A burst of adrenaline flooded her, narrowing her vision and pumping her heart. There was a window on the other side of the bed. There was a fireplace, if she could take the antidote in her seam and find the Floo powder before he stopped her.

Dolohov took another step. He tilted her head at her, like a wolf.

Her heart rattled her ribs as she tried to think.

If she was able to flee through the fireplace without her owner, Dolohov would tell the others. Draco would be captured, interrogated, and killed before dawn.

She had to stall him. Until Draco arrived.

She lifted her chin. "I'm not sure what this is about, but if you'd like to negotiate a Share, you'll have to go through my master."

A smirk tugged at Dolohov's mouth. His black eyes glittered. "We both know he'd never agree."

"Well, that's your answer, then—"

"And why do you suppose that is, Mudblood?" He swaggered forward. "You're just a Muggle. Just a tight cunt at the end of a long day."

Her knees threatened to give out, but she held her ground.

"All the other men have shared their Lots. But not the Malfoy whelp."

He leered at her, his glassy eyes digging into her, taunting her. She had to keep him talking. Slow him down.

"You and the Malfoys aren't on the best terms. Perhaps if you ask nicely—"

He threw his head back and laughed. Like she was terribly funny.

"You think you can get anything from the Malfoys by asking nicely?" He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "No, no, we're much the same to them, you and I — nothing more than dirt under their shoe unless you have the blood or property."

He smiled at her with crooked teeth. "I had a front-row seat to watch you last night, you know. Dining like a pure-blood, dressing like a pure-blood."

Another step, and another. He was just a pace away now.

"But we both know you're a filthy whore underneath it all. Aren't you?"

A cold wind in her ears. Her skin trembled.

"Can't walk into a room without Lucius Malfoy calling me a half-blood. Yet here you are, a Mudblood shined up like a prize pure-blood bitch."

Hermione's breath came in quick pants.

"I'm not the only one who sees it. Bella used to joke that you must have a golden cunt." His gaze raked her body — roving her chest, her thighs. "I disagreed. Told her I remembered how warm that cunt felt in my palm."

His fingers brushed across her hip. Hermione jerked backwards, but his other hand shot out to grab her hair. She cried out as he fisted it, yanking her neck back. He grinned down at her, his wand drifting across her skin and dipping below her neckline. She gasped, her hands scrabbling against his chest, but he was too heavy.

Her veins thrummed with magic, hot and frenzied. She coiled it, waiting for the right moment—