The lane ended. It opened wide into another field.

Hermione stopped, staring at the sloping hill, a childish impulse telling her to run and tumble down.

A different, darker impulse telling her to run as well.

She stepped forward.

"I would stop there, Miss Granger."

She spun. Lucius Malfoy – impeccably dressed for the hour in the morning – stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at her with grey eyes.

Had he Apparated to her? She hadn't heard him approach in the narrow lane. Was she past the Apparition line?

She remembered herself, quickly closing the robe and pulling it tight to cover her modest nightclothes. No sash to tie it closed.

"Why?" she asked. "What's beyond this?"

"Nothing much of anything, really." He stepped forward, and she was reminded of the way her aunt would try to corner one of her playful cats. "The grounds extend another few acres, but it's mostly fields."

"I like fields." She wondered if she'd pay for the insolence in her tone.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like his son's whenever he hid a smile in class. "Yes, don't we all," he hummed in a condescending growl. "But I'm afraid you've reached the line you cannot cross, Miss Granger."

She stared back at him, examining him. He leaned forward on his toes, ready to pounce. She wouldn't notice it if she didn't already know that Malfoys lean back on their heels, waiting for the world to come to them. His hands behind his back – perhaps his wand between his fingers. Following her.

Lucius Malfoy didn't want her crossing this line.

Her skin pricked. Perhaps the weakness was here.

"I assure you, there's nothing but plains of grass," he said, reading her distrust. "A few excellent spots for Quidditch"—he nodded over her shoulder—"if such a thing interests you." He frowned at her when she didn't move and sighed. "The Manor grounds stop here for the purposes of that ink on your arm. If you cross the line, you will be grievously harmed, Miss Granger."

She blinked at him. He was nervous—she was certain of it. And what else could be the cause but the thought of her escaping?

A breeze rustled the tree branches above them, and sunlight freckled his face, reflecting off his eyes.

The birds had stopped singing.

It was worth a try.

If she was wrong, she'd be with Luna again. Harry. Draco couldn't stop her this time.

With an agility she'd learned from a year on the run, Hermione spun on her heel and leapt out of the lane, into the field.

A spark of fire in her arm, burning, crackling, sizzling up her nerve endings. She crumpled to the soft grass as the fire spread into her entire body, frying her from the inside. An echo of a yell behind her as the pain surrounded her mind and plunged her into a spinning darkness.

~*~

Rocking. Swaying. Like her father used to do when she injured herself.