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Even under the potion, the hatred and rage she felt toward him for it was inescapable. She did not merely hate him emotionally. The fury over all he had destroyed was a structure in her mind. He deserved to suffer deeply for everything he'd done. She did not need to feel emotions to believe it.

She couldn't understand what he got from doing any of it. He was wealthy but he didn't seem to do anything with it. He was powerful but he was obliged to keep it anonymous. He had no apparent hobbies other than efficiently killing people and reading. He didn't even seem to particularly enjoy killing people.

His life seemed bizarrely empty of anything satisfying. What drove him?

She opened her mouth to prod but caught herself and refrained. She had to tread cautiously. She wanted to think more about it.

He smirked when he saw her mouth close.

“Composing a psychological sketch of me?” he asked.

Hermione quirked her mouth into a faint smile.

“Yes,” she said.

“I'll look forward to seeing it,” he said turning to continue down the hallway.

She sniffed and glared after him.

There was a sharp click of heels and Astoria suddenly came around the corner. When she caught sight of Hermione and Malfoy her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed themselves.

“Are we all socializing together now?” Astoria asked in a saccharine voice.

“Just touring the manor,” Malfoy drawled, Astoria's face whitened slightly. “The door to the drawing room in the south wing was opened.”

“Perhaps the house-elves left it open,” Astoria said stiffly.

“Indeed,” he said with a smirk. “It was undoubtedly the house-elves.”

“I thought you had business today,” Astoria said, changing the subject abruptly. “You said your day was quite full when I asked you to stop by the fundraiser this afternoon and yet here you are 'touring the manor.'”

Hermione wavered slightly as she stood between Malfoy and Astoria. There was something intensely unstable about Malfoy's wife and Hermione was disinclined to draw her attention — or ire. However, there was no way for Hermione to withdraw from the tense conversation without being obvious.

She remained frozen, watching the scene carefully while trying to be unobtrusive. The words felt laced with implication and mutual dislike. Astoria was seething with barely veiled resentment, her teeth flashing faintly as she glared up at her husband.

“The Dark Lord has been quite specific that the Mudblood takes precedence over everything else,” Malfoy said with a cold expression.

Astoria gave a sharp, hysterical laugh.

“Goodness, I didn't know heirs were so important,” she said glancing over at Hermione's stomach.

“The Dark Lord's instructions are what is important,” Malfoy said, beginning to appear bored. He wasn't even looking at his wife, in fact Hermione realised, he was looking over Astoria's head and staring at a mirror on the wall that reflected himself and Hermione. “If he asked me to farm flobberworms I would be doing it with equal devotion.”

Hermione nearly snorted.

“I haven't noticed any of the other broodmares needing so much devotion. You don't even let anyone near her. It's like you're hoarding her,” Astoria retorted sharply.

Malfoy chuckled, a cruel glint entered his eyes as they dropped down to rest on Astoria's face. A flash of uncertainty flickered in Astoria's eyes as though she were caught off guard by the full-attention her husband was suddenly leveling her with.

“I was given to understand you didn't want to lay eyes on her, Astoria. Was that wrong?” Malfoy said, his tone was light — almost cajoling — but there was a freezing edge to it. “Would you rather I trot her about with me? Take her along to the opera? Perhaps have her join us on the cover of the Daily Prophet next New Years? The whole world already knows she's mine. Did you want me to reiterate it?”

Astoria paled visibly and glanced over at Hermione with undisguised loathing.

“I don't care what you do with her,” Astoria snarled, then turned on her heel and stormed away.

The instability in the air evaporated with the receding sound of footsteps. Malfoy stared after Astoria with an expression of annoyance. He turned to direct his scowl towards Hermione.

“You've irritated my wife, Mudblood,” he said.

Hermione looked up at him. He almost seemed to expect her to apologize.

“My existence irritates her,” she replied indifferently. She eyed him. “If you 'care' you could easily remedy that.”

He snorted and looked her over.

“That potion really does a number on you,” he said. He looked at her so intently it felt as though he were committing her to memory.

She met his gaze calmly. She wished she could be so calm without feeling like she were frozen. There were so many things about him she wanted to unravel and exploit; if she could only rein in her psyche and manage herself.

There was so much about him that made little sense to her.

If she could only get closer.

“I feel like I can breathe,” she said. “Like I've been drowning so long I forgot what oxygen felt like.”

Then she grimaced.