Macnair looked and smiled. "No error. Potter's Princess. If you think that's good, take a look at the Golden Girl."

Bagman flipped to the next page and she watched his face pale. He met her eyes instantly, like he already knew her place in the room.

"We need to take our seats, Mr. Bagman," Macnair announced, earning the attention of the other Death Eaters. He offered his hand and Ludo took it. "The Palace is yours."

The Palace Theatre in London. Her parents had taken her here three summers ago. She'd sat in the front row of the first balcony, entranced by the 19th century French story she'd read in Hugo's book years before, gasping as the barricade rose, and sobbing as each life was ended.

Hermione looked onstage again. She recognized the set pieces now. It was eight o'clock on a Friday night. There should have been a show. She shivered to think that in one week, the Death Eaters had infiltrated Muggle London.

She met Ron's eyes across a stage set for revolution, memorizing the features she could just make out. Perhaps this was the last time she would see him.

Yaxley and the others followed Macnair out, slipping their masks on. Dolohov made sure to sweep by her, trailing his fingertips across one shoulder, dipping below her collarbone and across.

When she could bring her eyes off the floor she looked up to see the heavy-browed guard looking at her chest.

These guards were not Death Eaters. They weren't wearing the robes and masks, and the forearms she could see did not bear the Dark Mark. Aspiring Death Eaters, maybe? She wondered what were the politics of Voldemort's inner circle now that the war was won. Those who did not fight were probably not granted status.

She made a mental list of Death Eaters she last knew to be alive. She'd seen most of them in the last week.

Hermione frowned. Lucius Malfoy had not come to collect his Lots. Was it possible he hadn't captured any? Or that he'd only taken males?

There was little doubt in her mind that he was out in the crowd tonight. Voldemort too, probably.

Was Draco?

She looked to Pansy, still staring back at her. He probably was. He needed to come claim her.

Ludo Bagman cleared his throat, checked his timepiece, and moved to the edge of the curtain. He seemed focused on ignoring the presence of the fifty of them. The hum of the crowd swelled.

Hermione turned to Ginny, silenced and tied. She had her knees pressed together tightly, her eyes on the floor. It was like she was experiencing the full range of Hermione's shame, only a few days after. The shame that had killed the fire in her.

Ludo Bagman stepped on stage and a light hit him, igniting his smile and jaunty step. The theatre roared, and Hermione jumped with the pressure of it. Hundreds.

Ginny flinched next to her.

Hermione's eyes found several props and costumes tossed in the corner behind them. A long blonde wig and locket. A blue scullery factory dress. They should have been gathered and hung at the end of the performance.