"Thirty," Dolohov stated firmly, like he'd ended a game of cards.

"Thirty thousand, five hundred," Draco hummed.

A crashing wave of whispers. Hermione looked down at her feet, finding specks of blood on her Mary Janes that they'd forgotten to clean.

Ginny was left bloody and wild, Hermione cleaned and groomed. Like the prized mare.

"Do I hear thirty-one thousand?" Ludo asked, speaking up again.

Dolohov's wand shot in the air. Draco's followed.

Dolohov had been so arrogant, so firm in his beliefs that he could afford her. But he didn't have the gold to back this up. So why was he—

Her blood ran cold.

Ginny. Ginny's twenty-eight thousand Galleons now belonged to Dolohov.

And Luna's. And the other girls' he'd caught.

Assuming he had four virgins, he now had a lot of money to bet.

Yaxley and Dolohov had been in charge of the Lots. Their main guards. Why had they left them backstage in the hands of randy young boys who hadn't even taken the mark yet?

"Thirty-two thousand," one of them yelled, but Hermione was concentrating on her head pounding, her shoulder aching.

Did they want a riot? Seven guards against fifty girls? It certainly seemed lazy.

A howling in the balcony.

"Thirty-three thousand," Draco stated.

Lust and bloodlust. It probably increased their bets.

"Thirty-three-five," Dolohov hissed.

"Thirty-four." Draco's voice, lazy and familiar, lulled her.

What did he want from her? Revenge? Status?

"Thirty-four-five."

The devil you know. She stared at Draco's mask, drilling her eyes into him, begging him to win.

"Thirty-five thousand," he said, crossing his legs again.

"Getting a bit steep for you, whelp?" Dolohov stood and faced the fourth row, removing his mask. "Hesitating?"

"Steep for me?" Draco laughed. "I'm surprised you can count this high."

Dolohov turned to the stage again. "Forty-five thousand Galleons."

Hermione swallowed as she listened to the hissing. She looked to Draco, still and silent.

"How much of that inheritance did daddy give you to play with, boy?" Dolohov smirked back at him.

Ludo cleared his throat and said, "I hear forty-five thousand. Do I hear forty-six?"

Draco's wand lifted. Orange sparks.

"I can go all night, Malfoy," Dolohov said, throwing his arms out wide. "I've been saving up for this for a while now, and I just made fifty-two thousand off my Lots for this evening."

"Fifty-three thousand," Draco spat.

Dolohov laughed and turned back to Ludo. "Fifty-five."

"Sixty." Draco's voice cracked.

"Sixty-one." Dolohov grinned, yellow crooked teeth shining at her.

She wasn't sure if it was the concussion, or the stage lights, or the future bearing down on her, but she felt her lungs begging for air.

She'd known that this would happen. That she'd be leaving with Dolohov. She'd been mentally preparing for a week. Even so, her hope hadn't died.

She'd felt a spark of possibility when Draco Malfoy started bidding. She didn't know if she would truly be better off with him. But now, as he hesitated before yelling, "sixty-two," she wished he'd never jumped in at all. Now she would always wonder.