He looked so small. Still trying to crow at Harry's back as they left. And when the back of his hand swiped his brow, wiping blood from his eye, Hermione had gasped before looking away and running after the Gryffindors.

Before looking away—

—running after the Gryffindors—

But she stayed. Frozen. Like someone had paused the film.

She stared down at the Quidditch pitch, hands squeezing the railing, and looked down on a pink-faced blond cradling his arm.

She should be turning and leaving.

A cold breeze settled across her, like a snake's tongue slipping in through one ear and out the other. And it almost felt as if Voldemort stood next to her at the railing.

If she could turn her head, maybe she would see him there. Watching her… watching Draco Malfoy.

Like a hook around her waist, and then she was on the Quidditch pitch again, staring at a twelve-year-old Draco, sneering at her—

"Filthy little Mudblood."

And later that night as she cried in her dormitory—

In the library, glaring at him as he read her favorite book. He smiled at all the best parts—

And then a waltz played across her ears, and she spun in a circle to find him in front of her. The memory slowed, and Voldemort watched her curtsey in her periwinkle dress, watched her hand raise to Draco's. And like his face was resting just over her shoulder, the Dark Lord turned with them as they danced at the Yule Ball.

Voldemort could hear her heartbeat, feel the shiver across her skin, and watched as Draco scowled down at her—

And with an abruptness that echoed of breathing air after drowning, she was alone in her mind. And Voldemort was before her in the Great Hall, the bones of her comrades scattered around them. He tilted his head, slanting eyes examining her like she'd presented an unexpected problem.

Her head felt the absence of his like a brain freeze, something so chilling filling the plates of her skull.

He released his magical hold on her, and her body crumpled to the ground, legs bending in odd directions. It hurt to keep her eyes open, but she stared up at him as a slow idea formed in his eyes, a realization.

He knew that she fancied Draco Malfoy.

His hand shot out and Hermione could only catch her breath as Draco gasped and zoomed forward like a puppet on a string. His jaw stretched into Voldemort's hand. His legs lengthened to stand on the stones.

Voldemort turned his red eyes on Draco's, and suddenly it was very quiet while Voldemort searched Draco's memories and thoughts for her.

A drop of sweat rolled down Draco's jaw, as Voldemort performed a thorough examination.

She didn't know how long she had been examined, but this felt longer.

Draco grunted, breath shallow.

And then Voldemort released him, dropping him to the floor next to her. Draco caught himself on his knees and stared up at the Dark Lord.