Draco and Lucius stood near the fireplace, speaking in low tones. They stopped when Lucius caught sight of her. He whispered one last thing to his son, and turned a lazy expression on her.

"Miss Granger," he greeted.

She nodded to him, and glanced at Draco. His eyes were on the fire, cold and distant.

Clicking heels caught their attention, and Hermione turned to see a very stern expression on Narcissa's face as she approached, wearing a structured black dress.

"We're leaving after an hour," she clipped, raising a cool brow as Lucius appraised her. "We've survived worse."

A pop sounded from behind Lucius. "Master!" a voice squeaked. "An urgent letter from Madam Lestrange!"

Lucius plucked up the note, and shook it open with a flourish. Hermione held her breath as his eyes danced across the page. A snarl pulled at his lips.

"A change of plans," he said. "Your sister's manor is 'inhospitable' at the moment. She's asked us to meet her at Rabastan's estate for dinner."

Narcissa snatched the letter, eyes narrowing as she read. "Absolutely ridiculous," she hissed. "If that's how she's going to play it—" She broke off, looking up at Hermione, her features clouding with concern.

There was a ringing in her ears, her blood moving quickly. Ron.

Hermione gave a shaky nod, then closed her eyes, pushing the earthy tome back even farther.

The clock chimed seven. Lucius tossed the Floo powder and called out the destination. Narcissa stepped through, followed by her husband.

Once the green flames had died, Draco moved for the first time. He reached into the bag, tossed the powder, and silently extended his hand. Hermione moved beside him and presented her arm, his tattooed signature glimmering in the firelight. His fingers were cold as they wrapped around her skin. He called out for Rabastan's estate, and they stepped through.

The first thing Hermione noticed was a lack of light or warmth. The fire at their backs vanished with a hiss, and she shivered violently as the chill of the entryway crept over her.

They stood in a gothic manor house — the hallway stretching before them narrower than Malfoy Manor's, but the ceilings still dizzyingly high. The smoke from the fireplace dissipated, and the black walls closed in like a void swallowing her air. The paintings on the wall started hissing at her, muttering about her dirty blood as Narcissa glared daggers at them.

Draco dropped her arm and stepped slightly in front of her. Lucius spared them a condescending sneer and continued inspecting his fingernails.

Hermione's eyes roved the ceilings. Ron was in this house, somewhere beneath these black, deadened walls. She blinked and shook her head, refocusing.

Rabastan was the younger brother — possibly in his mid-thirties. All Hermione knew about him was that he was an unmarried Death Eater — likely mediocre in rank, given how little she'd heard about him. Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix. She'd face three enemies tonight.

Small, tittering footsteps grew nearer, and all four guests turned to see a beaten little elf limping toward them.