Daphne started pouring the contents of the bottle over Pansy's arm. Acid. Bubbling and boiling and sizzling at her skin. Pansy's screams stretched out over the wind, echoing down to the hills in the distance. Hermione hung on the bars, watching with wide eyes as Blaise pulled his wand and hissed a dark spell.

Black ink bled out of her arm and onto the grass. It thinned, turning to red. Turning to blood. And he stopped.

Pansy whimpered, tears running down her face. Daphne pressed a cloth to the blistered skin of her arm and pulled off her own cloak, tossing it over Pansy's shoulders. She linked their arms and readied them for Disapparating.

Hermione banged on the bars, rattling them.

Blaise turned around, seeing her like a ghost. She extended her tattooed arm as far as it would go, asking Blaise with her eyes.

He looked at her, then at the Manor. "This is the safest place for you, Granger."

Her lips parted, forming a plea she couldn't hear. Blaise gave her one last look and then took Daphne's other arm.

And they were gone. All she heard was the wind.

Hermione turned, leaning back on the iron bars.

A long stone path, cutting through hedges and leading to a grand manor, devastatingly beautiful in the moonlight despite its sordid history. A small elf stood framed in the doorway.

Was this her home? Her prison?

She looked at her arm again.

D.M. Not L.M. Draco himself had purchased her.

What did he want with her? What had he given up to obtain her?

She couldn't imagine that Dolohov would have parted with her for anything less than an astronomical sum.

The Malfoys were rich; that much had been clear even without the evidence of it staring down at her.

But why spend so much on her?

She couldn't stand here all night. She assumed she would either be forced inside by elf magic, or worse. By one of the residents of Malfoy Manor.

She stepped forward, and began her long walk.

Scabior had been eager the last time she'd made this walk. He'd dragged her behind him like a disobedient dog. She hadn't been able to think, hadn't been able to breathe.

She followed her feet, the doors growing larger in front of her. The tiny elf in the pink pillowcase blinked down at her as she climbed the stone steps, then turned and moved into the house.

Hermione paused at the top and looked back at the gates. Was she going to be punished for Pansy's disappearance? No, she assured herself. It had been by design. The elf said Pansy had to stay, and Hermione was to come inside.

But perhaps she would be punished in other ways. Without Pansy's charms, and legs, and sultry eyes to distract, Hermione was vulnerable. The only choice. She yanked the flimsy gold dress higher up her neckline.

She wondered what it meant that Pansy's tattoo had been removed. Was she free?