            "It said that you were sleeping with him! Malfoy!" Footsteps creaked faintly from above, but Harry seemed too wrapped up in his interrogation that he had eyes only for her. And those eyes were absolutely  livid. "That Malfoy lured you into his—his  web, just like you promised you wouldn’t let happen. I thought you were in danger, Hermione," he said, his voice dropping into an icy whisper. "We searched for you. Even with all the absolute shite going on in France, Ron and I searched for you. And when we couldn’t...I thought Malfoy killed you. I thought that was the  only  reason you would leave me—leave your f  amily  like that. Because you were dead. And now where do I find you?" Harry’s shaky breath blew hot across her skin. His wand trembled, hovering by her throat. "Alone in a random flat in Paris. No explanation. No letter home. No real goodbye, since you lied to me last time I saw you. And I bet you have Dad’s cloak too," Harry muttered, finally seeming to regain some sense of composure. He stepped back. His wand remained poised. "Well?"