made as her value increased.
Yaxley was ragged and gaunt in the chair. She managed not to look at him
for the most part, but her gaze was drawn to the dark circles under his eyes and
the way his cheekbones protruded. Her stomach twisted, so she reached into
her shelves until the memory of his leering gaze at Pansy had anger boiling like
acid in her gut.

✦ 374 ✦
 When the prosecution had finished their questions, Yaxley’s barrister stood.
He had a bored look on his face as he cross-examined her. He asked her half a
dozen questions dutifully, and Hermione was stunned that he didn’t press her
when she stumbled on whether Yaxley or Dolohov had been the one to cast the
Cruciatus Curse at her. He gave her a clipped nod, crossed the room, and took
his seat again before she even realized it was over.
It took Hermione five seconds to stumble to her feet. As she rejoined the audi-
ence, she felt dread burrow deep in her chest. There was a panel of barristers the
defendants could choose from, but this was supposed to be one of the better ones.
She watched as other witnesses were cross-examined similarly, and at re-
cess, when she looked at the paperwork for the rest of the week, she saw there
were only two witnesses scheduled for the defense — a longtime family
Healer, and Travers’ wife.
After court was adjourned that day, she waited for Hestia outside the gallery.
Hestia led her into a small room down a marble corridor, casting a number of
Silencing Charms before nodding for her to speak.
“That was outrageous,” said Hermione. “How in Merlin’s name was that
barrister chosen?”
“We voted him in, Hermione. We all did. On the second day.”
Hermione bit back her scowl. “And I trusted that I was being presented with
adequate options. That barrister did nothing to inspire confidence—”
“Barrister Kauffmann is perfectly adequate, I assure you.” Hestia sighed. “If
you don’t like him, no one is stopping you from finding another.” Hermione
stared at her through narrowed eyes. “Defendants can choose their own coun-
sel, if you recall. Though I suspect it will take thousands of Galleons to convince
someone outside of those appointed to the court.”
Hermione blinked at her. She’d missed this detail somehow — lost it between
her Occlumency and the hundreds of pages of fine print. But at least Galleons
were the only thing she had in thousands right now. There was still time.
“Right.” She smoothed out her robes, filing away her thoughts. “Thank you for
meeting with me. I wanted to discuss a hypothetical situation,” she said carefully.
“And I want to know if we can keep this situation between us. Hypothetically.”
Hestia nodded, glancing at the door. “Hypothetically, I’m sure I could have
a private conversation with a friend.”
“What if I were to tell you that Bellatrix Lestrange is dead — that I saw her
killed with my own two eyes, and that the person who can tell you where to find
her body is being prosecuted later this month for crimes against Italy?”

✦ 375 ✦
 To Hestia’s credit, she didn’t flinch a muscle. Hermione saw the gears turn-
ing in her mind as her eyes locked on hers. Then she looked away, fixing her
gaze on the ghostly street outside.
“Interesting. Hypothetically interesting,” she said. “And what would you
want to happen with this information?”
“I would want Blaise Zabini to be pardoned due to his assistance in the mur-
der of Undesirable No. 1.”
Hestia’s lips tightened. “Hermione, you know how the Italians feel about
Blaise Zabini. Bravieri was beloved. In their eyes, Zabini assisted in the coup to
unseat him and held his teenage niece as a slave for almost a year—”
“I do know. I also know they’re wrong.”
“Be reasonable,” said Hestia in a clipped tone. “I’m only telling you what I
see”—she tilted her head— “hypothetically.”
Fighting the urge to snap at her, Hermione drew a slow inhale. “So what you’re
telling me is Blaise will go to Azkaban, even if he buried Bellatrix’s body himself.”
Hestia frowned, reaching up to rub her brow. “It might commute his sen-
tence. I can see his prison time decreasing significantly”—she looked at her and
spoke directly— “particularly with a top-notch barrister.” Hestia glanced at the
door again and lowered her voice. “You say Zabini buried the body. May I ask
who, in this hypothetical situation, cast the Killing Curse?”
“Hypothetically, it was Draco Malfoy.”
Hestia closed her eyes briefly, like she’d assumed as much. “And I presume
the reasoning for killing his aunt is specific and measurable in a court of law?”
“Yes.” Hermione hesitated with her next question, but she knew it was time.
“I have another hypothetical for you.”
Hestia studied her with a weary expression before nodding her head to
continue.
Hermione felt her heartbeat in her fingertips.
“What would happen if I told you,” she said, “that Blaise Zabini provided
critical assistance to Draco Malfoy and myself in our mission to reduce Lord
Voldemort to his mortal state, thereby allowing Ginny Weasley the opportunity
to successfully kill him?”
Silence descended between them. Hestia turned to the window again,
standing perfectly still. “And I assume this evidence will be key to Draco Mal-
foy’s defense as well?”
“Yes.”
Hestia turned her sharp gaze on her. “Then hold onto it.”
Hermione’s throat felt dry. “‘Hold onto it?’”

✦ 376 ✦
 “Let me amend my statement,” Hestia said, “I’m confident this information
would fully exonerate Blaise Zabini, if that’s your primary concern. But if you
give this to the Tribunal in three weeks, you’ll be giving up your opportunity to
save Draco Malfoy.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. “I don’t understand—”
“I think you underestimate how badly this Tribunal wants to see Draco
Malfoy pay for his crimes,” Hestia said, and the fine hairs on the back of Her-
mione’s stood on end. “You’d be giving up Draco Malfoy’s main defense a
month before his trial instead of a day. They’d be prepared for you, Hermi-
one. They’d make sure they had enough evidence so that he’d rot in Azkaban
no matter what you told them.”
A long silence. Her limbs felt numb. “They have no idea what he’s done for
Europe— for the entire world—”
“I’m sure they don’t.” Hestia’s eyes hardened. “Save it for his trial, Hermi-
one. What I’m hearing—hypothetically—is that Undesirable No. 1 is dead, and
Undesirable No. 2 was killed before he could stand before this Tribunal.” She
took a step closer. “That leaves Draco Malfoy, who just so happens to be a blood
relative of them both.”
“And that’s what you call ‘justice?’” Hermione curled her hands into fists.
“Laying the sins of this war on Draco Malfoy’s shoulders?”
Hestia looked down at her hands resting on the windowsill. “You can’t have
it all, Hermione. I had to learn that the hard way.”
She stood tall from the window, clasped Hermione’s shoulder, and exited
the room, leaving Hermione with a thousand arguments on her lips and no one
to scream at.
・✦・
Once home at the Manor, she wrote to the human rights organization that
had been helping her with Oliver’s case. She’d received an update from them on
Friday informing her that Oliver would be released by the end of the week, and
sent to live with his family in Glasgow. In her reply, she thanked them for their
help, and added a line or two inquiring about defense counsel. The response she
received that evening was less than enthusiastic, clearly reading between the lines
that the services would be for a defendant in the Edinburgh Trials.
She told Narcissa about the dilemma over dinner. By Wednesday, Narcissa
had received polite rejections from every lawyer who’d ever worked with the
Malfoys. And so Hermione started from scratch. She began digging for criminal
defense attorneys in the Prophet, looking specifically for ones who had repre-
sented infamous clients in the past. After receiving a dozen rejections by Friday,

✦ 377 ✦
she broadened her search to the New York Ghost, where she stumbled upon the
name Alan Shrapley. He’d just won an appeal for a client who had been accused
of espionage against M.A.C.U.S.A. A quick look into his record found a slew of
similar cases — almost all of them won. He was known to be one of the highest-
charging attorneys in America.
Hermione told Narcissa about him, and after thinking it over with a sip from
her teacup, Narcissa said, “I think it’s wise to invest in someone who has no
personal ties, a good track record, and is purely motivated by money. It’s what
Lucius would have done.”
She wrote to Alan Shrapley that afternoon. His reply, requesting to schedule
a consultation, was waiting on Draco’s desk for her the next morning. They
would speak on Monday. Hermione penned a hasty letter to Hestia, apologizing
for the short notice, but requesting immediate approval for visitation at Azka-
ban. It arrived within two hours.
The sun was setting when she arrived at Azkaban. She handed over her
wand, and let the guard lead her down a different stone corridor. It seemed
colder, more desolate in this corner of the prison. They reached a meeting
room, and the guard knocked before opening the door for her.
Blaise sat in one of the two metal chairs, his legs kicked up on the tabletop
and his hands folded across his stomach. His hands were cuffed together, and
a similar chain linked his ankles. He sent her a ghost of his brilliant smile.
“To what do I owe the honor?”
The guilt and sorrow hit her like a crashing wave. She blinked, filing it away
as she moved to the table. “Your trial will begin in two weeks.”
His grin flickered. “Ah.”
“Sorry for the abruptness, but we only have ten minutes.” She twisted her
fingers together. “I’ve secured an attorney from America for you. A good one.”
Blaise lowered his legs and sat forward, placing his hands on the table. “Bril-
liant. I’ll always be handsome, Granger, but one can only do so much with
these.” He smirked up at her and gestured to his chains.
Hermione swallowed and tore her eyes from him. She tugged out the chair
in front of her, sinking into it slowly.
“They don’t know about Bellatrix yet. That will upset their case against you,
but there’s something else.”
It took all her strength to meet his gaze.
“I need to ask something of you.” He pressed his lips together as she contin-
ued. “If they learn about the Portkey to Romania and the Polyjuice body-switch
now, it will naturally lead to an inquiry about Voldemort’s soul fragments and
what you did to help destroy them. If we tell them about it now—”

✦ 378 ✦
 “It may affect Draco’s case.”
She nodded. “I’ve spoken with someone I trust, and she thinks they’ll use
the time to build a stronger case.” Hermione’s throat clicked in the silence.
“They want to see him pay, Blaise. Not unlike the way Luca Bianchi wants to
see you pay.”
Blaise ran his tongue over his teeth. His eyes drifted to a spot over her shoulder.
“I know you’ve”—her voice trembled— “I know Draco and I have asked a
lot of you over the past year . You should know that if this evidence was used,
it would almost certainly pardon you.” She folded her hand on the table. “It’s
your choice. I mean that.”
His chains clinked together as he reached up to scratch the stubble on his jaw.
“You ever stayed in Azkaban, Granger?”
The weight on her chest grew heavier. “No, I haven’t.”
Blaise shrugged. “It’s not bad. There’s this bread they serve for lunch, and
after you’ve scraped off the mold, it’s quite nice.”
Her mouth opened. “Oh?”
“Mmm. If you ask me, it’s almost an improvement from having three
women living on top of me, screaming about misplaced hair products and half-
eaten pastries.”
Hermione squeezed her eyelids closed as the tears slipped through her
lashes. Her lip trembled as she managed to say, “I can imagine.”
“And all this time in solitude lets me work on my physique — I’m sure
you’ve noticed.” He lifted his chains to flex, and she let out a choked laugh.
The door opened. “Time’s up,” a gruff voice called out.
Hermione stood, bracing herself on the table. “Thank you.”
The humor slowly drained from Blaise’s smile. “Bring him home, Hermione.”
She felt fire in her veins, her blood singing with every heartbeat.
“I will.”
Stepping past the guard in the doorway, she began the long walk back to
the fireplaces.
Hestia was wrong. Maybe she could have everything. Just not at the same time.

✦ 379 ✦
 CHAPTER 41

B
LAISE ZABINI’S TRIAL BEGAN ON 26 JULY, A RAINY AND
humid Monday. Hermione spent an hour Occluding in the tub be-
fore she dressed and Apparated to Edinburgh.
A crowd of reporters stood around the entrance to Parliament Hall, pacing
like starving wolves. A sharp click cut through the quiet of her mind, and then
she was flooded with flashing lights and harsh sounds.
“Miss Granger!”
“Miss Granger, over here!”
“Would you like to make a statement for the—”
Hermione pushed through, ignoring the flashes and heavy press of bodies
on her. Sound disappeared with a hiss as she crossed the wards cast over the
building. She checked in her wand and swept through the open lobbies, head-
ing to the library.
The old doors groaned open to reveal Alan Shrapley leaning against a table in
his expensive American robes, flipping through a Muggle volume. He was a hand-
some man in his early fifties, with a square jaw and silver hair that curled at the tips.
Upon meeting him for the first time two weeks ago, Hermione had thought
he spoke too calmly and moved too slowly, but she realized she was wrong the
moment he pulled out a lengthy contract that somehow had already been
signed by Blaise Zabini. He’d produced paperwork for her to initiate a sealed
transfer of an exorbitant sum to Blaise’s vault, requested that his two legal as-
sistants be admitted inside the Manor immediately, and instructed her to clear
the rest of her day.
He was a silver shark in shallow waters, toying with a dolphin he’d run ashore.
“No-Majs have always fascinated me, Miss Granger.” Shrapley’s voice ech-
oed off the polished floors, bringing her back to the present. “I’d pick your brain
if only we had the time.”
Hermione was silent as he turned a page.

✦ 380 ✦
 She’d never quite met someone whose brain worked as fast as her own, but
counterintuitively. Whereas she organized facts to scrutinize them, Shrapley
lined them up to batter them into submission. He liked games even more than
Lucius Malfoy, she’d discovered, and his favorite was impatience. He waited
until his opponent became restless, and then he’d begin the game.
But not today.
With a snap of his fingers, he closed the centuries-old Muggle volume. “The
motions were denied.”
The muscles in her face twitched. “Which ones?”
“All of them. The court won’t allow the review of Blaise’s memories apart
from his time in Italy and Edinburgh, or any of your memories regarding his
character. The Prosecution will be allowed to include affidavits from the wit-
nesses who won’t be available for cross-examination.”
Her heart sank lower and lower.
“It’s all fine, Miss Granger,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “That was always the
easy way. But we had to try.”
“Right.” Hermione swallowed. “Is there... anything you need from me?”
“Keep your cool.” He checked his solid gold wristwatch, glancing at her over
its face. “See you in there.”
He was gone in a few long strides. Hermione breathed deep, clutching the
tiny pouch around her neck. Once her waters were still, she followed the long
corridor to the Muggle courtroom.
A pair of guards inspected her badge at the side entry. Once she passed
their magical security charms, she was ushered into one of the seats for dis-
tinguished visitors behind the Prosecutors’ tables. Hestia nodded at her from
the Secretariat table, as did Fleur and Robards. The rest of the Council and
Prosecution ignored her.
There was a low rumble of noise as reporters began filing into the back of
the courtroom. Luca Bianchi came through the side entry a minute later and
was ushered to the chair just to Hermione’s right. Crossing his leg over his knee,
he kept his gaze straight ahead.
He’d seen her on the list of witnesses for the Defense, of course. Just like
she’d seen him on the Prosecution’s list.
One of the Italian prosecutors cast a glance at her, and Hermione tried to
focus on anything but her nerves. Her eyes drifted to Shrapley, arranging his
notes around him with lazy movements.
“A defense counsel’s worst nightmare,” he’d told her two weeks ago, as he
reclined on the sofa in the Manor’s drawing room. “Access to the True Order’s
archives blocked, an elaborate procedure to admit material for the defense, the

✦ 381 ✦
admission of hearsay, a fraction of the time for pre-trial, and a failure to se-
quester witnesses.”
Just when Hermione had opened her mouth, he’d smiled and added, “But
I’m not any defense counsel.”
A shutter of doors startled her, and she blinked up to find Blaise being led
into the courtroom in his Azkaban robes. His face was blank and his jaw set as
the murmuring grew. He was led to a chair just in front of Shrapley, who tipped
his head as if greeting a business associate at lunch.
The doors opened a moment later, and the courtroom rose for President
Tiberius Ogden. Of the five judges, he was chosen to preside over the court. His
alternate would vote for Great Britain.
It was another reason for Hermione to be anxious. Without Ogden, she had
little feel for any of the judges’ political leanings.
The court opened with a sworn oath from the panel of judges. All oaths and
testimony would be performed without the use of magical influence, the Council
had ruled. “To protect witnesses and defendants from coercive tactics,” the Council
had written, “and to prevent unexpected obstacles to the judges’ deliberations.”
After, the Italian Prosecutor stood.
He outlined Blaise Zabini’s crimes against peace and humanity through his
“premeditated” assistance to the Great Order, resulting in the seizure of the
Italian government, the murder of dozens of officials, and the loss of thousands
of lives. He spoke of his participation in human trafficking and slavery. Hermi-
one watched Blaise for a reaction, but he was as still as stone.
Shrapley went next, his eyes sharp and his speech slow. By the time he fin-
ished outlining his key evidence that Blaise’s actions were based on an immi-
nent threat to himself and his mother, Hermione could hear nothing but the
scratching of reporters’ quills.
The Prosecution brought in their witnesses over the next two days. A few
appeared in person, but the rest submitted statements. The witness affidavits
seemed to irritate Shrapley the most, judging by the way he rolled his shoulders.
But Blaise was stoic through it all, his face impassive as the Prosecution read
out statement after statement from witnesses claiming that he’d aided and abet-
ted the Death Eaters in the torture, rape, and murder of Italian citizens.
On the second day, Luca Bianchi testified to Blaise’s visit to Italy last sum-
mer, when he assisted in the transition of power to Constantine Romano.
Shrapley cross-examined with only two questions — “What was your under-
standing of the relationship between the Bravieri and Zabini family before 10th
July 1998?” and “Were you aware of the executions of the Mancini and

✦ 382 ✦
Lombardi families on 11th July for failing to endorse Romano?” — both of
which made the put-together Bianchi stutter over his words.
Giuliana Bravieri took the stand that afternoon. The Prosecution had sub-
poenaed her a week and a half ago, while Shrapley’s motion was still languish-
ing in the Secretariat’s office. Shrapley’s request to interview her had been de-
clined within hours. The letter had been signed by Matteo Bravieri, Giuliana’s
cousin and new legal guardian.
When she entered the courtroom, Giuliana was thin and wan in her expen-
sive dress robes. She burst into tears as soon as she caught sight of Blaise in cuffs
and prison robes. President Ogden rapped his gavel for order as the reporters
buzzed like crickets in the press seats.
Hermione bit down her tongue as Giuliana played right into the Prosecu-
tion’s hands. Through sniffles and shaking shoulders, Giuliana managed a
string of “yeses” and “nos” when the Prosecutor inquired whether Blaise had
petitioned the Dark Lord for her, whether they had a personal relationship be-
forehand, and whether he kept her in a private residence owned by Draco Mal-
foy and instructed her not to leave.
When the Prosecutor finished his questions, the judges shifted in their seats.
Henri Falco, the French judge, began twirling his snow-white walrus mustache
as he gazed at Blaise.
Silence fell as Shrapley stood, approached Giuliana’s chair, and introduced
himself in Italian. Giuliana’s lip quivered, but she greeted him back.
“I have a few difficult questions, Miss Bravieri, so please take your time in
answering,” said Shrapley. Giuliana nodded, her eyes glassy. “Did you ever en-
gage in a sexual relationship with Blaise Zabini?”
“No.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “No, we didn’t.”
“Did he ever harm you physically?” Giuliana shook her head. “A ‘yes’ or
‘no,’ please, Miss Bravieri.”
“No. He would never.”
Bianchi coughed.
Shrapley inclined his head, and he opened his palms as he asked, “How
many parties have you attended at Edinburgh Castle, Miss Bravieri?”
Giuliana fussed with the handkerchief in her lap. “Two.”
“And how many of those times were in the custody of Blaise Zabini?”
“None,” Giuliana whispered.
A scatter of murmurs. Luca Bianchi uncrossed his legs next to her.
“Miss Bravieri, the court has heard from multiple eyewitnesses that you of-
ten attended the Edinburgh parties with Mr. Zabini,” said Shrapley. “How
might that be?”

✦ 383 ✦
 “She went as me.” Giuliana hiccuped, her face wet. “Pansy.”
The court rumbled.
“I tried to tell them he never made me go. But no one would listen. They
said I was confused—” She broke off in sobs.
Hermione could see the Italian Prosecutor scramble through his files, star-
ing with growing horror at the first witness for the Defense — Pansy Parkinson.
“Asymmetrical discovery,” Shrapley had hummed to Hermione a week ago,
when discussing his strategy. “The Prosecution will have limited information
about the evidence we’re approved to use in court. It’s the only advantage we
have, Miss Granger, and I intend to exploit it fully.”
Giuliana was led away as the Italian Prosecutor gaped at Shrapley; Bianchi
was gesturing angrily to her right. And for the first time, Hermione locked eyes
with Blaise. His lips twitched.
At the end of the day, the Prosecution rested its case. And on Wednesday,
Pansy Parkinson took the stand, discussing several memories of her posing as
Giuliana at Edinburgh. A court secretary had given a summary to the court-
room just before, as her memories had been viewed privately by the judges,
Prosecution, and Defense during recess.
Another recess was called as soon as the Prosecution finished cross-exam-
ining her. Hermione tried to make her way over to her, but Pansy was too fast.
She tossed a curt nod in Hermione’s direction before slipping out the side entry,
and by the time Hermione stumbled into the crowded corridor, she was gone.
Blaise’s mother and Daphne Greengrass testified that afternoon. And for the
first time, Blaise looked shaken, clenching his jaw and staring at the chains
around his wrists.
On Thursday morning, Hermione took the stand and told the courts that
Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. There was an uproar, but Shrapley only raised his
brows while Ogden pounded the gavel and called the court to order. The court
went into recess to review her memory, and when Hermione stood to escape
the glares and murmurs, even Fleur stared like she’d never seen her before.
Two hours later, Hermione was back on the witness stand, a hundred eyes
bearing down on her. She kept her story to the simplest version of the truth —
“Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini chose not to attend the arena match, and Bel-
latrix Lestrange confronted us on the Wooden Bridge” — and when Shrapley
prodded her on why Bellatrix wanted to kill her, she’d responded, “She said I’d
poisoned him, and that his weak, lovesick heart would destroy his family.”
Cutting through the crowd’s gasps, Shrapley asked how Blaise had assisted.

✦ 384 ✦
 “Draco Malfoy had an urgent commitment in Romania, and Blaise volun-
teered to cover for him. He concealed Bellatrix’s body in the Forbidden Forest
with the help of Pansy Parkinson.”
The buzzing grew louder. Shrapley gave her the slightest dip of his chin.
He knew about the Horcrux, of course. After viewing the memory of Bella-
trix’s death in Lucius’s Pensieve together, he’d leveled her with a look that had
the truth tumbling out of her. Hermione had drawn sharp breaths to explain why
she wanted to omit it from Blaise’s defense, and how Blaise had agreed. Shrapley
had carefully responded that he agreed with her decision, if exonerating Draco
was of interest — and after confirming that he would be able to represent Draco
in his trial, he submitted a motion to suppress the part of her memory where
Blaise had told her and Draco to “go off and kill whatever they needed to kill.”
The Secretariat’s office had agreed it was irrelevant to Blaise’s case.
President Ogden called for order, and Shrapley waited until the room was
deadly quiet. “To your knowledge, Miss Granger, where was Bellatrix
Lestrange headed?”
“To assassinate the Hungarian Minister.”
“No further questions, Mr. President,” said Shrapley, and he took his seat
amidst the whispers.
The Italian Prosecutor cross-examined her with barely-suppressed fury. He
fired off question after question, all of which were met with swift objections
from Shrapley. After six sustained objections, the Prosecutor gave up, glaring
daggers into Hermione’s skin as she exited the witness stand.
Blaise testified in his own defense on Thursday afternoon. The court spent
all afternoon bickering over his memories, with Shrapley making the case that
his arrival in Italy had directly followed the threat to himself, his mother, and
their associates. The Prosecution focused on Blaise’s presence during the mur-
der of several members of the Bravieri administration.
The court opened on Friday with the announcement that Bellatrix
Lestrange’s body had been successfully located in the Forbidden Forest. They
took all day to deliberate, and when one of the five judges stood and read out
Blaise’s sentence of sixteen months in Azkaban, Hermione felt her chest crack
in two. Shrapley had long told her that a year was the best possible outcome.
The Prosecutors had pushed for twenty.
Still, she was unable to extinguish the hope in her chest until the moment a
sharp rap of the gavel adjourned the court.
Blaise winked at her as they carted him off, dragging him out through the
doors and returning him to Azkaban.

✦ 385 ✦
 Hermione left quickly afterward, ignoring Fleur and Hestia’s calls until she
turned the corner and found an empty room to lock herself in.
When she emerged ten minutes later, her eyes were clear and her makeup
fixed. She retrieved her wand, tossed a clipped goodbye to the Council members
by the exit, and paused for the screaming reporters outside the building.
“Justice has been served today,” she said, as the cameras flashed. Then she
brushed past them and Apparated home.
・✦・
Earlier in July, Hestia had sent her a note about a memorial for the fallen
that several of the old Hogwarts Governors were planning. Hestia had thrown
the support of the Provisional Government behind it, and asked Hermione if
she’d like to make any suggestions to the organizing committee. The only thing
Hermione contributed was the date — 31 July.
At breakfast on the morning of the 31st, Narcissa let her set the pace for the
conversation, not pressing her to speak about the memorial. Hermione sipped
her coffee, and they settled into a comfortable silence.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” she asked once they had finished.
Narcissa’s smile was strained. “This day is for the people who would only be
hurt by my presence,” she said. “I can understand that, and I can respect it.”
Hermione nodded, feeling the truth in her words. She wasn’t afraid to attend
the memorial with Narcissa, just like she hadn’t been afraid to be seen with
Harry their fourth year, when over half the school was against him. But she
could respect Narcissa’s feelings on the matter.
When she returned to Draco’s bedroom, the Daily Prophet was waiting for
her on his desk. A photograph of Blaise sitting stoically during his trial was
splashed across the cover. The headline read, Blaise Zabini to Serve 16 Months;
Bellatrix Bombshell Stuns Prosecutors.
Pressing her lips together, Hermione flipped it over, only to find a photo of
herself standing before Parliament Hall.
Hermione Granger: Friend or Foe to the True Order?
She turned the page. Blaise’s trial took up the first two pages. On page three,
there was another photograph of her beneath an article titled, Questions Grow
About Hermione Granger’s Relationship With Death Eater Draco Malfoy.”
Tossing the paper on the desk, Hermione spun on her heel and headed back
to her old bedroom.
She picked out a simple black dress and spent the rest of the morning Oc-
cluding in the bath, burying emerald eyes and messy black hair in a well-worn

✦ 386 ✦
tome in the back of her library. There would be time for Harry once she was at
Hogwarts. But first, she needed to build up her courage for another task.
The Floo to Grimmauld Place burst into green around her, and Hermione
stepped through to find a living room far tidier than when she’d seen it last. She
heard the telltale sounds of Plumb cleaning up in the kitchen, and her lips
twitched in a smile. Hermione followed her instincts up the stairs, and made
her way to the bedroom she’d seen Pansy emerge from months ago.
She’d just lifted her fist to knock on the door when a voice called out, “Go
away, Granger.”
Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open Pansy’s door. She found her curled
up on the windowsill, staring down the Muggles going about their Saturday.
“You should have locked it if you didn’t want me coming in,” Hermione
said primly.
“I’m not going.” Pansy tugged her knees to her chest. “So please just go find
a kitten to save to meet your quota.”
Hermione moved to the end of the bed and quietly sat. “I’m not going either,
then. Pity. You’ll be stuck with me all day.” Glancing around the room, she
found a black dress hanging on the back of the door — pressed and ready.
Pansy’s eyes moved over the street. “Nobody wants me there, Granger.”
It was a variation of Narcissa’s words. But they felt unacceptable this time.
“You have your whole life ahead of you. You can’t spend it in hiding.” Her-
mione smoothed her dress, frowning down at her knees. “You should allow
people to surprise you sometimes, Pansy. It’s lovely.”
A long silence.
Pansy turned to look at her, leaning her head against the window frame.
“That elf cries all the time. Did you give her to me on purpose?”
Hermione’s mouth twitched. Pansy arched a brow at her and went to get
dressed.
・✦・
They Apparated to the Hogsmeade gates, and Hermione waited for the chill
and hopelessness that had accompanied Hogwarts for the past year.
It never came, but there was still something hollow in her chest.
The castle glittered in the afternoon sun. The shape of it was familiar, even
though she could see some of the damage from last May and the siege after
Voldemort’s death. The Forbidden Forest had slithered closer to the path, and
the grass was patchy and unkempt. But if she skated her eyes quickly across the
landscape, it all looked the same.

✦ 387 ✦
 Pansy started twisting her fingers together and smoothing her hair when
they crossed the wards, and Hermione brushed her fingers against her elbow.
They walked down the long bridge toward the Clock Tower Courtyard to-
gether, where a crowd had gathered. The Governors had reached out to Ginny,
Neville, and Hermione to ask about delivering a speech, but all three had agreed
to decline. Speaking to a loss of that magnitude felt impossible. Wrong, even.
The committee decided that one of the Governors would deliver a few short
remarks. People would be free to mingle the grounds afterward and pay their
respects. No press allowed.
They had almost reached the courtyard when the crowd began to disperse
— it was only five past, and the Governor had already finished speaking. Her-
mione nodded to Hestia as the crowd scattered, but when she saw Jacobs stand-
ing nearby, she turned away.
Pansy moved next to her, and they studied the familiar arches and stones in
silence. They stood motionless as people moved around them, embracing,
speaking lowly. Hermione turned again, and her breath caught in her chest.
One of the exterior walls had been replaced with an obsidian slab, stretching
through the archways. Carved into it in white lettering were the names of Hog-
warts students, staff, and alumni who had died in the Second Wizarding War.
They moved towards it, and Hermione’s feet froze. Standing at the end of the
wall, running her fingertips over the etched names, was Ginny. She wore a black
dress with trainers, her hair only a bit longer since Hermione had seen it last.
Ginny turned, and her eyes widened as they landed on her. Hermione felt
weightless as they closed the space between them, throwing their arms around
each other. She felt less fragile than last time. Hermione sank into her warmth,
holding her close.
“Ginny.” Her throat felt thick. “I’m sorry I’ve been late in replying—”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve been busy, I know.”
When they pulled back, Ginny looked past her ear.
“Hello, Parkinson.”
“Weasley,” said Pansy, her tone almost pleasant. She pushed up her wide
black sunglasses and turned her attention to the names on the wall, drifting
away from them.
Ginny threaded her arm through Hermione’s and guided her to the slab of
stone she’d been tracing earlier. Her family’s names were etched in white,
grouped with other ‘W’ surnames.
“Half of us gone in a year,” she said. “Most days, I carry it. Others...”
Hermione squeezed her elbow, feeling her throat close. “It means some-
thing. That you’re still here.”

✦ 388 ✦
 They stood in silence for a time. And then Ginny said, “I’m sorry to hear
about Zabini.”
Hermione shrugged. “It was the best we could have hoped for.”
“Still.” Ginny glanced at her. “You should have seen George’s face when he
read that Draco Malfoy killed Bellatrix Lestrange for you.”
Before Hermione could think of a reply, Ginny was steering her to the other
side of the wall. She caught sight of Fleur and Bill by the old fountain, speaking
to Seamus Finnigan. A group of witches turned to stare at her as she walked
past. Hermione tore her eyes away, focusing on Penelope Clearwater in the
courtyard. She stood next to Percy Weasley and Roger Davies, her gaze distant
as they chatted.
They filed past rows of black-clad mourners — some weeping, others whis-
pering. They were almost at the other end of the wall when a girl spun to Ginny,
catching her by the arm. A former classmate.
Hermione slipped away as they embraced. Her eyes were just drifting over
the “A’s” when someone came to stand next to her.
“Granger.” Hermione turned, and the air left her lungs. The right side of
Seamus Finnigan’s face was burned, his marred skin stretching down his neck
and arm. Her eyes quickly flicked back to his.
“Hello, Seamus,” she said quietly, but she already knew it was pointless.
She’d written every surviving member in her class by now, and the list was
short enough to notice those who never replied.
“I hear you’re in bed with the snakes these days.”
His lip curled as he glanced over his shoulder to Pansy, who was standing
alone, staring out at the grounds.
“If you’re referring to my friendship with Pansy Parkinson—”
“If that’s what you want to call her.” Seamus stepped into her, and she had
to lift her chin to meet his eyes. “Your ‘friend’ has no right to be here. Though
I suppose she’s an improvement over the other company you keep.”
“If you can’t see that Pansy Parkinson has lost just as much as any of us,
then I don’t know what to tell you, Seamus,” said Hermione, her voice deadly
calm. “I understand how you must feel, but now is not the time.”
“And when is the right time to discuss you turning traitor—”
“Owl me when you’re ready, and I’ll be happy to answer your questions like
the old friend I’ve always considered you to be.” She held his gaze. “Take care
of yourself, Seamus.”
Some emotion crossed Seamus’ face before he turned to ice. As he stomped
away, Hermione took a deep breath and glanced back to Pansy. She was talking

✦ 389 ✦
to someone handsome and tall, and Hermione’s mouth fell open when she re-
alized who it was.
Freedom had been good to Neville Longbottom. He was still thin but mus-
cled, his hair falling into his face. She watched him slip his hands into his pock-
ets and roll back on his heels while Pansy lifted a brow at him.
A smile tugged at the corner of Hermione’s mouth, and she turned back to
the list of names.
Her gaze passed over Lydia Baxter, Katie Bell, and Lavender Brown. By the
time she reached Cho Chang in the next column, her eyes were wet. She
skimmed down the columns, searching for specific names and stumbling over
others. Cedric Diggory. Albus Dumbledore.
Luna Lovegood.
Her fingers reached out, whispering over the white letters, and the stone
warmed beneath her touch. Lower down, she found Remus Lupin and Nym-
phadora Tonks-Lupin, and on the next column, Minerva McGonagall.
She stepped back as their names blurred together, reaching for her still wa-
ters. Her shoulder bumped into the tall boy next to her, and her apology broke
off in a gasp when she saw that it was Oliver Wood. He stared straight ahead,
his shoulders tense.
Hermione followed his gaze, and her heart thudded when she realized what
he was looking at. The “N” column.
“He’s not there,” he said.
She crossed her arm over her middle, clutching her elbow. “I’m sure it was
an oversight. I can contact the Governors—”
“Don’t bother.” His voice was clipped. “Crabbe and Goyle aren’t on here.
Neither are Marcus Flint or Adrian Pucey.”
She swallowed, looking down at her shoes. “I’m sorry if you felt abandoned
at St. Mungo’s, Oliver. It wasn’t my intention—”
“No, no. I should be thanking you for setting me up with those lawyers.”
He reached up to rub his brow. “I’m sorry. I’m just… bitter about everything
these days.”
She nodded slowly. The hollow ache in her chest grew like a hole forming
in the earth. “I’m still hoping to clear Theo. But it has to wait until Draco’s trial.”
“I understand.”
Hermione shifted her weight. “Can I come to Glasgow sometime and visit you?”
“I’m actually leaving here with Angelina and George. Going to stay with
them in France for a bit.”
He jerked his head to the side, and she peered past him, down to the end of
the alphabet.

✦ 390 ✦
 George and Angelina stood before the names of Fred, Charlie, Molly, and
Arthur, as still as sculpted marble. Angelina’s right hand lay on George’s shoul-
der, her other loose at her side — a prosthetic. George stared vacantly at the
obsidian stone, and Hermione could see his reflection shining against the wall
— two of him again.
“I’m happy for you. I hope…” Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. “I
hope they’ve been understanding of what you’ve gone through.”
Oliver hummed. “George still thinks I’ll wake up from this someday, but Ange-
lina is working on him. Apparently, your testimony has him questioning things.”
Hermione looked away, twisting her fingers together. They were quiet for a
moment before Oliver spoke again.
“It’s hard for them. I didn’t like blokes before… before this. Maybe I still
don’t.” His voice was ephemeral, like a secret whispered in the dark. “But I told
Angelina, ‘I fell in love with someone who protected me when I was at my most
vulnerable. Wouldn’t you say the same about you and George?’“
The chasm in her chest split deeper. She blinked quickly, tears escaping as
more of herself fell away, lost to it. Oliver danced in her eyes.
“I hope he comes back to you.” He murmured a goodbye, and turned to join
George and Angelina.
Hermione muffled a sob with the back of her hand. Once composed again,
she swiped at her cheeks, readying herself for the next set of names.
In the “P” column, she found Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, and Poppy Pom-
frey, before finally, finally, her fingers brushed his name. Harry Potter.
Heat met her skin again. If she pressed her fingertips hard enough, she could
feel her own heartbeat and imagine.
“It’s strange that he’s not set off from the rest.”
Her heart clenched, and her eyes closed. She turned over her shoulder and
found Ron standing just to the side, his left eye covered and his hands in his
pockets.
She looked back to Harry’s name. “I think it’s what he would have wanted.
To be just one of many instead of the chosen.”
Ron stepped up to stand at her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of him
at her elbow, but the space between them was endless.
“The school Governors wanted to commission a tomb next to Dumbledore,”
she said. “I told them that Harry would have wanted them to focus all their effort
on reopening Hogwarts. But after, he would have liked the idea, I think.”
She glanced up at him, some youthful part of her still aching for his ap-
proval. He stared at Harry’s name and nodded.

✦ 391 ✦
 They stood side-by-side, with only a memory between them for several
minutes. The birds in the eaves sang a sad song, and the wind carried it over
those gathered in the courtyard.
“Do you want to walk with me,” he said, after a while.
Hermione looked up at his open expression, and nodded.
She followed Ron as he led her leisurely down the list of names, and down
to the steps to the grounds. They were quiet together as they walked along the
treeline — something they’d never had in the past, but she decided to accept it
as long as it would last.
It wasn’t until they rounded a large tree and Ron’s feet halted that she real-
ized they were at the pumpkin patch. What remained of Hagrid’s hut was in a
pile of wood and dirt, but she could just make out where his brick steps had
been. The Forbidden Forest had grown forward around it, but someone had
replanted the pumpkins.
Hermione looked back at the long distance they’d walked. She could just
make out the Black Lake, a white marble grave on the shore.
“I’ve been talking to Ginny again.”
Hermione nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist. When she looked
up, she found him gazing intently at her.
“Good.” She managed a small smile.
“She said it was wrong of them to put you in St. Mungo’s. And I agree with
her now.” He sniffed once and glanced at the castle. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize
that sooner, or…”
Her stomach twisted, turning over itself. There was no getting around it all.
They needed to do this.
“Ron, I understand. You were…” She looked around, searching for the
words. “You were working off the information you had at the time. But you
were missing the most crucial piece of it all.”
“And what’s that?”
Hermione choked down her nerves. “I had feelings for Draco before all of
this. At school. Before he took the Dark Mark and even before Voldemort came
back…” She shook her head. “I never told you or Harry. I kept it for myself.”
Her eyes pricked, and she brushed her knuckles across her lashes. “You can
imagine my surprise when I learned he had feelings for me, too—”
Ron scoffed and turned to lean against the large tree. “Yeah. I know.” He
reached up to adjust his eyepatch, and Hermione gaped at him.
“You— what?”
“He watched you. He was…” He waved his hand. “Let’s just say I recognized
it in him. Though I never imagined it ran that deep.”

✦ 392 ✦
 Hermione’s cheeks flamed. She bit her lip, trying to tread carefully.
“I want you to know that… it doesn’t discredit what my feelings were for
you. I did care for you, Ron. I still do.”
His jaw ticked as his gaze roved the horizon. “Just not enough. Not like I
want you to.”
The truth drifted over them with the summer breeze, and there was nothing
she could do to change it. Nothing she would do, even if she could.
Ron pushed off the tree and looked down at the grass.
“I think…” His throat bobbed. “I think that’s all I can hear about it for right
now. I never met this version of Malfoy you fell in love with. And I just can’t
stomach thinking of you with the version in my head.” Hermione swallowed,
her eyes welling with her shame.
He scratched the back of his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was
quiet. “I thought of you every day of the past year, Hermione. Every minute.”
“Ron, I did too—”
“I was trying to get back to you with every breath, and all the while, you were
falling in love with Draco Malfoy.” He fixed his gaze on her, and she couldn’t
breathe with the pain in her chest. “I just need time with that now.”
She dragged air into her lungs as the tears fell freely. Pressing her eyes
closed, she nodded to the ground.
They stayed there until the sun began sinking and the birds stopped singing,
delaying the inevitable moment they needed to return to the castle and the black
wall of dead names.
・✦・
Hermione went through her mail on Sunday. After she disclosed Bellatrix
Lestrange’s fate on the stand, the Council had scheduled an emergency meeting
with the Secretariat on Monday. Hermione wrote a quick reply, declining to
attend and requesting a full summary. It arrived late Monday night from Hestia,
and on Tuesday morning, Hermione read along with the rest of the world that
Bellatrix’s trial had been canceled, her husband’s trial scheduled in its place.
They’d have less than a week. The Tribunal insisted that Rodolphus and his
defense counsel had consented, as their pre-trial procedures were almost com-
plete, but it didn’t stop Gertie Gumley from lashing them in the Ghost.
“The fact that they moved up Rodolphus instead of Malfoy means that they’re
worried,” Shrapley said through the Floo that afternoon. “They know about the
antidote potion, and now they know about Bellatrix. I’m sure the Prosecution is
running laps around Europe right now, trying to round up more witnesses.”
Hermione’s hands felt clammy. “That’s not encouraging.”

✦ 393 ✦
 “I think it is.” The smirk on Shrapley’s lips could have rivaled Lucius Mal-
foy’s. “Their case is on thin ice, and they know it.”
Hermione tried to keep that in mind as she spent the next three days buried
in preparations with Shrapley and his two assistants. They spent long hours in
the drawing room, hammering out questions and ignoring food from the elves.
By Friday, Hermione had lost all sense of modesty, handing over even her most
intimate memories for Shrapley to view in Lucius’s Pensieve with a practiced
flick. There was no time for shame when Draco’s life was on the line.
The weekend passed by in a blur, and then Monday arrived, and she was
Apparating to Edinburgh for the first day of Rodolphus Lestrange’s trial.
She’d written to the Prosecution Office some weeks before, offering evi-
dence against Rodolphus, Travers, Crabbe, Sr., and Greyback. They’d declined,
assuring her they had plenty of evidence, but would contact her should the sit-
uation change. She hadn’t heard from them since.
Even though she wasn’t testifying in Rodolphus’ trial, it felt important to
attend its opening and close. Whatever the papers might say, she cared about
more than protecting the unfairly accused. She’d meant it when she told Draco
that she’d see the guilty pay.
A guard ushered her into the familiar courtroom, and she asked for the seat
against the wall. When the next distinguished visitor was led in— a Canadian
Council Member— he insisted on leaving a space between them. Hermione ig-
nored it, focusing on Fleur’s wave and Hestia’s nod.
Lestrange was gaunt, his hair matted and his beard overgrown. His chains
clinked heavily as he shuffled to the chair before his counsel, and his expression
was resigned as the charges against him were read.
After lunch, the Prosecution called the third witness to the stand, and Her-
mione was startled from her still waters when a clerk led in a young girl on
trembling legs.
Cara. The girl who had brought her to Dolohov on the last night at Edin-
burgh Castle.
Memories shot to the surface — hot breath on her face, crooked teeth bared,
black eyes watching her bathe. Hermione shoved them down, locking them
away in a book and filing it between two larger ones until it disappeared.
Murmurs bounced around the walls when the Canadian Prosecutor in-
formed the court that Cara was a Muggle. Ogden called for order, scolding the
audience, and urging him to continue with his direct examination.
Hermione listened with a growing sickness as Cara told the story of what hap-
pened the night the True Order had attacked Edinburgh Castle for the second time.

✦ 394 ✦
 As Ginny was killing Voldemort, and True Order forces were rescuing Lots
around the country, an army led by General Robert Pierre had surrounded Edin-
burgh Castle. The Carrow Girls had been thrown in the dungeons shortly after
the attack began, but several hours later, a Death Eater had reappeared. He’d
given the magical Carrow Girls antidotes for their magic suppression, handed
them wands, and Imperiused them to join the fight against the True Order.
The attack had lasted three days, ending when the Americans’ bombs re-
duced the castle to dust. That was how Charlotte had died — her body broken
and eyes vacant, a wand forced in her hand.
Hermione’s cheeks stung with tears as Cara pointed at Rodolphus as the
man in the dungeons, confirming the word he’d used: “Imperio.” Of the dozens
of slaves kept at Edinburgh Castle, only six had survived the attack — all of
them Muggle Carrow Girls left in the dungeons to die.
Hermione hadn’t known until that moment why that was.
She had to leave at the next recess. Brushing past a surprised Narcissa, she’d
rushed upstairs and Occluded until she forgot where she was.
On Tuesday, Hermione immersed herself in Draco’s trial. Wednesday was
much the same, only broken up by wrapping and sending a gift to Ginny on her
birthday. Hermione had written earlier to see if she wanted company, but she’d
replied that she’d be visiting George and Angelina in France, and the invitation
was open to her as well. She’d declined due to the trial preparation, and Ginny
had understood.
Shrapley received an owl Wednesday evening and informed Hermione and
his assistants that Rodolphus’ Defense had rested its case after a single day. So
on Thursday afternoon, Hermione Apparated to Edinburgh, and when Presi-
dent Ogden read his sentence — death — she hadn’t felt an ounce of sympathy.
As the courtroom began emptying, Hestia gestured for Hermione to follow
her out of the gallery. “I was hoping I’d see you here.”
Hermione nodded, folding her hands.
Something itched at Hermione as she let Hestia lead her through the corri-
dor and out of the building, squeezing past the frenzied reporters. It wasn’t until
they began walking down the cobblestoned street together that Hermione
looked up at the skyline and realized what it was.
“What happened to the other five Muggles at Edinburgh?” she asked.
Hestia’s boots clipped twice on the stones. “All six are being kept in a safe
house at present. Their care is excellent, I assure you.”
“And what will be done with them afterward?”
Hestia’s lips thinned. “We’re still in deliberations.”

✦ 395 ✦
 Hermione stopped cold, forcing Hestia to face her. “‘We?’ You mean you
and the rest of the Provisional Government?”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk with you about,” Hestia said. “Some-
day soon, the Provisional Government will have to become less provisional. An
election will be announced soon, and General Jacobs has already made it quite
clear that he intends to throw his hat in the ring.”
A jolt ran down Hermione’s spine. “No. He can’t—”
“I agree,” said Hestia, glancing over her shoulder. “That’s why I intend to
throw my hat in as well.”
Hermione stared at her, her brain clicking in the silence. “And you want
my support?”
Hestia shrugged one shoulder. “In a way. I want you to name your position
in my administration.”
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed. “Name my position?”
“What do you see yourself doing after these trials are done, Hermione?”
She blinked, staring at the stone wall behind Hestia. She thought of the Mal-
foy money, and the fact that she didn’t have to do anything if she didn’t want
to. Her mind spun as she tried to remember her dreams before all of this —
before she’d needed to pack a bag and Obliviate her parents — but the ideas
slipped through her grasp like sand through a sieve.
Everything was different now.
“Think about it,” Hestia said eventually. “I like working with you. I think
we’d make an effective team. And you’d have a chance to make a difference.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked to her.
“Our country needs people who want this new world to be better than our
old one.”
Hestia tilted her chin and turned, walking to the Apparition point. Hermi-
one watched her disappear, her stomach sinking to the cobblestones as she tried
to imagine a future that might not include Draco.
・✦・
The days leading up to Draco’s trial date were a blur of owls and meetings.
Hix was in a constant state of irritation over the owl droppings, and Remmy
glared at the soiled marble where visitors flitted in and out of the Manor’s
Floo—Pansy, Oliver, even Boggleben.
After consulting with Narcissa, Hermione had decided to hire Shrapley as
her personal lawyer. When she told Shrapley about inheriting the Manor, she
had the pleasure of seeing him stunned into silence for the very first time. It

✦ 396 ✦
took him a full minute to spring into action, asking her to write Gringotts for a
meeting at the earliest opportunity.
Boggleben dusted off his suit and peered up at them in the Manor entryway
at eight o’clock on Monday. Shrapley grilled him for an hour, and when he was
satisfied that Gringotts’ records would be sealed, he requested a copy of Draco’s
contract with Dolohov to submit as evidence. Boggleben left at two minutes to
nine, grimacing at his pocket watch. And Shrapley smirked at his notes, telling
Hermione he’d be happy to help her deal with the paperwork regarding her
“familial ties” once Draco was cleared.
On Tuesday, Hermione stepped into the fireplace to meet with a Mind Healer.
It had been Shrapley’s idea to have an expert sign off on the integrity of her
memories before her testimony. The Prosecution had already submitted their
list of witnesses — one of whom was a Mind Healer — and Shrapley felt confi-
dent Pierre would revisit the question of whether her memories had been tam-
pered with somehow.
Pierre was to be the Prosecutor for Draco’s case. Some part of Hermione
had expected it, as she knew he’d completed law school while serving in the
military. But when Shrapley had broken the news two weeks earlier, she still
had to excuse herself to Draco’s bedroom for an hour.
Hermione cleared her mind as she walked through a well-lit, but empty, re-
ception area. Her heels clicked softly on the tiles until she found the correct door:
Dr. Henry Flanders: Magical Mind Healing, Muggle Psychiatry
Taking a deep breath, she pulled it open.
Dr. Flanders was a friendly man, if a bit soft-spoken. The first five minutes
went well enough, but every inch of Hermione froze when he asked her how
she was. Her hands twitched, and she saw mint green robes behind her eyelids.
Dr. Flanders’ face was kind as he gently explained that he wouldn’t be con-
ducting a psychiatric evaluation. Today was just about her memories, and they
could take it slow as she needed.
Hermione nodded, but she still flinched when he cast his first charm.
They spent the rest of the day together, running hundreds of tests. At the
end, Dr. Flanders explained that he wasn’t a Legilimens, but could tell she had
very strong Occlumency training.
“I’m surprised that such a strong Occlumens could ever have their memo-
ries questioned in the way yours have been, Miss Granger.” He clicked his Mug-
gle pen and wrote something on his notes.
“That’s because no one knows.” Hermione stared at the diplomas on his
walls. “What is your specialty exactly, Dr. Flanders?”
“Magical neurology, memory repair, and motor functions,” he said.

✦ 397 ✦
 Her eyes snapped to him. “What kind of memory repair?” He looked up at
her, and emotion rose in her throat. “Not for me. My…” She broke off with a
swallow. “I Obliviated my parents two years ago. Before the war started.” She
bounced her knee. “I don’t have much time to think about it right now, but
maybe when the trial is over, I— maybe we might be able to talk about it.”
He flipped his notes closed and pulled out a leather-bound planner. “Name
the day, Miss Granger.”
・✦・
On Wednesday, Hermione met Viktor Krum at a Muggle cafe in the out-
skirts of London where they wouldn’t be recognized. His reply to her request
had been curt, so relief washed over her when he swept her into a warm hug the
moment she arrived.
The first half-hour was full of stilted pauses as they tried to make sense of the
other’s time during the war. Viktor revealed that he and Katya had been working
with the True Order from the beginning, and had volunteered to infiltrate the
Death Eaters alongside the Bulgarian Minister. The only piece of information that
surprised her was that Minister Grubhov had been in on it. Katya had Obliviated
him after Edinburgh was attacked, and Viktor had fled to France.
“I spoke vith Draco Malfoy’s barrister,” he said, after a time.
Hermione’s eyes shot up to his. “I know.”
Viktor sipped his tea, glancing out the window. “He told you vot I said?”
“No. But he did tell me you wouldn’t formally agree to testify on Draco’s
behalf.”
“Because I vant to hear it from you.” He set his cup down and leveled his
eyes on her. “You vant me to tell them he lowered his vand.”
“I do,” she said.
Viktor searched her face. “You are going through a lot of trouble for some-
one who has been missing for months. Are you sure he is even alive?”
She could hear her heartbeat echo inside the cavern in her chest. “He is.”
“How can you be so su—”
“I can feel it.”
Viktor stared at her, and her face grew hot as she thought of the other ex-
planations she should have given about Gringotts, and Grimmauld Place.
Finally, Viktor nodded. And sipped his tea.
・✦・
Draco’s trial would begin on Monday 23 August. On Thursday, Shrapley
had come to collect some of the items she stowed in her pouch. On Friday, she’d

✦ 398 ✦
stared at her notes. And on Saturday, she sat with Narcissa at dinner, staring
down at the table and pushing her potatoes around with her fork.
She’d struggled with her Occlumency the last few days. Rationally, she knew
Draco was alive, but it hadn’t stopped Viktor’s words from echoing in her ears
every night until she gave into a Dreamless Sleep potion.
“Narcissa,” she said abruptly. “If Kreacher answers to the House of Black,
would he come if you called him?”
Narcissa glanced up from her plate. Hermione’s breath grew quicker as
her mind raced.
“I know we’ve been careful, but it’s been months. I really think it’s safe to sum-
mon him. If we could communicate with him, he could tell us how Draco is—”
“I don’t think so, Hermione,” said Narcissa softly. She set down her fork.
Hermione blinked. “You think Kreacher wouldn’t come?”
“No, I…” There was a pause as Narcissa searched for the words. “I don’t
think it’s a good idea.”
“Oh.” She counted her heartbeats. “But don’t you think Draco would want
to know that we have his case handled? He must be in a safe location by now.
Kreacher could easily fetch the papers for him, and I’m sure he’s—”
“If he wanted to reach out, he would have.”
The words hit her like a blow. She reeled from the truth of it.
He could have found her, if he wanted.
He could have been here, to hold her when she woke up tangled in his sheets,
screaming and crying from her nightmares.
“Hermione, dear—”
“I miss him,” said Hermione, and then she was crying, her lungs seizing for
air. “I want to know he’s safe. And I want him to come home.”
“I know, darling— “
“Do you think”—her voice shook as she tried to calm herself—”If I can get
him acquitted, do you think he’ll come home after?”
A soft hand found hers. Hermione watched it blur as she waited for Nar-
cissa’s answer, like dancing on a tightrope.
When she finally looked up, it was into warm blue eyes. “I think it depends.
I think he has to believe there’s something worth coming back for.”
The space where her heart should have been beating dissolved to dust. A wet
sound broke from her throat, and she wanted to ask Narcissa exactly what she
had to do, but the sobs were coming too quickly, wracking her body.
Narcissa held her tightly until it ended. She stood, stooping to brush Her-
mione’s cheeks with her knuckles and tuck her hair behind her ear. Then she
quietly excused herself.

✦ 399 ✦
 Hermione stared at the tablecloth as Narcissa’s footsteps faded, wondering
how she could possibly tell Draco he was the only thing she wanted anymore
when he was so far out of reach.
・✦・
She arrived at Parliament Hall on Monday morning in the same navy robes.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and she matched the rhythm with her foot-
steps on the cobblestones.
“Miss Granger! Over here!”
“Miss Granger, are you here to testify on behalf of Draco Malfoy?”
“Do you know where he is?”
She steeled her expression and pushed past them, ignoring the flashbulbs
in her face.
The Swiss Prosecutors were gathered near security, and they fell silent when
she neared. She ignored them, checking her wand and proceeding directly to
the courtroom doors. The guards cleared her quickly, and she was led to her
usual chair behind the Italian Prosecutors. Pierre smirked at her as she took her
seat, twirling a quill between his fingertips.
The large chair for the Defendant was absent. Hermione breathed deep and
focused on smoothing out the ripples of the lake inside her mind.
The press filed in. The Secretariat entered next. The court came to its feet for
President Ogden. She sat again. The Judges swore their oaths. And Pierre stood up.
She drifted into her body to watch him step towards the judges.
“We’re here today to try Draco Malfoy for his crimes,” his smooth voice
rang out. “His crimes against the United Kingdom, and greater Europe, and the
international community. His crimes”—Pierre turned to the press seats—
“against humanity itself.”
Hermione counted to ten as she inhaled.
“—beyond reasonable doubt, murdered Swiss Minister Vogel and his secre-
tary, and served as an accessory to the murder of thousands in Switzerland and
France. In addition to his war crimes, Mr. Malfoy actively participated in sex
trafficking and human slavery—”
She counted as she exhaled.
“—orchestrated careful, strategic assistance to the True Order to protect
himself in the event the Great Order should fall—”
Her gaze drifted to Shrapley. He met her eyes for one heartbeat before roll-
ing his shoulders back and returning to his notes.

✦ 400 ✦
 He’d visited the Manor yesterday evening. She’d frozen at the sight of him
stepping through the Manor fireplace, but he quickly reassured her he was only
there to offer some pre-trial advice.
“You’re paying me—quite handsomely—to trust me. So trust me.”
Her brows had drawn together, but she nodded for him to continue.
“It will be a long trial. I’d advise you to stay away if it weren’t for the fact
that it would be irregular— “
“I’m not going to stay home when his life is on the line—”
“—as well as your clear personal feelings for him, coupled with an enormous
amount of stubbornness.”
There had been silence.
“As Draco’s attorney, I will tell you right now that the best thing for you to
do for his case is to keep yourself well.”
Hermione had stared at him, but she found no hidden meaning in his words.
“You’re an expert Occlumens. Nothing you hear in that courtroom is going
to help you deliver the testimony I need you to deliver. That Draco needs you
to deliver. So use your skillset, and let me use mine.”
Her throat had been dry as she opened her mouth. “Alright.”
His blue eyes had searched hers in the darkness.
“Your shoulders are too young to carry the weight you try to lay on them,
Miss Granger.”
Before she could respond, he’d turned to the fireplace and left.
Hermione was startled back to the present by Pierre taking his seat. He
leaned back in his chair, completely at ease.
She watched President Ogden tilt his head at Shrapley. He stood, stepping
around the table as the reporters murmured.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” he said. His eyes flicked over her once as he
turned to the judges, and Hermione breathed deep as she plunged into the
depths of her still waters.
Some time later, a man took the stand. Another man in black robes stood to
question him.
A man with silver hair stood. His voice was slow as he walked. The man on
the stand shifted.
A gavel banged. People stood. Someone said hello to her. She greeted them,
then pulled out her notes.
The courtroom filled again. A woman in blue robes took the stand. The man in
black robes stood to question her, and the silver-haired man interrupted him twice.
The silver-haired asked the woman questions. The walls behind her buzzed.

✦ 401 ✦
 Court adjourned, and Hermione blinked into her body when Hestia Jones
paused in front of her.
“Alright, Miss Granger?” she said.
Hermione blinked again. “I’m fine. Sorry, but please excuse me—” She tried
to catch up with Shrapley, but he was out the front door before she could call out.
The next day was much the same — the Prosecution was still interviewing
witnesses about Draco’s actions in Zürich and Geneva, though nearly half a
dozen were affidavits. Fleur startled her out of her Occlumency by inviting her
to lunch, and Hermione declined out of fear she’d want to discuss specifics.
When Narcissa met her at the front door that day, asking how it went, all
Hermione could manage was, “I hardly know.”
On Wednesday morning, Hermione had trouble staying in her still waters.
The signed affidavits were in regards to her. Shrapley had prepared her for
this, warning her that there would be account after account of her treatment at
Edinburgh and the Hogwarts Celebration Party — but her lake still rippled
every time someone said her name, and when the crowd murmured, she could
hear the rumbling of a distant avalanche.
At the afternoon recess, she slipped out the back door and took a walk
through Edinburgh, fighting the temptation to storm back into the courtroom
and scream.
“Four more hours,” Shrapley muttered from the corner of his mouth, as they
filed back inside the courtroom. Hermione managed a nod.
The court resumed, and just as Hermione imagined her lake, Pierre called
his final witness to the stand. A Mind Healer.
Her gaze flickered as the witness was led into the courtroom.
She recognized him. He was the shorter, rounder Healer who had stopped
her from leaving. Shrapley had given her his name, but she was certain she
hadn’t worked with him.
His eyes drifted over her as he sat on the stand and introduced himself, and
when Pierre began his questions, her shelves began trembling.
“Healer Thompson, can you please explain what ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ is?”
Hermione’s eye twitched. She looked over to Shrapley. His quill had gone
very still.
“Stockholm Syndrome is a psychological response wherein a hostage bonds
with their captor. Although we would expect the hostage or victim to experience
fear or disdain, the opposite can happen. They develop positive feelings for their
captors, possibly even believing they share common goals and interests.”
Hermione tried to reach for her still waters, but it was as if the lake had
dried up.

✦ 402 ✦
 “Oftentimes the hostage comes to distrust authority figures and anyone who
might be trying to separate them from their captor.”
Blood rushed in her ears. Her head was light as air, and her stomach heavy.
“Now Healer Thompson,” Pierre said, strolling directly in front of her, “does
Stockholm Syndrome always occur in these situations?”
“No.”
“Could a captor… encourage the development of these positive feelings in
their hostage?”
“Of course—”
“Objection,” Shrapley’s head jerked up. “Conjecture.”
“Overruled.” President Ogden nodded to Healer Thompson.
“Yes.”
Pierre tilted his head. “How?”
Healer Thompson cleared his throat. “By bringing them into their confi-
dence and showing them kindness. By reinforcing their dependence on them.”
There was a metallic taste in her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue.
“And what might a captor gain from such a thing?”
“Sympathy. Compliance. Devotion. In many cases, victims will refuse to
work with proper authorities to bring their captors to justice and seek to protect
them instead.”
Shrapley was still except for his fingertips tapping against his lips.
“Healer Thompson,” said Pierre, “Have you treated slaves purchased at the
Great Order’s Auction who have been diagnosed with this condition?”
“Yes.”
“Objection!” Shrapley scribbled a note before he added, “Irrelevant.”
“Sustained.”
Pierre turned to President Ogden. “No further questions.”
Shrapley stood, and Hermione’s eyes flicked to him, clenching her trem-
bling hands into fists.
“What distinguishes Stockholm Syndrome from other relationships with a
power imbalance, Healer Thompson?”
Healer Thompson brushed his mustache and said, “Well, in one case, one
person can’t leave. They’re captives to the other person.”
Shrapley stared at him for a long moment before nodding and dismissing
the witness.
The Prosecution rested, and court was adjourned for the day.
Neither Hestia nor Fleur approached her this time. Hermione sat quietly in
her seat, burying books and organizing shelves until the courtroom was empty
and the guard asked her if she needed assistance.

✦ 403 ✦
 ・✦・
“There’s no need to panic,” Shrapley said through the Floo. “I miscalculated.
It was sure to happen once in my life.”
Hermione paced in front of the fireplace. “So they won’t be going after my
memories after all?”
“No. It seems they have decided to utilize an accusation of an obscure Mug-
gle condition that most in the wizarding world have never heard of. Before to-
day, anyway.”
“This is preposterous.” Hermione began pacing again. Shrapley was silent.
“How can I—” Her eyes closed, and she breathed deep through her nostrils.
“How can I disprove this? How can I show that Draco’s actions were out of
genuine love for me, and mine for him?”
“Trust the evidence, Miss Granger,” he said. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “The
evidence is based in fact, not the medical opinions of someone who has never
diagnosed you.”
When Shrapley disappeared from the fireplace, she declined dinner with
Narcissa, and asked the elves to bring her a Sleeping Draught. She laid in
Draco’s bed, thinking of the horrified way he’d stared at Giuliana with Blaise,
and Penelope with Marcus. And just before she drifted, she remembered the
last night she’d spent with him, when he’d silenced the words on her lips before
she could tell him she loved him too.
・✦・
On Thursday, she chose the best robes in her closet. She ate a few bites of toast,
flipped through the paper, and then walked outside to Apparate to Edinburgh.
Her shelves were tidy and secure, and her waters were still.
The reporters pressed on her. The sound was loud in her ears and the
flashes blinding.
She handed over her wand. They led her to a hallway to wait, and she stared
down at her shoes. They were far too sensible, she thought. Pansy would be furious.
Pushing Pansy’s book aside, she focused on the stone walls of the hallway.
They opened the doors for her, and a guard led her to the witness stand. She
sat, facing the court. Pierre was leaned back in his chair, his hands folded over
his stomach lazily.
Shrapley stood, lifting a brow at her.
The next three hours were filled with story after story, piece after piece of
the puzzle. He asked her if Draco Malfoy had ever forced sexual intercourse on
her during her year at Malfoy Manor, and she replied in the negative. He

✦ 404 ✦
directly referenced Susan Bones’ testimony that Hermione had performed oral
sex on Draco Malfoy in public, and she replied that Pansy Parkinson had done
so in her body in order to protect her from a party centered around Marcus
Flint’s lust potion.
Shrapley asked her to elaborate on when her sexual relationship began with
Draco Malfoy, and she replied, “The early hours of 20th March 1999.” Shrapley
had asked who had initiated the act, and she said, “I did.” The court hummed
in shocked whispers and scratching quills, but her mind was too focused for
their judgment to sink into her. President Ogden had to call for quiet.
“20 March,” Shrapley said, pacing with his hands in his pockets. “Why
didn’t Draco Malfoy pursue sex sooner?”
“His main interest was my comfort and well-being.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me as much many times, but it became clear in his actions on Sun-
day 26 July.”
Hermione went on to detail the ritual that extracted the magical signature
of her virginity, and the reasons for it. Shrapley asked the judges to refer to the
glass jar and corresponding memory they’d reviewed that morning.
Shrapley asked her to confirm that she still had one functioning ovary due
to Draco Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, and then referred to the physical exam-
ination conducted at St. Mungo’s when she’d been admitted.
He asked for any other instances where Draco Malfoy had prioritized her
well-being, and she explained the night that Bellatrix Lestrange had cut into her
arm, poisoning her, and the way Draco had sucked the venom out. He asked
her about the death of Bellatrix Lestrange and referred the judges to the
memory.
“Why do you think he killed his aunt, Miss Granger?” Shrapley asked.
“Because she was going to kill me.”
“And that was good enough reason for him?”
“Yes,” she said.
Pierre recrossed his legs. The reporters buzzed, the room hanging on
every word.
They moved onto the tattoo antidote potion after that. She described in ex-
cruciating detail how she researched the tattoos and what resources she was given
access to, including Narcissa and Draco’s wands. She mentioned Draco taking
her to see Theo Nott and procuring the proper text for her, at great risk to himself.
Shrapley asked why she didn’t take the antidote herself once it was tested. She
confirmed that she did, telling the court about the day Draco tried to give her his

✦ 405 ✦
wand and set her free. Her eyes pricked at the memory, and Shrapley gave her a
sharp look that reminded her to push her emotions beneath the surface.
After an afternoon recess, the last thing they discussed on Thursday was
how Hermione had communicated with the True Order. She detailed Char-
lotte’s system of passing notes, explaining that Draco helped her connect with
Cho Chang. When she told them it was Draco that had extracted Charlotte’s
memories the night Edinburgh was attacked in March, Pierre sighed and
cracked his neck. Her voice was hoarse from the talking as she finished with the
story of Draco giving the antidote ingredients to Charlotte and returning her
memories. Shrapley asked the court to refer to Lucius Malfoy’s memory that
had been submitted to evidence.
When President Ogden adjourned court that day, Hermione slipped out the
back to avoid the rabid reporters and photographers and Apparated home. She
accepted a hug from Narcissa, slipped into a bath, and allowed herself to think
of Draco without her Occlumency. Her tears drowned in the bathwater, and by
the time she went to bed, she was fully Occluded again.
Shrapley had filed several motions in the past weeks to remove the press
from the discussions of Horcruxes, citing a threat to the public. When Hermi-
one arrived on Friday morning to finish her testimony, only President Ogden,
the five judges, the Prosecution, the Defense, and the Secretariat were allowed.
Shrapley asked Hermione to explain what a Horcrux was, and to tell the
court how she came by this knowledge. He tossed her question after question
until it was clear to the court that the only reason Voldemort could survive
when other wizards could not was due to his Horcruxes.
A vein throbbed in Pierre’s temple, and Jacobs looked pale and grim. The
French judge’s mouth had fallen open at the beginning of her story and stayed
that way, his walrus mustache twitching.
Her story turned toward Draco’s involvement, Lucius Malfoy’s memories,
and Romania. They listened with rapt attention as she explained the process of
retrieving the Basilisk fang and killing the piece of Voldemort’s soul.
A week ago, she’d retrieved the remains of the Sorting Hat from Romania
in an Occluded haze. The wards recognized her as a Malfoy and let her pass.
Shrapley had submitted the Hat to a Dark Magic expert, and he had produced
a document confirming that the Hat had been endowed with Dark Magic at
some point, but now it was gone. Shrapley asked the court to refer to the Hat
submitted to evidence.
After three hours of questioning, Shrapley confirmed that he was finished
with his direct examination of Hermione Granger, and Pierre confirmed that
he would not ask questions about the Horcrux during cross-examination.

✦ 406 ✦
 President Ogden rubbed the bridge of his nose and called for a recess.
Hermione found a small room in the back of the library to sit in for the hour.
Shrapley brought her tea with honey and a small sandwich. She Occluded in
silence, sipping and chewing slowly.
The press and guests were greedy with curiosity when they returned after
lunch. They stared at her as she took the stand again, hungry to know what
she’d divulged that had necessitated the closing of the court.
President Ogden slammed his gavel, calling them to order. General Robert
Pierre stood, smoothed his hair, and turned his arrogant eyes on her.
“Miss Granger, you have been on the stand for a long time now. I just have
a few more questions.”
She nodded.
Pierre folded his hands and said, “When did Draco Malfoy first tell you that
he loved you?”
Grey eyes swam up in her vision. The book snapped closed.
“In the early hours of 4 May. He told me he’d loved me for years—”
“Yes, but he first told you this on 4 May. Correct?”
She blinked. “Yes.”
“The night the Great Order began to fall. The night Voldemort died and the
True Order stormed Malfoy Manor,” he added.
Hermione didn’t respond. Shrapley had made it clear to only answer ques-
tions, not statements.
“So it might be said, Miss Granger,” said Pierre, strolling in front of her,
“that he confessed his love for you in the very moments before he lost his power
over you.”
“Objection.” Shrapley’s voice cut through the whispers. “Leading question.”
“Sustained,” Ogden said. “General Pierre, be careful.”
Pierre nodded, and then smiled at her. “4 May, yes?”
“Yes.” Her fingers twisted together.
“Miss Granger, did you ever find it curious why your friends were being
tortured, raped, and caged like animals… while you slept in a bed of your own,
not a hair on your head touched—”
“Objection—”
“Rephrase, General Pierre—”
“Did you know your treatment was different than the other men and women
sold at the Auction?”
She looked into Pierre’s cool blue eyes and imagined placid waters. “I
did know.”
“What did you make of it?”

✦ 407 ✦
 “I was confused in the beginning. But when I asked Draco Malfoy why he’d
bought me in the Auction, he said it was the right thing to do.”
“And you believed him?”
Her breath hitched. She hadn’t. She’d thought for months that it was exactly as
Pierre said — a plot to protect him and his family. She chose her words carefully.
“Not at first, but after the many instances I discussed earlier, I came to see
that—”
“You didn’t believe him at first?” Pierre tilted his head at her.
“I soon did.”
“Was that before or after you began your sexual relationship?”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
Hermione was fully in her body now, her eyes watching General Pierre as
he stalked her like a panther closing in on its prey.
“What reason do we have to trust your mind, Miss Granger?” His eyes were
fierce as his voice grew in volume and speed. “You exhibit many symptoms of
Stockholm Syndrome as Healer Thompson discussed, and your testimony is
riddled with emotional ties to the defendant—”
“Objection—”
“—that only prove the point that you bonded with him during your cap-
tivity—”
“Objection—”
“Sustained, Pierre!”
“—aligning your goals to his ultimate purpose of proving his innocence to
this court—”
“I’ll hold you in Contempt, Pierre.”
“Apologies, Mr. President.” Pierre paused and swiftly redirected as her heart
hammered in her ribs. “What reason do we have to think you weren’t manipu-
lated in your time at Malfoy Manor, Miss Granger?”
“I loved him for years before he saved me.” She lifted her eyes, watching the
words float on a string to him. “And I love him still.”
Whispers descended like snowfall. Pierre opened his mouth. And paused as
the rumbling grew.
Hermione’s eyes flicked to Shrapley, who’d come to his feet. He lifted a brow
at her and gave the slightest shrug of his shoulder, as if to say, Not bad.
The gavel banged over and over until President Ogden had control of the
room. Pierre adjusted his collar and leveled her with a curious look.
“You loved him for years,” he repeated. “At school?”
“Yes. I had feelings for him at school.”

✦ 408 ✦
 She stared into Pierre’s narrowed blue eyes, and he held her gaze as he told
President Ogden that he had no further questions. The court was called to re-
cess, and she exited too swiftly to hear anyone calling her, moving as quickly as
she could back to Malfoy Manor.
・✦・
Hermione’s face was on the cover of the Prophet the next day. The photo-
graph had captured her exiting Parliament Hall yesterday, pushing through re-
porters and cameras. The headline that morning had read:
HERMIONE GRANGER TAKES THE STAND: “I LOVE HIM STILL”
She tried to settle her nerves all weekend, knowing that there was still more
to come for the defense on Monday. Narcissa offered to walk with her in the
gardens to soothe her anxiety, and when Hermione declined, she suggested they
read together in the Conservatory.
The Witch Weekly that Narcissa handed her on Sunday read: HERMIONE
GRANGER AND DRACO MALFOY: STAR-CROSSED LOVERS.
Her face burned. She could barely breathe as the weight of her confession
and testimony came crashing over her shoulders, but Narcissa simply smiled
into her teacup.
Owls came to the Manor every hour — invitations for interviews, fan mail,
Howlers. All kinds of different reactions. She told the elves to collect her letters
and hold them until after the trial.
On Monday, there were twice as many reporters waiting for her outside Par-
liament Hall. She kept her head high as she passed through them, letting their
questions vanish like sound in a vacuum.
That day, Shrapley called his second witness — a Swiss man who had de-
fected from the Great Order shortly after the battles in Switzerland. He had
been a lower-level guard who had witnessed Draco becoming violently ill after
torturing Muggles and Swiss soldiers on his aunt’s orders. He also testified that
on three different occasions, Lucius Malfoy swept in to finish the job for him,
sparing him from doing any more damage.
Katya Viktor took the stand after. She told the court that she’d found Her-
mione and Draco in the library when she came to visit. It had looked like they
were researching something. She also mentioned that Draco never reported her
to the Great Order after she insisted he attend Edinburgh on the night it was
attacked. She sent Hermione a small smile as she stepped off the stand.
After recess, it was Viktor’s turn to tell them about Draco lowering his wand.
Pierre scoffed, earning a rebuke from President Ogden.

✦ 409 ✦
 Oliver and Pansy testified on Tuesday morning — Oliver about how Draco
had come to Theo for help with the Scourer journal and the Pensieve for view-
ing Charlotte’s memories, and Pansy about how Draco had saved her after her
father gave her off to be Auctioned. Pansy was cool and calm as the conversa-
tion shifted to the night at Edinburgh, confirming that it had been her idea and
that she never felt forced.
“You dated Draco Malfoy briefly at school. Did you ever notice his feelings
for Hermione Granger?”
Hermione felt her pulse in her fingertips.
“Yes,” said Pansy.
“When?”
“About half-way through sixth year. That’s when I understood.”
When Pansy was excused, she sent Hermione a wink. Hermione smiled and
quickly looked away, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.
・✦・
The judges deliberated all throughout Wednesday. Hermione sat in one of
the empty courtrooms until Shrapley’s Patronus materialized: It’s time.
The French judge with the white mustache stood before the court and read out
that they had reached a conclusion about Draco Malfoy’s sentencing in absentia.
“If still alive, Draco Malfoy is sentenced to two years in Azkaban. He is to
turn himself over to the Ministry immediately upon receipt of this verdict.”
There was ringing in her ears. She swayed on her feet.
Shrapley had told her that an acquittal was impossible. “He’ll serve some
time,” he’d told her. “Make no mistake. Our goal is to make that number as
low as possible.”
What were two years to the rest of your life?
She pressed her fingertips to her lips and looked at Shrapley. He nodded to
her, with a pleased expression.
The court adjourned, and Hermione didn’t spare a glance at anyone else as
she crossed the room to thank him.
“I can get the sentence lowered in appeals,” Shrapley said. “I’m sure of it.” He
shook her hand and said, “I’ll be in touch, Miss Granger. A recommendation to
law school, perhaps?” He lifted his brow at her and led her out of the courtroom.
She followed him out into the corridor. Hestia stopped her to arrange a visit
to the Ministry that Friday to discuss her offer, and Hermione caught up to
Shrapley in time to admire the way he answered a reporter’s questions without
a pause in his steps.
“Of course we plan to appeal. I’ll have him out in 14–16 months.”

✦ 410 ✦
 He tossed Hermione a smile as they exited the building together, and disap-
peared into the shouting crowd without another word.
Hermione raced down the Manor’s drive, bursting through the Manor
doors and running to the drawing room. She pushed the doors open and froze,
her eyes searching for Narcissa’s. She took one look at Hermione’s face, and
began weeping.
They celebrated with champagne again. After Narcissa had gone to bed, and
the alcohol had stopped warming her skin, she took the long way back to her
bedroom, passing the library and her marble bust. She stared at Lucius’s smirk-
ing face and whispered the good news before dragging herself upstairs.
Thursday’s Prophet announced Draco’s sentencing with a detailed article
summarizing every step in the trial, apart from the sealed information about
the Horcrux. They’d included a picture of Shrapley making his way out of the
courtroom, capturing his quote about having him out in 14–16 months.
What the Tribunal had been unwilling to say about Draco Malfoy’s role in
the war, the press now was. Hermione was smiling down at an article about the
trial when her eye caught on something strange buried in the middle.
Provisional Government to Obliviate Remaining Edinburgh Muggles
Hermione tossed the paper back on the desk as if it had burned her. She sat
on Draco’s bed, trying to rationalize, but her blood continued boiling in her veins.
She finished reading the article, and it took her less than a split-second to
decide. She threw on her clothes, strode down to the Manor drive, and Appa-
rated to the Ministry.
She found Hestia in her small office on the first floor.
Hestia closed her eyes in resignation as the door slammed behind her.
“Hermione—”
“Obliviated.” Hermione brandished the article at her. “Three hundred of them.”
“Yes. But—”
“Let me guess. It wasn’t your vote.”
“Wrong.” Hestia stood from her desk and folded her hands in front of her.
“Hermione, the law is quite clear on this matter. There is clear stipulation from
the International Statute of Secrecy—”
“Are you telling me that the Provisional Government hasn’t bent any laws
in the past three months?”
Another silence.
“These are heroes,” she hissed. “Survivors—”
“My hands were tied, Hermione. If the new government we’re hoping to
build is to have any credibility moving forward, it must comply with the laws
of the I.C.W. They weren’t willing to bend on this.”

✦ 411 ✦
 Hermione stared at her, counting her heartbeats. “I have an answer to
your offer.”
“Go ahead,” said Hestia. Her lips pressed together.
“I cannot in good conscience join a government willing to make those kinds
of sacrifices. Those girls were just as much a part of this war as the rest of us—
” Her throat closed as she remembered a girl with strawberry-blonde hair
screaming into the sky. “They’ve had so much taken from them already. They
have a right to determine their own future.”
Hestia’s eyes flickered with something. “I understand completely. I also wish
things could be different.”
Hermione stepped into her. “Then do something about it.”
The corner of Hestia’s mouth tugged. “Excellent work with Zabini and Mal-
foy, Hermione. I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time.”
She moved around Hermione, her hand pausing on the door handle. “Keep
fighting,” she said softly. “I hope one day you can succeed where I’m failing. I
mean that.”
Hestia stepped through the door and held it open for her. Hermione felt
numb as she commanded her legs to walk through. Hestia closed it behind her,
pacing briskly down the corridor. Hermione stared after her, thinking.
As she exited the building onto the Muggle streets, she wandered for a while
in no specific direction. She thought of her parents, and Draco. But there was
only her own reflection staring back at her in the glass doors of an empty cafe
as she tried to decide what was supposed to happen next.
All she wanted was for things to mend themselves. The government. Hogwarts.
The Carrow Girls. The space between her and Ron, and the chasm in her heart.
She Apparated to Diagon Alley, wandering the damaged stalls and shuttered
shops. Flourish and Blotts had been looted, its windows broken and rubbish
strewn about the entry.
She walked down the narrow street, smiling at shopkeepers who recognized
her, and offering help to an old man trying to clean up his store.
At the corner of Diagon and Horizont Alley, she found a familiar storefront —
a bookstore she used to visit when Flourish and Blotts was too busy. Cornerstone
Bookshop. It had a funny off-center door and a little bell announcing visitors.
She searched the stacks for Morty, the sweet older man who owned the shop,
but only his wife Maggie emerged. Maggie told her with glassy eyes that Morty
had been killed last year in a skirmish with Death Eaters in Diagon Alley.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Maggie smiled at her sadly, and asked what she could help her with.

✦ 412 ✦
 “Thank you,” said Hermione. “Er, I was hoping to look for books on mag-
ical law.”
The moments the words escaped her, something clicked into place.
Maggie nodded and showed her to the proper shelves. By the end of the day,
as Hermione carried twelve new books to the counter, she asked Maggie if she
needed any help with the shop.
“Oh,” Maggie said, frowning. “You’re very kind, Miss Granger. But you’re
quite a celebrity. I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do.”
“Not really.” Hermione shrugged. “Actually, I’m looking to do some study-
ing. And if it’s alright with you, I suppose I could do it here. When it’s not too
busy, of course.”
Maggie’s eyes lit up, and she jerked her head in a nod as she fussed with
her grey plait.
Hermione was hesitant to leave Narcissa alone in the Manor, but she was
delighted by the idea. So Hermione trained with Maggie all day Friday, and
worked alone the next day, filing books and trying to balance the ledger be-
tween customers. She wrote an owl to Shrapley telling him of her plans, and
received a lengthy owl filled with his favorite textbooks. There was a large coun-
ter staring down the doorway on a small landing, so she was able to read as
many books as she liked while waiting for customers to interrupt her.
By six o’clock on Saturday, she’d finished the first of Shrapley’s recom-
mended books. Maggie had come down from her upstairs flat only once or
twice to check on her, satisfied with her work.
When it was almost time to close, Hermione darted to the shelves to the
right to refile the books she’d been reading.
The bell over the front door chimed.
Her head snapped up from the shelves, and she quickly moved back toward
the desk. “I’m sorry, we’re just closed—”
Draco stood on the mat. His hair longer than she remembered. His eyes
just as grey.
The air rushed out of her lungs, and her knees almost buckled. She braced
herself on the counter.
A Muggle coat was pulled up to his ears despite the warm weather. His lips
parted, his gaze on her.
She’d seen him a thousand times in her dreams, but never like this. Hermi-
one closed her eyes, begging the vision to last — to keep her heart beating just
a little longer before he vanished like mist.
Soft footsteps, closing the distance between them. Not Death Eater boots or
dragon leather shoes, but the sound of something entirely new.

✦ 413 ✦
 She opened her eyes, and he was still there. The handful of yards between
them felt like a hair’s breadth.
She tried to speak. Her mouth opened, and her throat clicked.
The corner of his mouth twitched as she gazed at him, half expecting him to
disappear like a trick of the light. Then he ran a hand through his hair, and said,
“Do you happen to have the newest Gainsworth book?”
Her lungs shuddered, the sound of his voice bringing life back into her body
after months of emptiness.
He stepped closer, his eyes tracing her face in a way that was as intimate as
breathing. “I’ll need a few of his, I think.”
Another step, and she felt a tug at her ribs — the same string pulling taut
between them, like a familiar dance.
Like he was real.
He approached the counter. “I’ll need some reading. I’m going away for a
while, you see. For about 14–16 months.”
She sobbed. Her hand slapped over her mouth as her shoulders shook.
He ascended the few steps to the main landing with aching slowness. Tears
slipped through her fingers as he gazed at her like she was the answer to a ques-
tion he’d been asking for years.
“But I’m not going yet.”
Her hand dropped, her lips parting. “No?” Only an arm’s length away.
“Tomorrow sounds nice, doesn’t it?” His hands rested on the counter, and
she stared down at them, aching.
“It does.” She smiled through her tears.
He reached for her, and the pieces inside of her mended and rearranged as
his fingers threaded between hers, closing the empty spaces between them.

✦ 414 ✦
✦ 415 ✦