A/N: You all are the best for being so patient. It's been a rough few weeks for a lot of people, so thanks for staying respectful. This chapter is on the shorter side, but it's what works best for pacing and to get the chapter out today instead of tomorrow.

Incredible amounts of love to raven_maiden and SaintDionysus.

If you need some porn with your angst tonight, please check out Strange You Never Knew by my main squeeze raven_maiden on AO3. She posts a new fic once every century, so this is a big deal.

"Viktor!"

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 accepting his greeting.

"Mr. Krum." Lucius's other hand slithered around her ribs to grab her opposite 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 Charlotte 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 shallow 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.

"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 appearances, 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 Charlotte 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 attempts to keep an eye on Viktor. The only times he would glance in her direction 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 conversation 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 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 efficiently 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?"

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 troublesome. 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 Giuliana 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.

"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 circles. 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—

"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 listening 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 bedroom. 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 tonight to speak to me! He's with the Order!"

Draco halted to give a withering glare. "You think Viktor Krum is infiltrating 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 government 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 willpower 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 talking about."

"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 fingers 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 flickered 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?"

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 counter-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 research 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 toward. 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."

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 nodded 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 gasping 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 commentary, 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?

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 hallway — 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 ceasing 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."

"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, dragging 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 surface disappeared. She gaped in astonishment as she pushed her forearm inside 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, rolling 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 Portkey 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.

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!

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