Hermione seemed to have learned absolutely nothing from the tattoo incident and within a few days, she was back to determinedly defying Antonin's every wish.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea, mishka."

"Nonsense, Antonin. I won't hide in my room from spineless shits like him," Hermione argued back as she critically examined her reflection, looking dissatisfied with the fifth cocktail dress she'd tried on that day.

"Hermione, be sensible. The Dark Lord clearly send him here to test if we can work together without attacking each other. He knows that I wish to kill McNair, and he knows that McNair is furious with my lack of assistance on trade entente to Russia. Your presence will only inflame the situation."

Hermione grinned, having already gotten the whole story from Severus. Apparently McNair had bungled the negotiations so badly that instead of arranging for new shipments of Russian wand-wood, he had caused the Russian ministry to declare a trade embargo.

"All the better. Perhaps he'll give me an excuse to finally kill him,"

Antonin groaned. He could feel a tension headache forming at the base of his skull. "Hermione, be sensible," be begged again, "You don't even have a wand."

Hermione looked unfazed. She shucked off yet another dress, apparently deeming it unsatisfactory, "I'm sure I'll manage something," she deadpanned.

Antonin was momentarily sidetracked by Hermione's creamy, taught stomach. His eyes followed the navy tattoo up her ribcage to her full breasts, clad in a lacy purple bra. He shook his head and tried to re-focus on the conversation. Murder, right. A sudden thought struck Antonin, "Why have you never tried to kill me?"

Hermione looked surprised by the change of topic, but after a moment she shrugged, "You've treated me with respect from the very beginning. It would have been poor repayment to slit your throat or bash your head in with a vase, or steal your wand in the night,"

"That is ... specific,"

"I like to consider all the options," said Hermione, with a twinkle in her eye. Her face quickly grew serious again, "But I'm coming for drinks and that is that."

"God damn it, no. I will not bring you if you're going to attempt to kill him. The Dark Lord was perfectly clear that both of our lives will be forfeit."

Hermione looked away sulkily, then looked back up at him from under her lashes, "Please."

Antonin gave a booming laugh, "No, you little devil."

But he stooped down and kissed her nonetheless. Hermione sighed dramatically, "Fine. I won't try to kill him," Antonin raised an eyebrow, "Honestly. But I'm coming." She turned on the spot and strode determinedly back to the closet.

"Why do you even want to have drinks with that... man?"

"As I said, I won't hide from him or let him think I fear to face him," she called from inside the sea of clothing.

Antonin groaned again, sensing defeat, "God save me from Gryffindors," he groused.

The drinks had barely been poured before Antonin decided he'd made a serious mistake in allowing Hermione to come down for drinks with McNair and the Malfoy men. She looked absolutely ravaging in an emerald green cocktail dress and a killer pair of pumps.

Antonin was fairly certain that she'd picked that dress to rub her new status in the Slytherns' faces. His only comfort was that Bella wasn't there, otherwise he would have despaired of any of them surviving the night.

"Tell me, Mr. McNair," said Hermione in a bland tone that was almost a perfect imitation of Narcissa Malfoy's chilliest voice, "Have you also managed to negotiate an embargo on soap?"

McNair's ruddy face turned a deep shade of puce. "Wh-what?" he stuttered, incensed.

"You look even more disheveled than last I saw you," Hermione explained with a completely straight face.

Draco and Lucius wore twin smirks, their heads following the conversation as if it were a tennis match.

McNair made an inarticulate choking noise, but seemed otherwise incapable of response. He tried to take a sip of wine, but was beset by a fit of coughing.

Hermione took a delicate bite of a canapé, serenely unconcerned. Antonin speared the fish as if it had personally offended him, his face stormy.

After a long moment, Hermione turned to McNair again with a polite social smile.

"Would you pass the whiskey, Mr. Mc-" Hermione cut herself off, "Oh wait, my apologies," she deadpanned with a meaningful glance at his severed forearm.

Draco caught Hermione's eye and raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering why the hell she was provoking a very dangerous man.

"I should have remembered," continued Hermione relentlessly, "seeing as I was the one who cut it off."

"Really, McNair?" drawled Lucius, clearly enjoying himself immensely, "Didn't you say it was sliced off by a falling suit of armor?"

Antonin dropped his head into his hand, the headache reaching a painful crescendo.

"Oh no, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione corrected him politely, "It's actually a rather funny story- I'm sure Mr. McNair won't mind if I share it with you all," she gave him a gracious nod and he glowered back. "I actually took it off myself with a slicing hex. The funny part is I'd meant to slice him right down the middle, but Molly Weasley accidentally bumped into me and threw my aim off."

Hermione gave a little laugh, and Draco and Lucius smirked even more broadly. Even Antonin raised an eyebrow, impressed against his will, and once again concerned by the complete lack of fear that his tiny, wandless wife was displaying in the face of a fellow Death Eater.

McNair's knuckles were white as he clutched his fork, but he reigned himself in with an immense effort. He was clearly also under orders to be civil. He glared daggers at Hermione for a moment, but couldn't seem to find anything to say. Instead, he turned on Antonin.

"Pity you couldn't find yourself a pure bride," McNair snapped.

Antonin's whole body stiffened, white-hot rage coursing through him. "The House Vance is as Pure as any," he stated with forced calm, the dangerous tone of his voice making everyone around the table shift uncomfortably, "And Hermione have more magic in her little finger than you in your entire line."

"That's not the sort of pure I meant," cackled McNair, clearly feeling that he'd scored at last.

Lucius and Draco exchanged looks, wondering what they'd missed. Antonin's fingers were itching to grab his wand and blast McNair into a stain on the pretentious persian rug. He set his jaw and tried to keep calm, his hand again twitching involuntarily to the wand at his side. Hermione laid a subtle, calming hand on his arm. Her wedding ring glinted in the firelight.

"You are disgrace, and a coward," Antonin bit out.

His entire body was vibrating with rage unlike he'd felt in years. The edges of his vision were going red, and he remembered his mother's admonitions as a child. If you start seeing red, get out of the situation immediately. You won't be able to control yourself for long.

Without another word, Anonin set his drink down and turned away. He knew he had to leave before doing something that would get both Hermione and him killed. He hadn't even taken a full step towards the door before McNair's voice cried out, "Exenteravus!"

Antonin whirled around and made to draw his wand from his pocket, but the spell was already streaking towards him. To his surprise, the purple jet of light was deflected at the last second off of a shining, silver shield and slammed into a bookshelf, sending all the books flying across the room. Everyone threw up their hands to try and protect themselves from the flying tomes.

When the maelstrom finally ceased, Antonin lowered his arms to see McNair out cold on the floor, Hermione crouching down with her arms over her head, and Draco and Lucius hiding behind the sofa. His stomach swooped unpleasantly as he looked around the room. By all rights it should have been his entrails all over the floor rather than the mess of books.

Antonin could feel the hairs on his arms standing up. His body was visited by the hot, prickling feeling that he'd come to associate with near-death experiences. He'd heard once that the muggles called that feeling adrenaline or something.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his wand to McNair with a shaking hand. The only thing preventing him murdering the bastard was that there was no honor in polishing off an unconscious man. After a moment he finally, muttered "incarcerous," causing thick black robes to bind themselves around the prone form on the floor. Then he waded over to Hermione through the sea of books and grabbed her hands to pull her to her feet.

She hissed in pain when Antonin grabbed her right hand, and drew it back quickly. Thinking she'd been injured by a book, he knelt down beside her and turned her hand over gently. Shock registered on his face at the circular burn on her hand, which he knew could only have one cause.

Behind the sofa, Lucius was pulling Draco out of a pile of books. There was an ugly, mottled bruise forming on the right side of his pointed face.

"Disgraceful behavior, cursing someone when their back's turned," drawled Lucius, the cool aspect of his tone somewhat ruined by the rumpled state of his hair and robes, "Low class." Antonin snorted.

"Damn, Granger," drawled Draco, "I had no idea you could do wandless magic like that,"

"Nor did I," growled Antonin, fixing Hermione with a meaningful look.

She shifted uncomfortably, "I was keeping it in my back pocket, just in case."

Antonin glowered at his wife.

"Fine, then," she snapped, "Next time I'll let him paint the room with your entrails. See if I care,"

Draco and Lucius both laughed.

"No shame in being rescued by your wife, Toni," said Lucius in a heartening voice, giving Antonin a clap on the shoulder, "Narcissa's saved my skin plenty of times. Not sure why really, since she'd inherit everything and be rid of me in the process."

"Force of habit, I suppose," came an amused voice from the door. Narcissa entered, apparently completely unfazed by the mess of books and the unconscious man on the floor, "Come on, Lucius, I'll take you upstairs and see if we can get rid of that bruising."

Lucius hesitated a second. He fixed Antonin with an appraising look.

"Don't you go waking him up to kill him after we leave," Lucius said seriously. Antonin narrowed his eyes, having intended to do exactly that.

"Seriously," Lucius admonished, "Take him to the Dark Lord and let him sort it out. You know he doesn't like it when we turn on each other,"

"Fine," said Antonin, in what would have been a sulky tone of voice coming from anyone else.

"Do Death Eaters always settle disagreements with entrail expelling curses?" Hermione asked conversationally, "It seems like there wouldn't be many of you left by this point."

"Sass me later, wife," Antonin growled, "I've got to take this sack of shit to the Dark Lord for him to pass judgement."

Hermione bit her lip worriedly, a hint of fear flickering across her face for the first time that evening. She seemed unsure of what to say. Antonin gave her a faint half-smile, and pulled her to his chest, planting a kiss on the top of her mess of brown curls. The headache was still pounding in the back of his skull, but all the tension had drained from his body.

"Thank you," he whispered. She hugged him back, but didn't respond.

Then, without another word, he levitated McNair's prone form and conveyed it to the fireplace, where he stepped into the roaring green flames, calling "Malfoy Manor!".