She looked around the room and felt comfort. Perhaps she might dance with Draco once this song ended. She knew at the end of the night, or day, or whatever it was, that she wanted to drink from him, see if he tasted any different. She might take a peek into Lucio's old nursery later, and tell Draco some more about what he had missed from his son's beautiful life. She might see if she could grow some pansies in the garden in an ode to her best friend, who was the only person Hermione had long ago trusted with the confidence that she intended to go back to the manor one day. She might convince Draco to go to the surface with her and take a walk in a rural french village they had once haunted, and see how many of the locals still knew about the story of the devil and his bride. Had the tale survived the test of time? She wanted to know.