Draco walked her to a spot on the floor dark with dried blood and dropped to his knee, dragging her down with him. He bowed his head, but Hermione defiantly stared the Dark Lord in the eye, the darkness drawing her in. She could feel the stain of it on the stones, and she pushed back, refusing to bow to him.

"Hermione Granger." The sound of her name sliding over his tongue shivered her skin. "Welcome to my castle." He chuckled.

She breathed deep, the rotting air thick in her throat. When she gave no greeting, he continued.

"You fetched quite a price at the sale. The... Auction. Yes, that was it. But I see now you are no great beauty."

Hermione nearly sneered. Of all the things she thought Lord Voldemort would have to say to her, insulting her looks never made the list.

"And still my followers jockeyed for you." He titled his pale hairless head at her. "How grand it must be to have befriended Harry Potter."

A deep rumbling chuckle chorused through the room. The Death Eaters chortled.

"Stand," he commanded, and then Draco was dragging her to her feet. "Young Malfoy."

"My Lord."

"You gave up quite a lot to obtain her."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Why?"

"We were adversaries at school," Draco said, eyes still downcast. "She never quite learned her place. And also"—he lifted his eyes to Lord Voldemort, a small smirk pulling at his lips—"I'm always drawn toward the most valuable possessions."

The Dark Lord grinned. "And is she everything you paid for and more? I heard she was untouched. I assume you've taken her."

"Not yet, my Lord."

The Death Eaters shifted, whispering. She felt a dozen eyes turn on her.

Lord Voldemort's brow lifted. "And why is that?"

She looked to Draco. Why was that?

He glanced at her, his eyes slid over her neck, down to her breasts.

"Anticipation is the sweetest torture, is it not?"

Hermione swallowed. Voldemort laughed. A high cackling of glee.

"Your father was too soft, Young Malfoy. But you're learning."

Hermione felt her blood screaming. He was playing with her. Maybe they all were. A beautiful suite with a bed and bath of her very own. Tea with Narcissa. Access to the library of her dreams. Even Lucius was civil.

It would all come to an end soon.

"Tell me, Mudblood Granger," Voldemort's crooning voice interrupted her spiral. "What do you know of George Weasley?"

She blinked. She couldn't hold back her surprise before Voldemort saw it.

"What?"

Draco's head snapped to her. "You will address him as My Lord," he hissed, eyes burning into her.

"George Weasley. His safe houses. His distant family." Voldemort leaned forward in his throne. "What does he care about?"

Hermione stared into the glittering eyes searching her. And then she understood.

George had escaped.

And for some reason, Voldemort was threatened by that.

A fire burned in her gut, something that she'd thought had been extinguished the moment she spotted a small body in Hagrid's arms.