Hermione stared straight ahead as the door closed behind Clara, fingernails curled into her velvet skirt. Another three weeks had passed without so much as a hint of Corvinus doing anything out of the ordinary. And Hermione was at her wit's end. Each time Clara found her after class, Hermione's hope would rise, that voice in her head practically giddy with excitement. And each time Clara found her after class, that hope would sink back through her like a stone.

More than a stone. A bullet, tearing straight through from her brain to her gut.

Hermione slumped back in her chair and gave her pile of essays a dejected appraisal. With November and the early weeks of December under her belt, she was finally beginning to see improvement in her older students' work. Just a half hour ago, she'd been practically eager to start grading the stack.

Now, she just wanted a whiskey. Or a good fuck. Lucius was likely to give her both—but not without questions. Not without piercing her with those grey eyes that seeped to burrow straight into her soul. She was beginning to think he had caught on to her. Not what, exactly, she was up to. That she was fairly sure of. But the mere fact that there was something else always on her mind. Something other than him.

Home.

The word drifted in like a whisper against her ear, making her shiver.

You have to go home.

The spot behind her eyes throbbed. Hermione rubbed her fingers against her forehead, trying to ease away the sudden ache.

Home.

It pulsed again, and she hissed through her teeth.

You have to go home.

"How?" Hermione snarled, throwing her hand aside, hardly noticing when it brushed against her stack and sent the essays scattering. She shoved to her feet, hands on her desk, eyes squeezed shut against the pounding in her head. "Why won't you help me?"

She half expected her mind to answer, seeing as it was so fond of speaking to her these days. But when only silence met Hermione's question, and the throbbing began to ease, she opened her eyes and gazed helplessly around the room.

The room stared back, still and silent and utterly fucking useless.

Just as she was dropping back in her chair, a sudden crack of apparition caught her attention. The house elf Toad stood before her, a tray of tea and biscuits balanced between his gnarled hands. "The she-professor's afternoon tea," he croaked, narrowed eyes settling on her with clear distaste.

"Oh, that's quite kind. Thank you Toad," Hermione said, quickly putting on a pleasant smile. She hadn't seen much of Toad since first arriving at Hogwarts, not that she minded. Usually her tea service arrived while she was still in her classroom, or visiting the loo.

If only I had a flask of whiskey to spike it, she thought, brushing aside some papers to make room while Toad levitated the silver tray up to her tall desk. Hermione busied herself making a cup, assuming he would apparate away at any moment, seeing as he still despised her to this day. But the elf didn't leave. In fact, when Hermione raised her eyes, he was staring straight back at her.

"Is there anything else, Toad?" Hermione asked, before taking a sip of the perfectly hot black brew.

The elf curled his lip. "Toad, he hears the she-professor."

Hermione's hand froze on the way back to the tray. "Y-you heard me?" She quickly thought back to her outburst just moments ago, breathing out a little sigh of relief when she realized she'd said nothing incriminating. She was already a female professor–she did not need to add 'mad' to that list too. Her teacup met the tray with a soft clink.

"The she-professor needs help, does she? Toad is an elf of Hogwarts," he continued, puffing out his rag-covered chest. "Toad's duty is to help the school…including the nasty she-professor."

Hermione raised her brows as she considered him. Though the elf hated her, perhaps he could be a good resource to her, where she and Clara had failed. "There is something you could assist me with. If you want to, that is. But…you couldn't tell anyone what you're doing."

"Toad is bound to Hogwarts faculty. Toad keeps all their secrets. Toad swears by his magic, he does."

"Well, in that case…I need you to keep an eye on a student for me," Hermione said slowly, watching for the elf's reaction. But Toad didn't even blink, he just stared at her with a mix of expectation and his usual displeasure. "Corvinus Gaunt. Whenever you don't have other duties, or whenever you can trade duties with another elf, I need you to watch him and report back to me."

Toad cocked his head. "Watching the boy for what?"

"Anything out of the ordinary for a Hogwarts student. And any time you see him enter the girl's lavatory on the second floor, you must immediately tell me."

"The lavatory is under construction," Toad said, frowning.

"Yes, just…keep an eye out for that. Will you? Please, Toad?"

The elf gave a short nod, then his eyes dropped to her tea. "The she-professor should drink before the tea Toad made goes cold. Toad will do as she says and report back."

Just as a thank you was about to leave her lips, the elf disappeared with another crack!

And just as quickly as it had vanished, that little hum of hope began to sing again.

Home the hope sang in her head as she grabbed her wand and watched her essays zip back into a neat pile.

You have to go home.

"And what's got you so cheery today?" Lucius murmured as he pressed kisses into her neck.

Hermione sighed into the contact, basking in the warmth of a Saturday morning in Lucius's arms. The sheets were a tangled mess around their legs after their bout of pre-breakfast sex, nearly as messy as her curls surely were. But Lucius didn't seem to mind; better for fisting his fingers into, it seemed, as he coaxed her face away to get better access to her throat.

"Mmm…I was just thinking about grading my sixth years' essays yesterday," Hermione replied, wiggling her hips back so her ass was more firmly pressed into his pelvis.

"You're thinking about essays?" he admonished, nipping at her throat. "When you've got me naked in bed?"

Hermione gasped and giggled as he peppered the kisses more forcefully into her neck, forgoing his hold on her hair to smoothly roll her onto her back, cover her with his body, and grasp both wrists to pin them by her head. She grinned up at him. "Bet you're not used to that, Mr. Malfoy," she teased, trying to arch her hips back up to meet his.

Lucius growled at her contact, pressing back into her with more force. "Do you want to know what I think about when I've got you naked in my bed?"

"Potion's assignments?"

Lucius lowered himself down so his cock—hard once again—pressed into her belly as his lips brushed against hers. "That dripping cunt that seems to be begging for more."

He fucked her then, slowly, purposefully, until she came completely and utterly undone beneath him for the second time that morning. Until they were both crying each other's names, until they both collapsed in a heap of electrified nerves and sweat and release.

"And now we can begin our plans for the day," Lucius said, leaning over to press a soft kiss into Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione tore her gaze away from the ceiling and back towards Lucius. "Our plans? I don't remember those beyond, well…this," she said, waving a hand at their naked, sweaty bodies.

Lucius swung his legs off the bed as he began to rummage through the dresser. "That's because I didn't inform you of them."

"And why's that?"

"Because you," he said, pausing to slip a gauzy undershirt over his head, the well-muscled back sadly disappearing, "are in all likelihood not going to like it."

Well now she was intrigued. Hermione crawled through the mess of sheets to his side of the bed and sat up on her knees, enjoying the show as he continued to dress with his back to her.

"I'm taking you to Hogsmeade," Lucius explained with a tone bordering on excessively casual. "Now that I'm assured you can waltz reasonably well, it's time to find you a gown."

Hermione's brows shot up. "I'd say 'reasonably well' is a bit of an overstatement. But more importantly, what on earth is wrong with transfiguring one of the gowns I already own?"

Lucius shrugged on his steel grey overcoat before finally turning to face her. She couldn't help but smirk at the way his eyes fell on her exposed breasts before shifting back to her face. "You can't transfigure your Yule Ball gown."

"Whyever not?"

"Because, my dear, this is not just some twentieth-century soirée," he said tartly as he buttoned up his frothy collar. "This is a wizarding ball at the pinnacle of pureblood reign, the height of propriety and tradition. Everyone who is anyone will be dressed in their finest. And a day dress transfigured with even your skills will simply not do."

Hermione rolled her tongue against her cheek. She supposed he had a point, even if the premise was rather ridiculous. And likely expensive. Though she had to admit, even if just to herself, that the notion of wearing a gown like that for the first and only time in her life was a teensy bit appealing.

If she was still around for the ball, that is.

"What about you?" Hermione said slyly, shifting onto her hands and smirking at the way his eyes once again shifted downwards. "Do you need ridiculously fancy and expensive dress robes too?"

Lucius smirked back. "Obviously I need to match you. What kind of fake husband would I be if my robes didn't match my lady's?" he said, stalking closer until he was looming above her. Lucius cupped both of her cheeks. "What do you say, little witch?"

She grinned. "It's a date."

As it turned out, gown shopping was not as appealing after one hour of trying on gown after gown. Lucius had heard from another professor about a shop that didn't exist in the little village in their own time, Boutique de Madame Madeline. And apparently the entire school had already heard too—with only a week left until the ball, they were nearly sold out.

"Perhaps we ought to floo to London," Lucius mused from his spot on the cushioned canapé. "Surely Viridian would allow it, if we explained this rather abysmal selection." He twisted around to look at the shopkeep, Madame Madeline herself. "Apologies."

The grey-haired witch waved him off. "I understand ze frustrations, Monsieur Malfoy," she cooed in her heavy French accent. "But you see, ze London shops, ze Paris shops, zey are all sold out."

Lucius turned back to Hermione, his gaze shifting down the pale pink gown she had on. It was a pretty thing…for a younger witch. And from Lucius's slight frown, it was clear he agreed. "Can't we just do a little magic on one of these? It would be perfectly fine, if we could just adjust the color—"

"Tu te fous de moi!" Madame Madeline cried.

"Absolutely not," Lucius chided.

Hermione spun back towards the three-sided mirror, exasperated as she picked at the pale, rosy silk. It was a pretty color, but she wasn't quite the right complexion to pull it off. "I just cannot understand this tradition," Hermione grumbled as she gazed at her three reflections. "Aren't purebloods meant to celebrate their magic? Why refuse to use it?"

"Because anyone can transfigure or magic a gown together," Lucius explained as Madame Madeline bustled off towards the main area of the small shop, muttering in French. "Any muggle-born can create a gown. But their idea is that only a pureblood can afford to purchase a hand-crafted gown of this caliber."

Hermione scoffed as she turned back towards the mirror and began to let out the corset back. After a few seconds of struggling, Lucius strode up behind her with a faint smirk on his lips. "Thank you," she said with a sheepish smile, watching his steady hands work the ribbons free. "But what of the purebloods from lesser families? The ones who can't afford it either?" Her mind drifted to Adeline. She was a Goyle marrying a Gaunt. And while she wasn't quite sure how wealthy their families were at the time, she knew the Gaunts were hardly considered high society. Which meant Adeline wasn't either.

"People like the Gaunts have always played at being like us," Lucius mused, coaxing the last ribbon free until the boning fell away from her ribs. He touched her arms, indicating for her to raise them above her head. Hermione allowed him to lift the gown off, until she was just in her stay and drawers. "And the rest of the purebloods turn their noses up, when they think the Gaunts aren't watching."

"This whole thing makes me want to scream," Hermione muttered as Lucius's large hands smoothed up her hips, capturing her waist and pulling her back into him. She whimpered at the contact, the feel of his hard body pressed into hers. "Lucius…Madame Madeline…"

"Knows perfectly well when to make herself scarce," he whispered, lips descending on her neck.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tried to give in to the sensation, the heat. But her mind was too busy. "Maybe I need to set the trend," she said breathlessly, as Lucius's left hand reached around to palm her stomach, the other trailing electricity up her arm. "Show the other girls…that it's okay to not be wearing the most…elaborate or expensive gown."

"Or maybe you should go in nothing at all," Lucius growled into her ear, and a flash of arousal flowed through her. He met her eyes in the mirror, holding her gaze with a fierce possessiveness that made her desperate for more. Lucius opened his mouth, likely to say something even filthier, when a shriek sounded from behind them. Lucius turned, and Hermione reluctantly pried herself away from his grasp. A second later, Madame Madeline came running back towards the changing area, an enormous bundle of dark silk in her arms. It was so large, she had to lean her head to one side to peek out.

"I 'ad forgotten zis was in ze back!" she exclaimed, coming to a sudden halt in front of Hermione. "It was sent, ah, par erreur from my shop in Paris, and I did not want ze students to purchase it. C'est trop révélateur," she continued, clicking her tongue in disapproval. "But for you, Dame Malfoy? Magnifique."

The dressmaker hurried forward, all but shoving Lucius out of the way and snapping the curtains shut behind them in the changing area. Hermione thought it rather ridiculous to hide herself from Lucius, since she was still in undergarments, but as soon as Madame Madeline began helping her into the dress, she understood.

A few minutes of crazed corset tying later, Madame Madeline pulled the curtains back with a woosh of metal rings, and Hermione stepped out to a version of Lucius Malfoy she had yet to encounter.

Because Lucius Malfoy, for the first time since she'd met him, was speechless.

"Do you like it?" Hermione said in a small voice, looking down at herself.

"Of course he does," Madame Madeline said with a smug smile. "He is a man. Now come, dear, look in ze mirror," she urged, gripping Hermione by the elbows and turning her back around.

Now that she had a little distance from her reflection, Hermione could really take it all in. And the gown, to her delight and slight embarrassment, was devastatingly sexy. It was a rich midnight blue, with heavy gathers of silk descending from her waist, making it appear smaller than it had any right to be. Long sleeves fitted around her arms, gathering at her wrists in tidy bows. But really, it was the neckline that turned the gown from demure to positively scandalous. And the reason why Madame Madeline insisted on closing the curtain–her stay, the garment piece she wore with every dress in this time, was missing. It had to be. Her décolletage was exposed from collarbone to collarbone and all the way down to practically her navel. Her small breasts sat naturally and almost entirely exposed, save for the outer sides and nipples. It was gorgeous and sexy and utterly all too much.

"I can't wear this," she insisted, even as her eyes continued to drink the look in. "I—I look like another person. No one at the ball will take me seriously. Please, Madame, surely you have another opt—"

"We'll take it," Lucius cut smoothly in, and she rounded on him with a swish of silk.

"Lu—Brutus, you can't be serious. They'll think I'm a harlot! Your harlot!"

Lucius strode back over to her, stopping just inches away. He reached out and cupped her cheek before bending down to brush his lips against her ear, whispering, "What could be a better fuck you?"

Hermione pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. Her gaze flickered down to his smirk. "What happened to fitting in?"

Lucius pursed his lips as his eyes roamed over her breasts. "What happened to it? Why, I saw you in that and had a realization. If we're truly stuck in this time," he continued, with a glance to Madame Madeline, who had busied herself collecting the many discarded gowns, "then I want everyone to know who we are. What we're capable of." His thumb brushed over her cheek. "And that Professor Jean Malfoy is not afraid of what anyone might think of her. Least of all her husband."

A smile cracked over Hermione's face. Butterflies flitted through her stomach. "A fuck you?" she breathed out, trying to shove down the excitement that his eagerness, his pride, that word, husband, inspired in her. Tried to shove down the guilt that rose with it like a shadow chasing the sun.

Lucius smiled back. "A fuck you," he agreed, before tugging her in for a kiss.

Snow had fallen in Hogsmeade that morning while they were tucked away in the shop, and Hermione was delighted to emerge to a whirlwind of flakes and a dusting across the cobblestones.

They walked along the somewhat crowded streets for a bit, ducking between gaggles of older students and townsfolk doing their Christmas shopping. On a day like this, cold and sunny, snowy and crisp, she could hardly tell they were in another time. The joy of the holidays, the pink hands of winter on their cheeks, shop windows glowing with candlelight and goodies—it all felt like home.

Until the voice slid in.

Home, it said, as Lucius pulled her to a stop outside a used bookstore. He was telling her something, asking if she wanted to come in. She muttered some reply she didn't even hear, her words drowned by the sudden pressure in her head.

You have to go home, it insisted, as Lucius handed her the boxed-up gown and matching dress robes, kissed her icy cheek, and ducked inside. Hermione stared at the door swinging shut behind him, listening to the hinges creak back forth, slower and slower, until it finally rattled shut against the door frame.

"Are you unwell?"

Hermione jumped at the close voice, then breathed out a relieved sigh at the sight of Juliet beside her, face creased with concern. Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog in her mind. "Sorry, I…I'm fine. I didn't see you come up." she said, taking another look at the Weasley girl. The younger witch was bundled in a grey shawl and her usual brown wool dress. Both looked awfully threadbare for December. "Are you cold? Here, take this," she said, beginning to unravel the scarf tucked between her velvet dress and heavy cloak.

"No need. I'm bloody excellent with a warming charm," Juliet answered distractedly. Her eyes darted around. "Where is your husband?"

"Inside. Probably searching for some potion's book the library doesn't have." Juliet nodded but didn't reply. She was looking out at the street, eyeing the passersby like she too was searching for something. Or someone. "What brings you out here?" Hermione asked lightly, not wanting to spook her. Juliet was notoriously prickly.

The girl puffed out her cheeks before blowing out a long breath laced with annoyance. "My mother was supposed to meet me," she said stiffly. "But it appears I was mistaken."

"Christmas shopping?"

"No, she…she had promised to help me pay for a gown this year. For the ball." Juliet tucked her arms around her waist and dropped down to perch on the window ledge behind them. Hermione followed her down, resting her parcel on her lap. "I should have known."

"Known what?"

Juliet eyed her warily. "You do not need to know my problems, Lady Malfoy."

"Why? Because I'm a lady?" she said, drawing out the word like Juliet had done, "I can't have a conversation with the Hogwarts Matron?"

"I have enough experience with lords and ladies to know exactly that."

Hermione was silent for a minute, listening to the flutters of conversation, the jingle as doors were yanked open and eager patrons bustled in and out from the shops. Clearly Juliet was in a sour mood, and Hermione didn't wish to turn the girl against her. They had worked together once before, after all, locating the boggart she set on Birdwhistle. Perhaps she could even be an ally in this time.

"You know," Hermione said eventually, as they continued to watch the street, "I wasn't a lady until very recently."

Suspicious brown eyes met Hermione's. "A Malfoy married a commoner?"

"A muggle-born one, at that."

"Yes, I've heard of your…status. Why would he pick you?"

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "You don't have to sound so shocked. We met, we found ourselves…companionable. And the rest is history."

Juliet huffed. "That is the easy way to move up in this world, for those pretty enough to manage it."

"You're very pretty."

"Not enough for a man like Lord Malfoy, nor any of his fellow high society bachelors," Juliet muttered, tugging at the end of her long braid. "And not wealthy enough, either, coming from my family." She hunched over, peeling at the split ends. "It is alright. It was a fact I accepted since I was a little girl. I need no man. Just my freedom."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "And becoming Hogwarts Matron gives you that?"

"Of course," Juliet shot back, eyeing Hermione's curiously. "Do you know my fate if I hadn't begged and begged Viridian to give me the posting, when that old bat Catherine retired?" When Hermione shook her head, Juliet let out a cold laugh. "A wife. A poor wife. Barefoot and hungry with at least two children on my hips by this age. I could not live that life. I would rather die alone in this castle, chasing whelps and managing house elves until I'm just as old and batty as the Matron before me. You are lucky, Lady Malfoy, to have escaped such a fate."

Hermione gazed down at her boots, the way the snowflakes settled on the dark leather. Alive for just a second before melting away. Would it be like that, if she returned? Would she return as herself, only to watch her life fade away? What would she lose first? Her career? Her body? Her friends? Her freedom? Would she become if she went back home?

Pain burst behind her eyes, and Hermione gasped, holding a hand against her forehead.

"What is it? Lady Malfoy?"

Hermione hissed as the voice slithered in.

Home.

You have to get home.

"I—I'm fine," she said, doing her best to shove all thoughts of home or her future far away. She straightened up and plastered on a smile. "Just a bit of cold breaking through my warming charm." Juliet appeared unconvinced, so Hermione wracked her brain for a new topic. "You said you were shopping for a gown? Have you looked at Madame Madeline's? So late into the season, I'm sure she would sell at a discount."

"Even with one, I know I could not afford such a piece without my mother assisting." Her eyes traveled to the box on Hermione's lap. "Is that from Madeline's?"

"Oh, er, yes it is." Juliet's eyes lit up, and Hermione added, hesitantly, "would you like to see it?"

Juliet nodded eagerly, and Hermione jumped off the windowsill so she could place the box there instead. Carefully, as to not rip the paper wrapping, she untied the ribbon and lifted out the gown. Juliet gasped.

"Merlin's beard, it's…"

"Too much?"

Juliet's braid whipped from side to side as she shook her head. "It's beautiful, Lady Malfoy."

"You can call me Jean, Juliet," Hermione said, smiling, feeling her cheeks grow even pinker than they already were. "I wasn't so sure, but my husband insisted we buy it."

"With a Malfoy coin purse? I would too."

Hermione couldn't stop smiling as she set the dark blue gown back inside the box. Even after she had secured it, Juliet was smiling, though there was a sad, far-away look in her brown eyes as she looked down at her knees. "I could help, if you like," Hermione said softly, and Juliet's head snapped back up.

"Help?"

"With the funds for your gown."

The witch's eyes went wide. Her cheeks turned bright red. "I—I could not—Lady—I mean, Jean, I cannot accept—"

"Nonsense," Hermione said, and the girl's stammering cut off. "Madeline should have discounted gowns, remember? It won't be any trouble. Here," Hermione continued, shifting her box to one hip so she could bring out her beaded purse. She found a large handful of galleons and held them out. The gold glinted in the winter sun, and Juliet's lips parted in shock.

"Mustn't you ask your husband first?"

"Not at all." She moved her hand closer.

"Jean, it's too much."

"You're right. It's far too heavy for me to keep my hand outstretched this long. You should take it, before my wrist snaps."

Juliet gave her an exasperated look. "Really, it is. I cannot possibly pay you back."

"No need. Think of it as a thank you for helping me find that boggart."

"That was nothing."

"Fine. Then think of it as an early thank you for the next time I find need of the Hogwarts Matron." Hermione arched an eyebrow and held the girl's gaze.

Finally, Juliet broke. She rose to her feet and held out a shaky hand, and Hermione grinned as she tipped the coins into her palm. "I really will pay you back. If not in coin, then in a favor."

"I'm counting on it." They gazed at each other—Juliet bouncing on the balls of her feet, Hermione with a silly grin. "Go on then," she said, gesturing towards the street. "Before she sells out of everything decent. There was a pretty pink gown I know would look lovely on you."

With a tight nod and a little skip, Juliet went off down the street. She didn't break into a run until she was at the corner, nearly knocking over an elderly couple turning in.

The door beside her creaked open, and Hermione turned to find Lucius striding out, a parchment-wrapped book under one arm. "Were you waiting for her to run off?" Hermione asked, tucking her hand into his free elbow. Without a word, he took the dress box from her before they began to stroll up the street.

"Didn't want to interrupt the witch chat. You didn't give her the rest of our money, did you?"

" Brutus's money."

"Ah, right. Lovely fellow. Very generous."

"And what did you get, with Brutus's money?"

"Some history of Romanian potions the bookkeep recommended. Likely because it's dreadfully boring and he can't sell it to anyone else."

They walked in pleasant quiet after that, moving through the snowy streets of Hogsmeade as if everything were right in the world. As if they were any other couple. As if with every step, the voice in her head didn't grow stronger.

Home.

You have to go home.

She was in the living room of their quarters, reading a fiction book she'd found on the shelf and listening to the steady drum of the bath filling when a crack of apparition startled the book straight from her hands. It fell with a thud to the floor as Hermione shrieked, hurrying to pull her unbelted robe around her body.

Toad's wide, yellow eyes stared back at her.

"You can't just come in here whenever you bloody like!" Hermione hissed, throwing a look towards the hallway. But the bathroom door remained shut, the faucet luckily drowning out all other noise as Lucius readied the tub for their post-evening-sex bath.

The elf's lip curled. "Toad comes to report. Does the she-professor not want report? Toad can go, Toad has many, many other duties—"

"No!" Hermione said, before crouching down by the elf and lowering her voice. Toad leaned away like he sniffed something rank, but she chose to ignore it. It had been a few days since she first instructed him to follow Corvinus, and the elf had been absent ever since. "What is it? What did you see?"

"Toad has nothing to report," he replied in a bored tone. Hermione's hope sank. "Mr. Gaunt goes to classes, he goes to meals, he goes to Hogsmeade to get drunk with friends, he goes to bed. No second floor girl's lavatory, either."

"You have nothing?" Hermione said weakly. Her fingers dug into her silk robe as she sank back onto the armchair.

"That is what Toad said. Can Toad be leaving now?"

Really, nothing? The elf stomped his foot, and Hermione dejectedly nodded. "Yes, Toad. You can go."

"And stop following Mr. Gaunt? Toad will soon be very, very busy with Yule prepositions. "

Hermione bit her lip, thinking for a second before deciding. "Yes, that's alright too. No need to waste any more of your time."

The house elf disappeared with another crack. Hermione sank back into the chair and let her eyes unfocus on the book splayed open on the floor.

Nothing she tried was getting her into the Chamber. Corvinus wasn't making moves. No matter how much she followed him around, or sent Clara after him, or even sent a house elf to spy on him, he simply was not going into the Chamber anymore. The question, though, was why. She raked her fingers through her curls, scalp burning as she tugged at the hair.

Corvinus had made four people disappear into another time—whether or not he knew what he was doing—in short succession. Both before Hermione had arrived and shortly after. The only real difference now was that he knew she was on to him. Knew he was being watched. In fact, she reckoned he liked it. And maybe…maybe this was his intermission in his grand play of psychopathy. He was gathering suspense. Waiting for the curtain to rise. Waiting, perhaps, for an even larger audience…

"Hermione, love?" Lucius called from down the hall. "Bath is ready."

She heard his voice, but she didn't move. Couldn't bring herself to. Not while her mind raced with the realization that Corvinus wouldn't strike again today, nor tomorrow, nor the day after that.

He would strike in exactly seven days.

He would strike the night of the Yule Ball.

And she was going to be ready for him.