And he jerked backward, his wand clattering to the stone floor. Hermione gaped as it rolled away.

He groaned, sucking in a sharp breath. "We have to— You have to go."

"Draco. What's wrong?" She reached for his face—

"Don't touch me," he panted, pressing himself against the wall. There was horror in his eyes. "You can't touch me."

"Alright." She raised her hands in surrender. "Just let me get a better look." She moved closer, frowning. His pupils were blown wide, his cheeks and neck flushed, his mouth panting with ragged breaths. His gaze dropped from her face, skating over her exposed neck, fixating on the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips.

Hermione felt an iced chill run over her skin, freezing the air in her lungs.

They'd dosed him. Rabastan and Flint. With the lust potion.

This one's a new concoction—

We'll miss the show!

Her mind clicked into action. She flipped through her memories, thinking back on the notes she'd made that day in Draco's laboratory.

But they would need her hair for that potion. A more general lust potion didn't necessarily mean he was dangerous to her—

Draco's hands reached for her, eyes wild and starved, before he jerked them back to his sides. He slapped his hands on the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut.

The room spun as she stared at him, dread filling her veins. Somehow, Flint or Rabastan had procured a strand of her hair.

"We can make an antidote," she said, fighting to sound calm.

He let out another moan, and Hermione jerked into action. She ran to the fireplace, searching for the Floo powder.

"We have to get back to the Manor—"

"You need to leave. You go. I can't be with you—"

"Draco." She spun to him, holding out her tattooed forearm. "I cannot go anywhere without you."

A whimper was wrenched from his chest. The heels of his hands pressed into his eyes as he slid down the wall to a crouch.

Hermione spied his wand against a far corner. She darted for it, snatched it up, and turned back to him.

A quivering warmth spun up her arm, sliding into her veins and igniting her soul. Hermione gasped and stared down at her hand, vibrating with the sensation of holding a wand for the first time in months. The hawthorn hummed for her, ready to be useful.

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

She could go. She could find Ron. She could fight her way out and run. There were four people to kill — and three Malfoys to Stun. She'd have to take Draco with her for the tattoo to let her leave. Ron must have a tattoo as well. Perhaps if they took Rabastan's body—

A thump drew her eyes up, and she caught sight of Draco on his knees, bracing himself with his hands on the floor, panting.

Her heart thundered even louder, her guilt and conscience tugging her both ways. After another half-second's hesitation, she ran to him. She pushed him up by the shoulders, careful not to touch him, and his eyes fluttered open. His gaze was like black glass.