After two anxiety-filled days with no news of Italy or Draco, she had thrown herself back into her research to steer her mind firmly away from his absence. Only that topic was equally frustrating. She'd finished The Mysteries of Magical Asia: Volumes 1, 2, and 3, and found only a handful of irrelevant, throwaway references to magical slavery. She was no closer to finding the inspiration for the tattoos than she had been a month ago.

She was headed to breakfast when she heard voices in the entry hall. She froze at the top of the stairs, listening carefully to catch the mumbled words and ascertain their owners. Peeking over the banister, she found the top of Draco's blond head — a wave of relief through her veins — as well as two others.

Zabini and a dark-haired girl.

Gasping, she moved forward until she could see her face, fingers squeezing the polished wood.

It was the olive-skinned girl from Edinburgh. The one who had been crying through the night, the one who looked too young for all of this. She looked pale and dazed, her large eyes locked on Zabini. Thinner than the last time Hermione had seen her, she practically swam in the heavy black cloak around her shoulders.

Zabini and Draco spoke in hushed tones as Zabini reached into the bag of Floo powder, nodding his head at something Draco said. She watched Zabini turn to the girl and hum something in a cadence she recognized as Italian. They moved to the fireplace, and Blaise righted her when she stumbled in her heels.

"Grazie," she croaked.

Blaise took her elbow, and Hermione caught the faintest glimpse of gold and black letters on her arm as they disappeared through the Floo. Draco stared at the empty fireplace for several long moments after they vanished. Then he crossed the room and started to climb the stairs.

His body moved slowly, exhausted and thin. Purple-blue rings beneath his eyes. He didn't look as wasted as he had a month ago, but he clearly hadn't slept or eaten much. It wasn't until he was steps away from the platform she was on that he finally looked up and paused.

"Granger." He stood tall and took his hand off the railing, removing all weakness from his stance.

She blinked at him, heart thrumming painfully with the weight of the things she wouldn't let herself say. "Who was that?" she finally managed, nodding her head down at the fireplaces below.

His throat bobbed as his eyes took her in. "Giuliana Bravieri. She'll be staying with Blaise from now on."

"Bravieri," she repeated. "She's the Minister's—"

"Niece, yes. Excuse me, but I'm not in the mood for an inquisition right now."

He started to climb again, moving past her as her mind whirred.

"Did you rescue her?" she asked. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, and her lungs held tightly, waiting for his response.

He laughed — a dry, aged sound. "I'd hardly call it that."