"It's from Theo." His mouth pressed in a hard line. "He wants a chat as soon as possible." He looked up at her. "With both of us."

Hermione staggered, the full weight of the night's events returning to her. "Now?" she rasped. "Will we go now?"

He looked her over. She must look a mess if his flushed cheeks and open trousers were any indication. He nodded.

She ran her fingers through her hair, her heart pounding. "Draco, I'm sorry I—"

"I have it under control."

"But—"

"Trust me. Let's go contain this."

She fell silent. He muttered a spell to clean himself up, and when he adjusted his trousers, she was shocked to find him half hard again. Blushing, she quickly turned away to slip on her shoes. She grimaced as soon as she smoothed out her dress. Her knickers felt like they'd been dunked in soapy water.

"Can I…" She cleared her throat. "Could you summon a clean pair of knickers for me?"

He blinked at her, and then his eyes darkened. He flicked his wand, and a pair of black lace knickers appeared on the desk next to her. Turning her back to him, she shimmied out of her old pair and into the black ones. She balled up the dirty pair, unable to meet his eyes. "I'll just… put these in my room—"

His hand shot out, ripping the lace from her fingers and tossing them across his sheets. "I'll take them." He grabbed her arm and led her to the fireplace.

"Oh," she squeaked. "I can wash them myself—"

"I'm not going to wash them, Granger." His voice was low and dangerous, and then he yanked them through the Floo.

A heat flashed through her body, but it was quickly extinguished by apprehension as they stepped through the flames and into a grand hall. The smoke cleared, and she found Oliver Wood leaning to one side, one arm in a sling and his eye purpled and swollen shut.

Hermione gasped.

Oliver nodded, and gestured for them to follow — like a house-elf, sent to retrieve visitors. She blinked, her emotions boiling and tumbling over, struggling to get control.

They followed his limping form to a grand double-doorway. Oliver had always been tall and muscular. She'd never seen him this thin and broken. Anger crowded her chest, suffocating her lungs. She hadn't thought Theo capable of this kind of cruelty.

Oliver led them through the doors and moved to the wall beside the door as Draco and Hermione filed into the sitting room. A stone-faced Theo stood from a large chair, a tumbler of scotch in one hand.

"So," Theo began coolly. "You and your whore want to know more about the tattoos, do you?"

Hermione's breath hitched, and she felt Draco stiffen next to her.

A low scoff. "I have no idea what you're talking about. If she asked you inappropriate questions tonight, I'm happy to discipline her."

"Discipline her," Theo muttered into his glass. "You don't let anyone come within a foot's radius of her, and now you expect me to believe that you accidentally lost her in a bet tonight? I would have written it off if it weren't for her clumsy probing—"