"Not leaving already, Malfoy?" a gravelly voice sounded from behind her. "I haven't even had a chance to say hello."

Hermione's chest rattled, hair standing on end from the memory of eyes on her naked body, a hand between her legs, a scratchy voice whispering filthy things into her ear. Draco held her in a punishing grip as they turned to face Antonin Dolohov, his black eyes focused on her.

"Dolohov," Draco greeted in a stilted voice. "Back from Italy so soon?"

"Just today." His gaze skated over her chest, her waist, her legs. "I'd heard you'd been letting her out of her cage. Had to come see for myself."

There was a pounding in her blood, but she focused on holding her head high, meeting his eyes.

"And now you've seen," Draco replied curtly. "If you'll excuse us—"

"Not sharing her either, I've heard," Dolohov said, stepping so subtly to the left, blocking the narrow path around him. "What a shame that is." He took a small step forward, cocking his head. His eyes hadn't left her once. "With me, you would have been the Queen of Edinburgh, Mudblood. The grandest prize, presented and polished. You would have had your fill of pure-blood cock every Friday until you were overflowing with it."

A chill passed along her shoulders, but she didn't move a muscle. Draco shifted, his shoulder passing into her sightline, putting himself in front of her.

"Just to come home to your worthless half-blood prick?" Draco lilted, and she could hear the nasty smirk in his voice, so reminiscent of their school days. "I think she got the better deal, Antonin."

Dolohov sneered and stepped into him, nose-to-nose. "Your daddy's not here, Malfoy. I'd be very careful what you say to me."

"Oh, I have nothing to say to you at all. We have a binding agreement, Antonin," Draco said lowly. "Now kindly step away from me and my Lot. I'll only ask you once."

"You've been keeping her locked away for far too long, Malfoy. Careful," he warned. "Or someone might figure out how to pick the lock."

Draco's left arm was still twisted behind himself, squeezing her wrist so hard she knew it would bruise. He breathed a humorless laugh, and slapped Dolohov's upper arm.

"Good to see you, Antonin. I'll give my father your regards."

With a sharp tug, he pulled her around him, passing Dolohov on the right with a shove to his shoulder. Hermione didn't look back, only focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

They moved into the chill of the courtyard, and she chanced a look to Draco's face — stony, impassive. She realized they were following the crowd traipsing down a winding pathway, weaving through centuries-old buildings. The resignation in his face grew, and he kept glancing over his shoulder. Draco was no longer looking for a quick exit.

She felt a cold horror build in her chest as they walked into the crowd gathering at the base of the hill. A courtyard looking out over the horizon of Edinburgh filled with black hoods and girls shivering in flimsy slips.