"Go home, Pansy."

"No. I know exactly what you're going to do and you're both fucking idiots." She pushed at his chest. "You're going to get yourselves killed—"

"You think I don't know that?" Blaise hissed. He dragged a hand down his face. "I'm managing it. Don't involve yourself—"

Pansy slammed a hand on the door, trying to open it, but Blaise blocked it. He lifted his head slowly to glare at her.

"Go home, Pansy," someone called from inside the room. "Please." Hermione squeezed her eyes closed at the raw sound of Draco's voice.

With an apologetic look, Blaise shut the door in Pansy's face.

Pansy kicked the door in frustration, and Hermione watched every inch of her harden. She spun on her heel, and as Hermione startled to catch up with her, her surroundings shivered again.

When the room ground to a halt, she landed in a small entryway facing a fireplace. She took in the high ceilings and snoozing paintings, blinking up at the moonlight beaming through the tall windows. There was a corridor to her left, and a closed door to her right.

The whoosh of the Floo made her spin around, and she watched Pansy step through the fireplace. She was wearing the same clothing as earlier — it was the same day. She looked around quickly, her wand in hand. She darted to the closed door, and Hermione followed. Pansy opened it with an unlocking spell and peered inside.

It was Yaxley's drawing room again. Hermione heard blood rushing in her ears as she stared at her suspended body, ghostly in the pale light.

The truth was choking her, weighing heavy on her shoulders, down her throat. Hermione felt herself gasping for air.

It was for Draco. Not for you.

"What a surprise," a voice hummed, and Pansy and Hermione both whipped around to the entryway. Yaxley stepped out of the shadows, and Hermione closed her eyes in resignation. "You've already had your viewing, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy grinned at him through her lashes. "But the curator is a close family friend. I think he'll let me in after hours."

Hermione's throat was dry as images flashed through her head of Yaxley and Quincy Parkinson at Edinburgh, leering at the Carrow Girls. It was that same look on Yaxley's face now. Pansy stepped up to him, swaying her hips.

Yaxley's mouth twitched as he stared down at her. "You seem to have changed your tune."

"What tune is that?"

Yaxley scoffed at her even as his pupils bloomed. "'We can never discuss it again,'" he mimicked. "'It was a mistake. We were both drinking and never should have let it get that far.'" His eyes dropped low to her bare legs. "And then today you decide to give me that look in front of your Malfoy boyfriend—"

"He's not my boyfriend." Pansy arched her brow at him and slid her hands up his chest. "You already know that. Better than anyone."

His voice was husky as his hands moved to her hips. "Why are you here, Pansy?"