"Bloody Parseltongue, of course! How could I be so stupid? The trap door is locked just the same as the sink was." Hermione paced across the living room, hands on her hips as her skirts swished around her ankles. The fire crackled behind her, each step sending sparks flying towards the chimney from her agitated magic.

"Hermione, just sit down."

She rounded on him. "Did you know?"

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Did I know you're stupid, or that the Parseltongue would seal the chamber regardless of what's covering the opening?"

Hermione bit her cheek. She hated his cool expression, his calmness. How was he always so bloody calm, when she felt—well, when she felt like a total wreck? Like a pendulum forced to swing back and forth and back and forth with no respite, no slowing down. "The Parseltongue," she answered, hugging her chest.

Lucius tapped his fingers on his whiskey tumbler. Hermione had already drained hers and was itching for a second. "When we saw that the cave ended at the castle wall, I suspected, like you, that it was likely inside the Chamber of Secrets. But the Chamber has always been sealed by Parseltongue, Hermione. Construction around the entrance doesn't change that. But I didn't want to ruin your excitement in case I was wrong."

Hermione sank down to the carpet. The fire roared softly behind her back, bathing her in heat. She drew her knees to her chest. "I…I just wanted to believe we were finally going home. That there wasn't yet another obstacle." Lucius gave her a pained, understanding smile. She looked quickly away. He was pitying her for her reckless excitement. "We'll just have to find a way in. Ron and I did before, during the Battle at Hogwarts. If I could just get the word right…" After nearly giving up on the trap door, Hermione had wracked her brain for the memory of Ron using Parseltongue on the chamber, the memories of Harry using it on the locket. She'd tried to re-create it, she really had. But nothing happened. The memories just weren't clear enough to replicate the strange hissing word.

"We'll return the restricted section, then," Lucius offered. "See if we can find any texts on Parseltongue."

Hermione dragged her chin over her knees. She wasn't sure it was so simple; Parseltongue was an ancient, secret language. The only people that knew it were descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself…"Corvinus," she breathed out, eyes snapping up to meet Lucius's.

"Yes, the Gaunts are descendants, but do you really want to ask the Gaunt boy to open the chamber?"

"No, Lucius—he was there." Hermione shot to her feet and resumed her pacing, ignoring Lucius's request that she take a seat. "We walked right in on him. I mean, I literally ran into him rounding the corner to that bathroom! What else would he have been doing up there? It's a weekend, the classrooms there are all empty. And that girl, Adeline. She said…she said he should have waited for her. Waited for what? To stand watch while he went into the Chamber." Hermione spun around to face Lucius. "What if Corvinus is the one disappearing the missing professors and student?"

Lucius took a long sip of his whiskey, swishing it in his mouth before he spoke. "You think he's unleashing the basilisk."

"Yes," she said impatiently. "I think he's killing muggle-borns. That Charms professor, he warned me, and I think he meant I was in danger because the school knows I'm muggle-born now. And I bet you he's going to do it again. But next time, we can be ready. We can follow him into the Chamber, hide out until he leaves, then collect the time soil before he even realizes—"

"Hermione, stop." Lucius was suddenly standing inches from her, grasping her shoulders. Flames flickered in his pale, pleading eyes. Her breath caught at his sudden closeness.

"We have to start watching him, we could take shifts and—"

"Hermione!" He shook her, barely, but it was enough to startle her out of her thoughts. Her lips parted. She began to protest when he cut her off. "Hermione, you need to stop this. It's not right."

She blinked, trying to clear the desperate expression off Lucius's face. But it wouldn't budge. Her eyes dropped to his hands grasping her. "Right? None of this right!" Didn't he see? Didn't he understand? "We shouldn't be here, Lucius! We should be home, with our friends and family, but instead we're running around the castle chasing clues and—"

"No, we shouldn't be home," Lucius snapped. The frustration reached his hands, fingers digging into her shoulders. She tried to pull away, but one hand grabbed hold of her chin, forcing her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Look at me, Hermione. What do you think will happen to us if we went home?"

"We—we'll get to live our lives, Lucius. The lives we were torn from. Don't you want that? You can flee somewhere. Wherever you want. And I…I'll return to my friends. My family."

His expression softened. His fingers slid up to cup her cheek. "It won't just be me on the run. Don't you see that? We committed crimes, Hermione. You stole confidential Ministry property. You used it to blow up a prison. To help a convict escape. And I know I am in part responsible for making those things happen. That I…took advantage of your state to aid myself. But the Wizengamot won't see it as completely my fault. You broke into the Ministry. You pulled the pin on that grenade. Potter and the other auror saw you. Even if we return home, even if we track down and kill Dolohov before the scar's magic consumes you, what will you be left with? A life on the run, or a lifetime in prison."

Tears flooded Hermione's eyes. "I want to go home," she whispered, as the drops began to leak from her eyes. They slid down her cheeks, catching in Lucius's hand. He didn't let go. "Lucius, you p-promised me," she said, hiccuping. "You promised me you'd help get us home. W-why would you say that if you d-didn't mean it?"

He breathed out a heavy sigh. His hands slid into her hair, brushing back her curls like it was the most important task in the world. Carefully. Slowly. Gently. "I was trying to be kind," he murmured as his fingers raked against her scalp. "I didn't know at first how insane it would be to try and get home. Coming to this school where you're despised by nearly all, going into the Forbidden Forest and chased by trolls, and now you want to stalk a student you suspect to be killing muggle-borns with no proof? You want to follow him into the Chamber of Secrets where there could very well be a basilisk on the loose? And all that for what? So you can lead a miserable life in our time, if you even live at all? You don't need that, Hermione." His hands slid down her arms to catch hers. "I also promised you that day that I would stay with you. Here. Give up on this foolish idea of getting home and let us stay here, Hermione. Please. Before I have to watch you get hurt trying. Or worse." He pulled her into his chest, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, one hand cupping the back of her head. Tears leaked out onto his robes, but he didn't seem to mind.

His care for her was startling. The way he pleaded, the way he held her…it was like Lucius had reached deep inside her soul and wrapped that little girl she used to be in his arms. Wrapped her in a promise of safety. A promise of something warm and affectionate and real. All those things she had longed for back home. That Dolohov's curse and the war and all the horrors of her childhood had made impossible. She wanted to melt into his chest, to agree and cry and promise him she would stay. And mean it too.

But there was a stronger voice in her mind. Burrowing into the matter of her brain like a parasite, wiggling its way through.

Lucius Malfoy? Care about you?

Hermione pressed her cheek harder into Lucius's chest, eyes squeezed shut, tears hot and stinging beneath her eyelids. No! She tried to tell it, tried to scream at the parasite to get out. Get out of her head. But the voice whispered again, soft and soothing.

You're nothing to him. Filthy little mudblood. A charity project, until he gets his feet under him. What do you think will happen when he's ready to move on? You need to get home. That's all that matters. Home.

She didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to give in to the voice. But if her choices were between getting stuck in this time, utterly alone, and risking the consequences that awaited her home? Between risking everything on a man she hardly knew, and the home and the people who had cared for her once before?

Hermione knew what she had to do.

She pulled away, just enough to tilt her face up and meet Lucius's worried eyes. She nodded, just slightly, and whispered, "Okay. We can stay." A tear trickled down her cheek and into her mouth.

The lie tasted like salt.

On Monday, Hermione stepped into her Slytherin/Gryffindor seventh-year class to a sea of whispers. It wasn't usual for this group—even three hundred years in the past, gossip was a favorite past-time of Hogwarts students.

"Quiet down, class," Hermione called out as she took her spot in the front of the room. "Today, I'll be giving you time to independently work on your theory of Patronus charms essay, seeing as most of you seem to have forgotten the due date is this Thursday. Before the Halloween feast." Hermione frowned. Most of the students weren't even looking at her. Matthew was fully turned around, talking to the boy behind him. And now that she was observing her students…at least three of the Gryffindors were missing, including the one female student, Clara, who had never missed a single class. The only one facing her way was Corvinus, sitting in the back in his usual spot with a quill twirling between his fingers. She checked the window to see if a bout of warm weather had gotten into them, but no, it was just as dreary for late October as she suspected.

Hermione strode back to her lectern. "Parchments and quills out," she instructed. Only a handful of students obeyed. She tapped her fingers on the wooden lectern in frustration. "Would anyone care to share what in Godric's name has you more distracted than nifflers in a dragon's den?"

Silence fell like an executioner's axe. Chairs squeaked as the students twisted back to face her. After a long moment, Matthew cleared his throat. "It has happened again," he said mumbled. Gone was the usual confident timbre to his voice, the cocky smirk that was a constant fixture on his round face.

"What has?" More silence answered her. Hermione's gaze swept the students. The Slytherins were all unusually dour. And the Gryffindors—now that she was studying them more closely, she saw that most ported glassy eyes ringed in red. As if they had all been crying over something terrible…"Another disappearance?" Matthew nodded, just a slight dip of his chin.

"Henry," said one of the Gryffindors. "A Ravenclaw. But he…he was courting Clara, so we…we knew him well." The boy's voice cracked.

Hermione brought a hand to her throat. Her eyes landed on Corvinus. He stared back, eyes pale and cool and completely unbothered. She tried to find something in that dead gaze—a hint of guilt, of victory, hell, even remorse—but found nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing…until the corner of his mouth twitched.

I know it was you, she wanted to hiss. Her fingers itched for her wand. Her chest rose and fell faster. I know it, and I'll prove it. "Class is dismissed," she said suddenly. "Continue to work on your essays and have them on my desk before the feast."

"But professor, I had a question about the—" one of the boys began to call out. But Hermione was already marching towards the door.

The corridors were empty, allowing her to break into a run on her way towards the second floor. Finally she arrived in the hallway outside the girls' bathroom and skidded to a stop, curls flying around her face and breathless.

The hallway was dry. If the basilisk had recently been unleashed, shouldn't there have been water? Hermione hurried into the bathroom and found it the same as before. The trap door remained closed; the stone floor was perfectly dry. Hermione backed slowly away, hands raking through her hair. She just had to think.

She sank down the wall, knuckles pressed into her mouth as she stared at the trap door. She knew Corvinus was up to something. She knew he had been in the Chamber that day—there was no other explanation. But the rest didn't add up. If a basilisk had killed those two professors and student—now two students—why would Viridian call them 'disappearances'? Before she had thought it was a cover-up over their deaths, but…what if it wasn't? Perhaps Corvinus hadn't unleashed the basilisk after all. But he was still involved—she was sure of it. And if she figured out what he was up to, it was just another step closer to getting into the Chamber. To getting home.

Home. The word pulsed through her brain like a crashing wave, radiating from the center and stretching over her entire mind. Home. Desperate for her attention. Desperate for her to notice it, to feed it.

If only she could tell Lucius, to get his help on figuring this out. He was brilliant at this sort of thing, better at it than she ever thought possible. But Lucius had made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with that anymore. That he wanted her to have nothing to do with it. She couldn't trust him. Not with this.

Hermione pressed her palms into the floor and rose shakily to her feet. She gave the trap door one last hungry look before spinning on her heel and exiting the bathroom.

She would figure this out on her own, and Lucius would never know.

"Is everything alright, Hermione?" Lucius asked, leaning towards her.

Hermione set down her fork. Her peach cobbler sat untouched before her, meanwhile Lucius was working on seconds. She had spent the beginning of supper making mild conversation with Lucius, all while keeping an eye out for the Gryffindor girl, Clara. So far, she hadn't spotted her. "I'm fine," she said, looking over at him with a wan smile. She wanted to act as normal as possible around Lucius. She didn't think he was the monster the voice in her brain told her he was, but still she had to be careful. She couldn't let him suspect anything. Couldn't let on that she was still working on a way home.

"Is it the missing student?"

Hermione swallowed and nodded. The news of Henry's disappearance had taken over the entire school by midday. By supper, a grim atmosphere had spread over the usually boisterous Great Hall. Those who usually laughed and joked ate in near silence or whispered. The scraping of utensils had never been so loud.

A hand covered her knee beneath the table. "The boy was in my potions class," he told her, and Hermione closed her eyes for just a moment at the comfort of the touch, even through the fabric of her skirt. "He was a clever student…rather excellent at brewing, actually. I can't believe he's just gone."

"Did Viridian speak to you about what happened to him?"

Lucius's concerned expression deepened. "Hermione," he said, dropping his voice even lower as he leaned in closer. Hair tickled her neck, and she shivered. "If you're trying to investigate this, I beg you to stop. It will only lead to more problems for us. We must let Viridian handle this—"

She covered his hand with her own, and his lips shut. "I'm not," she said, giving his warm fingers a squeeze. "I'm simply curious, is all. His…girlfriend, or whatever they call it in this time, is in my class, but she was missing today. I was hoping to comfort her, that's all."

"Clara?"

Hermione eyebrows shot up. "You know her?"

"She's in one of my classes. I overheard some of the others talking about her today. Apparently she has refused to leave the Trophy Room since she found out about Henry. He was a beater, I think. Or a chaser?"

Hermione released his hand and stood up. "I want to go find her tonight, poor thing. Perhaps I can talk her into eating something before supper ends."

She left before he could catch the flush rising to her cheeks.

As she made her way to the Trophy Room, Hermione tried her best to push aside the guilt churning in her stomach. She didn't enjoy lying to Lucius—didn't want to hurt him, to deceive him. But she had no choice. And he…he would understand that, someday, when she eventually left for home.

Wouldn't he?

The Trophy Room was aglow with reflections of the setting sun in the western-facing windows. Oranges and pinks and reds bounced off the polished cups and plaques of gold and silver, casting the entire chamber in a comforting warmth. Hermione wound her way through the cases until she found her, curled up against the back wall by the cold hearth, arms wrapped tight around her knees. Rivers of dried tears streaked down the girl's face. When Hermione stepped into her line of sight, Clara didn't even look up. Her glassy blue eyes remained transfixed on the trophy case in front of her.

Hermione glanced. She quickly found the golden cup bearing Henry's name. "I'm sorry I never got to see him play," she said softly, turning back to the girl. Hermione sank down beside her.

Clara sniffed and wiped her cheek on her knees. "Henry was the best chaser in the last decade. He was going to play after school with the Banchory Bangers. The first muggle-born ever on their team."

Hermione bit her lip as her heart raced at the information. "I'm so sorry about what happened to him, Clara. I didn't teach him personally, but I heard from my husband that he was an excellent potioneer."

"He was," Clara murmured, as another round of tears slipped down her cheeks. "That is why it doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"The accident." Clara wiped at her face. "Headmaster Viridian says it was an accident, but he did not know Henry like I do. He didn't see what I saw. Henry would never make a mistake like that. I tried to explain to the Headmaster, but he—he would not listen. They never listen to us." Anger shone through her glistening eyes. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt.

"Believe me, I know," Hermione said. "They think they're doing us a favor by letting us into their school. But at the end of the day, they don't believe us worthy of sitting beside them. Not really." Hermione let the bitterness of her words soak in before saying carefully, "If you tell me what happened with Henry, perhaps…perhaps I can help."

Clara's head snapped towards her. "You believe me?"

"Of course I do, Clara," Hermione said gently. "What did you see?"

The girl's gaze slipped back to the trophy case. "Henry and I were practicing our brewing in the potion's classroom yesterday after supper," she began in a pained voice. "I know we are not supposed to be out so close to curfew, but we have always liked to practice then. And Professor Brutus said it was alright, so long as we're in bed before the professors begin their curfew rounds. But we…we lost track of time. Another student came in to warn us that Professor Gibson was beginning his curfew rounds in the dungeon. He—he asked me to go distract Gibson while he helped Henry clean up our cauldron. So I did," Clara sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as more tears poured out. "Professor Gibson quite likes me, so I stood chatting with him for a while. But then I heard footsteps around the corner, and I thought Henry and the other student had finished cleaning up and were sneaking out the other staircase. B-but when I returned to the classroom, Henry was…he was gone."

Clara let out a strangled cry and buried her face in her skirts. Hermione's heart ached for the girl as she pulled her into her chest. Clara sobbed harder and Hermione held her, rubbing circles into her back. "What do you mean, gone?" Hermione pressed gently, when Clara's cries began to subside.

"It—it looked like there was an explosion in the classroom," Clara choked out. "Like the cauldron had burst open. There was debris everywhere. Even the floor was cracked open. And there was potion splattered everywhere b-but Henry was gone. I screamed and Professor Gibson ran in. He—he thought Henry had been…had been vaporized !"

Hermione mulled this over as she continued to soothe the girl in her arms. An explosion, just like in Sir Drayton's book. Just like in Azkaban. But why? It must have been the time soil. As if…as if Corvinus had given some to Henry. "Clara," Hermione said softly as she stroked the girl's hair. "Was it Corvinus Gaunt who offered to help Henry clean up?"

The girl stiffened. "How did you know?" she asked, pulling back. Her bright, red-tinged eyes widened.

"I have had…rather strange encounters with the boy since I began my posting here. And I'm familiar with his family. They're not exactly in favor of muggle-borns being at Hogwarts, like Henry was."

"Corvinus always hated Henry," Clara sniffed, dragging a hand across her nose. "Called him awful names. Like the others."

"The others?"

Clara's eyes flickered with confusion. "Didn't you know, professor? The others who disappeared, they were like Henry. Muggle-borns. All three of them. Corvinus and some of the Slytherins are just horrible towards them."

Hermione fought to keep her expression steady, even as her heart raced again with this confirmation. Of course she had suspected it, but now it was confirmed. "And did Corvinus know the others were muggle-borns?"

"It is not exactly something one boasts about, but we all know who the muggle-borns are. Word gets around when a first-year arrives at Hogwarts without a known wizarding family name. Or a professor. It was a shock to the entire school when two muggle-borns were hired at the start of term. It was all anyone could talk about until they disappeared."

The pieces clicked together like a puzzle in Hermione's mind, snapping perfectly into place. Corvinus Gaunt was getting rid of muggle-borns. And he was doing it with the time soil. But why? Why would he decide to send them to different times? Or was it the same time? And did she even really know they were time traveling? Did she even know for sure that's what was happening when the soil was used?

As Clara broke into another fit of sobs, Hermione's gaze wandered back to the trophy case and landed on Henry's name carved into the metal.

Henry Augustus Sallow

Her eyes widened. She knew that name. She'd seen it before. A memory flashed in her mind of reading that name late one night, in her bedroom in Grimmauld Place as she was pouring over the interviews in The Collection, working backwards from the most recent.

And the date scrawled at the very top of the page beside the name? 1954.

Hermione slowly detangled herself from Clara, whispering kind words and convincing the girl to come down for supper. As they slowly exited the Trophy Room, Hermione's mind was whirling.

The Collection was filled with accounts from wizards and witches who had landed in Azkaban. She had read so many of their interviews—more often than not, those prisoners were raving mad. Things had happened in their lives to put them in this position, to change how they viewed and moved through the world. To make them crazed, to make them vicious, to make them desperate.

Corvinus had somehow used the time soil on Henry. Henry had been hurtled into another time—into the future. And there, utterly alone in a time he knew nothing of, Henry had gone mad. He had landed himself in Azkaban, locked up for some crime he never would have committed. And if Hermione had to bet, some of the others who had disappeared from 1700 had interviews in that book too.

But it still didn't explain why. Why was Corvinus doing this? Why was he using the time soil? And how long would it be until he decided to take another victim?

This is it, Hermione decided as she led Clara into the Great Hall. By following Corvinus into the Chamber, she could solve two problems at once. She could stop Corvinus from destroying yet another life, and she could get some of the time soil for herself.

All she had to do was watch and wait for Corvinus to strike again. And this time, she would be ready.

"I can't get up," Hermione groaned, shielding her eyes with her forearm. She was laying out in the Transfiguration Courtyard with Lucius sprawled in the grass beside her. Last night had been the Halloween feast, and with neither of them having classes until late afternoon on Fridays, they'd decided to spend the morning getting some fresh air on the unseasonably warm day.

"That's because you ate your weight in pumpkin pasties last night," Lucius snipped.

Hermione grumbled in reply. It had only taken a few days for the castle to return to normal, aided by the cheer of the Halloween festivities. Hogwarts was just as obsessed with the holiday in the 18th century as they were in her own time. Not that Hermione was complaining. As the child of dentists, she had never been allowed to participate in Halloween before Hogwarts. Apparently now that she was back, her appetite for treats had returned with a startling ferocity. Lucius had been practically alarmed at her sugar intake, and she grinned at the memory of him watching her last night, aghast, as she loaded up her plate of sweets for the third time.

"And what exactly is so amusing?" Lucius asked, knocking his boot against her leg.

"You."

"Me?" Lucius snorted, and even with her eyes shielded from the sun, she knew he was flipping back his hair. "Salazar's sake girl, I did not fight on the side of evil for decades for some goody-two-shoes witch to call me amusing."

At that, Hermione lifted her arm and squinted at Lucius. He was sitting back on his hands now, gazing at her with a smile she could only describe as fond. Ever since she told him she would stop trying to go home, they had settled into a comfortable sort of friendship. It was nice…even if the guilt kept her up at night. "I think I'm pretty far past goody-two-shoes. Blew up a prison and all that."

Lucius chuckled. "My, my, Miss Granger, how could I forget your stunning criminal record?"

"Oh, you don't even know the half of it," she said, smirking as she rolled onto her side with her head propped in her hand. "I always thought it odd that the press called me the golden girl, Gryffindor's princess…but then I remember they have no idea of just how many positively despicable things I've done. All before the age of seventeen."

"Do tell, princess. What exactly did Gryffindor's worst example get up to?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply when a sudden motion from across the courtyard caught her eye. She hastily sat up, alarmed, as none other than Headmaster Viridian came barreling towards them.

"Please…tell me…you two…are actually…married…and not just…utter dimwits!" Viridian panted as he doubled over, hands on his knees.

Hermione and Lucius looked at each other, worry flashing across both their faces. "Of course we are," Lucius said quickly.

"Then how…do you…explain…the very angry governors…currently taking up my…entire…office?" Viridian shot back upright, his thick mustache wobbling. His usually slick grey hair was in pieces around his head, and Hermione didn't doubt for a second that he had sprinted the whole way here.

They were definitely fucked.

"We married in the colonies," Hermione told him, trying to sound casual. "When I met Brutus, we couldn't wait to get married, so we elected to do it before returning to Britain. If there's been some kind of mistake with the paperwork, I'm sure we can write to the government there and resolve it."

Viridian waved her off. "No, no, no time for that. The bastards were not pleased one bit by your posting here, Lady Malfoy. But no, I insisted you were a proper witch, a married witch. I shall simply explain and we shall show them your bond signature. Good? Yes?" He clapped his hands. "Come with me, then." Viridian spun back around.

"Bond signature?

The Headmaster froze. His head twitched. "Do tell me that you have a visible bond signature." When neither of them responded, Viridian slowly turned back around with his wand drawn. Before either of them could react or interrupt, Viridian stabbed his wand in their direction and muttered under his breath.

Nothing happened.

He did it again. And again, nothing happened. Hermione looked uneasily at Lucius, who had grown unnaturally pale.

Viridian's chest expanded as he took a deep, gulping breath. He held it in his chest before exclaiming, "You two haven't CONSUMMATED THE MARRIAGE?"

"C-consummated?" Her cheeks flamed as the word left her mouth.

"Yes! Wed, bed, bond!" Viridian shoved his wand back into his pocket and began aggressively pacing in front of them, muttering and seething under his breath. Hermione tried to catch Lucius's eye, but he refused to look at her.

When she couldn't take his pacing any longer, Hermione jumped to her feet. "Headmaster, surely there's been a mistake with the spell—"
Viridian whirred around, crazed eyes on Lucius. "You," he snapped. "Up." Hermione tried to interject again, but he shot her such a glare that her mouth promptly shut. Lucius rose to his feet and moved to Hermione's side. "Now follow."

As they trailed after the Headmaster, who was striding into the corridor like he had a swarm of bees chasing after him, Hermione caught Lucius's arm. "What is he on about?" she hissed, tugging on his wrist. "What's a bond signature?"

Lucius shrugged her off and continued even faster after Viridian. His skin was white as a ghost now. "Hermione…"

"Here!"

Viridian had stopped in front of a plain wooden door. A cleaning cupboard, she guessed. He pulled the door open, stepped around them, and began pushing Hermione inside. "I can delay the governors for fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty, but that is it, or they'll have all our heads. And worse, our jobs!" he cried out as Hermione stumbled inside the dark cupboard with Lucius right behind her.

"What?" she exclaimed as she squeezed back around Lucius in the cramped space. "I don't know what you think is going on, but—"

"Twenty minutes!" Viridian roared, blocking the doorway with his body. "You will not leave this cupboard until you have fixed this!" Spit flew into her face. Just as Hermione recoiled in disgust, the cupboard door slammed shut, plummeting them in darkness. The handle glowed bright blue for a second before fading into the black.

Hermione's hand darted towards the handle. She tried to jiggle it open, but the door refused to budge. She tried slamming her shoulder into it, and still the door refused to open. She tried Alohamora once, twice, three times.

The door didn't open.

Her wand arm fell limply to her side. She was suddenly overly aware of her labored breathing, of Lucius's behind her. His presence, warm and solid, barely a foot away. Her cheeks blazed with heat; it was a blessing it was pitch dark. "Lucius, please tell me I'm misunderstanding what Viridian just said," she pleaded as she turned back towards him. Her stomach fluttered. Her skin grew unbearably warm.

Lucius was silent for a long moment. So long, she thought he hadn't heard her. But then, after a long sigh, he said softly, "You haven't misunderstood. He means for us to consummate the marriage."

Hermione swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Okay. Then tell me I'm misunderstanding what that word means."

"You haven't misunderstood. He…he means that we must…bed…or we're not getting out of this closet with our jobs."

"Or our heads," Hermione whispered. She had a feeling that Viridian hadn't been exaggerating about that.