She blinked at the pond, the voice beckoning her mind forward. Turning, she found Draco standing in the middle of the gazebo staring at her. She stumbled to her feet, the Gainsworth book falling from her lap. A flurry of movement as she retrieved it and he stepped forward.

Standing tall again, the book held tightly in her hands, she met his eyes.

"You're back."

"Yes, just twenty minutes ago."

Her eyes scanned him. Not in his Death Eater robes. Comfortable trousers and a buttoned shirt. Not a hair out of place. Not a scratch or tremor or bloody stain. But his left arm—he held it across his stomach as if it was in a sling.

"Your arm." She stepped toward him and stopped. She watched his throat bob. "What happened to it?"

"An injury," he said quickly. "I apologize you were left alone—"

"What kind of injury."

He looked down at his shoulder. "An Acid Hex that turned inward. My bones needed to be regrown. I'm almost healed. I just shouldn't use my arm for a few more days."

An Acid Hex. Hermione swallowed, visualizing how close it might have come to his heart. And then she remembered Dover. And the people his father had killed.

She closed down her concern and joy at seeing him alive. "Did it happen at Dover?"

His eyes snapped up from the path they were taking over her clavicles. He examined her, and then it seemed to dawn on him.

"Is Miss Skeeter printing again?"

"Yes," she snapped. "It was the most information I've received in weeks."

He lifted a brow at her. "I'm sure half of it was true. Probably only a quarter now that the Dark Lord is breathing down her neck."

"So is it true that Charlie Weasley is dead?" She could hear the blood rushing through her ears. "Or is that a lie too?"

"He's dead." The answer was swift and merciless. His eyes were cold.

A heavy weight settled in her chest. "And your father killed him?"

"This is a war, Granger." He stepped closer to her, and she noticed that he wobbled on his left leg. "Or have you forgotten?"

"The war is won," she hissed. "You won. But of course, you won't stop until every last one of us is dead or in chains."

"Right. Let me just call off my armies, Granger." He shook his head at her, scowling. "Did you really think the Dark Lord was going to allow anyone to escape the U.K.?"

"Yes, how silly of me," she mocked. "You're not in charge of anything. Least of all your own actions."

"How in Merlin's name is this my fault? It was my father who sent the Killing Curse—"

"Just because a few people were trying to escape—"

"No, to kill the man who'd tried to murder his son."

Hermione's lips opened. And closed.

Charlie Weasley had sent a deadly Acid Curse?

"He wouldn't do that," she said, but she could hear her voice tremble.