He looked away from her. "The Dark Lord isn't interested in pursuing Muggles beyond the ones in Edinburgh. Politicians, royals… commoners. They hold no interest for him right now."

Her heartbeat drummed in her fingertips. She could breathe again. She could think clearly.

She wrote these answers down on her mental checklist, stowing them into a tight corner of her library of shelves.

"You touched my tattoo as we crossed the threshold. Does one need to be escorted by a Death Eater to enter and exit Edinburgh?"

He nodded, and she tucked the information away for a future escape plan.

"What is the purpose of the collars?"

"Aesthetic, ownership, and hierarchy," he replied. "The Gold Collars have access to the entire castle, with the assumption that the Death Eater is keeping a careful eye on his Lot. The Carrow Girls are allowed everywhere except the private parlours in the west building. With the exception of Charlotte, of course."

Her ears perked up, and she tilted her head. "And what happens in the private parlours?"

"Official Death Eater business. Conversations with foreign dignitaries." He glanced down at the floor, and twisted his ring around his thumb.

So that was the real purpose of these parties, then. Entertaining and seducing government officials.

"You said the silver collars are owned by the Carrows," she confirmed, and he nodded. "I thought Neville was bought by the Carrows. Where is he?"

"Longbottom was traded away. Given to Rookwood in exchange for the two girls he'd bought at the Auction."

Rookwood. She tried to remember if he had been there the night before. "Does Rookwood keep a harem too?" she asked coolly.

His eyes landed on the vines over her shoulder. "Longbottom was found to be lacking for the purposes of Edinburgh Castle. Very few Death Eaters and dignitaries found him acceptable for private uses. And he was deemed uninspiring in the other uses for male slaves."

She felt a spike of panic in her chest.

A lake with still waters.

"What other uses?"

Draco pressed his lips together, and tightly said, "Arena fights. Slave versus slave."

Her body jerked away, turning to the windows. She breathed deep, pushing away the images her mind conjured.

"Arena fights," she repeated.

A thought dawned in her, and she spun back to him, finding him already watching her from his place near her bench.

"Have you ever seen Ron at these parties?"

She could see his jaw clench even from this far away. He replied with a stilted, "No. I haven't seen him since he was requested by the Dark Lord, before Macnair's death."

She nodded, trying to stitch together the pieces and file them away for later. Taking a deep breath and centering herself, she prepared to ask the one question she knew she didn't want to hear the answer to.

"And Ginny?" she said, and the words floated to him like a feather. "Why is she no longer at the parties?"

She watched him swallow, and turn his eyes over her shoulder again.