"Be quick about it," he said, words short and chilled. She closed her mouth, biting back her retort. He turned to eye her bookshelves as she exited to the bathroom.

Something was wrong. He was under some kind of stress or… She shook her head, swallowing her apprehension. He'd gotten her this far, hadn't he? So what if he was in a bad mood. She'd seen worse.

She shucked her leggings and jumper, pulling the satin over herself. She grimaced at her reflection, looking much more like a whore – reminding her of her place outside of the Manor. She pulled the slip up, tightening the straps over her bra, smoothing the fabric over her knickers.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was still staring at the bookshelf, unblinking. She moved to the door, ready to follow him.

"Who gave you permission to wear those undergarments?"

She tripped over the carpets, stopping and staring back at him.

"Excuse me?" She glared at the back of his head. How dare he—

"Take them off."

He turned to scowl at her lazily, his eyes flinty and dangerous. She felt a chill down her spine. He'd made her remove her bra the last time they left the Manor, but what possible reason could there be for wanting her knickers off?

He prowled towards her like a jungle cat, and she stood still as he drew closer, aware of the growing pounding in her chest. If she hadn't recognized his movements, his carriage, the deft way his fingers twirled his wand, she would assume someone had polyjuiced themselves as Draco Malfoy.

But she remembered these eyes from sixth year. Different from his own. Something sharp and merciless in them.

He stopped before her, his chest barely an inch from hers, forcing her head to tilt back.

"Or do I need to take them off myself," he whispered, his breath disturbing the curls on top of her head.

A tingling terror rocketed through her veins. She'd never been truly afraid of him before. Not when he'd captured her in Umbridge's office with his hand low on her stomach, not when his friends had been casting killing curses at her in the Room of Requirement.

She searched his eyes.

His hands shot out, gripping her elbows and spinning her swiftly, her feet tangling with each other. Her chest slammed into the wall, her head turning just in time to keep from breaking her nose. The air left her lungs, and she struggled to press back. Her hands flat on the wall, but he pressed one palm to the center of her shoulder blades.

She gasped, mind working quickly over her options.

He was proving a point.

Or she'd angered him beyond anything she'd experienced.

Or this was some kind of dark magic, seducing him and twisting him.

His fingers on her low back, plucking at the satin slip, pulling it up, up.

Her eyes wide, staring at her cream colored wall.

The slip pulled up over her backside, and then his hand was underneath, smoothing his fingers up her spine until he found the clasp of her bra. A swift twist, and the clasp was undone.