From her thin robes Harva brings out a dagger, its blade glinting in the firelight. She motions for Regulus to kneel, and Hermione realizes with pink cheeks that is in a similar state of undress as his robes open across his thighs. She stifles a gasp with her hand as Miss Sayre raises the dagger to the moon, presses it against her lips, and then brings it down to carefully slice across his exposed collarbone. She drags the dagger carefully in a line, before moving to slice down his sternum. Blood leaks down his chest in glistening drips of ruby. If Hermione weren’t watching with her own eyes, she wouldn’t believe it were real. Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps it’s all a dream.