"Every one of those boys owns a Lot? At the dinner table?" The colors of the collars swirled and mixed in her mind until she couldn't remember who wore what.

"Flint owns Clearwater, Pucey owns his girl. Bones belongs to Travers, but Goyle has spent almost every Sickle in his vault to rent her every Friday evening."

"Rent her," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. The bile in her throat bubbled again, and whenever she closed her eyes she saw Susan's hands shaking as she opened Goyle's trousers. A slow chill spread over her shoulders, like and ice cube sliding down her spine. She looked up to find Draco's eyes still fixed on the floor. Suddenly her blood felt white-hot again. "And how did you manage when your Lot had Dragon Pox? I assume you still had a girl on your arm?"

His throat clicked. And his eye twitched infinitesimally as he said, "I used a Carrow Girl. Or I borrowed from someone."

The fire she wanted breathe onto the entire castle of Edinburgh burned inside of her.

"'Borrowed.' Like a cup of sugar," she hissed. She watched it land on him, like an arrow finding the center ring. His eyes jerked up to her, and she continued. "And did you take them to the Lounge. Did they properly thank you for giving them a place to 'be who they truly are?'"

"No." His eyes were hard. "Things aren't usually so intense in the Lounge, at least in our circle. I think your presence… excited them." He rolled his shoulders back, jaw tight. "When I've had a girl before, I've kept it limited."

She glared at him as the heat and anger unfurled in her chest. The boys had acted out more than usual that evening simply because she was there.

And in the past, when she was hidden away in her ivory tower, Draco had another girl on his at his side, forced into that room. Threading his fingers through someone else's locks, rubbing another set of legs. It had to be her anger and disgust that made her demand, "Who?"

He tilted his head.

"Who have you kept it 'limited' with?" The words boiled out of her, like a sludging potion that couldn't be suppressed. "Which of my friends — your classmates — have served your wine, and sat on your knee, and listened to your disgusting friends boast about how their inaction won them a war?" she spat.

Draco stared at her, mouth open. A new feeling bubbled in her stomach — shame.

She was jealous. Of some poor, faceless, terrified girl. Her breath rattled in her chest and she felt black spots in her vision as his expression cooled.

"It's late, Granger. I'll send up a Calming Draught—"

"I don't need a Calming Draught—"

"—and some Dreamless Sleep, and we can talk in the morning."

"I want to know who you pulled in your lap and groped while I had Dragon Pox—"

His eyes flashed. "You want an itemized list? What does it matter!"