A strange hope fluttered in her chest.

She spun, taking a breath to ask —

"Yes, Granger," he said flatly, walking away from her. "We'll go to Edinburgh tonight." And then under his breath, "Bloody woman…"

She watched him trudge to his door, frowning at his retreating back.

Have you had breakfast, she'd been about to ask.

~*~

At eight that evening, she did something for the second time since she'd taken up residence at Malfoy Manor — she examined her vanity dresser. She'd rummaged through it just once before, shortly after she arrived, while looking for weapons.

She pulled out the top drawer, finding basic makeup products and brushes.

Hermione didn't know much about applying powder and goo to her face, but she could remember a bit from fourth year. With Lavender Brown's voice in her mind, she laid out the tubes and gels across her counter and separated them by use. The eye makeup on her right, the lips on her left, and the rouge and powders in the center.

After half a dozen frustrating attempts, she finally was staring at a shadow of what Pansy Parkinson had been able to do to her face. Her eyes were dark, her lashes long. A dusty pink lipstick was all she could find in the drawer. She searched every drawer and cabinet for nail polish, thinking of Pansy's scarlet nails, but couldn't find any. She wasn't positive she could pull off whatever act Pansy had played, but she could come close to it.

As for her hair… Hermione had to leave it alone. She had no tools, no wand, and even if she did have a curling iron, there was no electricity in Malfoy Manor.

Mippy knocked at quarter till ten, handing her the collar, the dress, and the shoes. The elf wrung her hands and stared tremulously at the floor, clearly knowledgeable about the plans for the evening. Perhaps she'd heard Narcissa's rants as well. Hermione took pity on her and quickly dismissed her, asking her to tell Draco that she'd be downstairs momentarily.

The slip dress was black lace with a low neck. It would be tight on her body, leaving very little to the imagination. But perhaps the revelers at Edinburgh Castle no longer needed to imagine her in any way. It was possible they'd seen quite a bit of her body already.

Hermione pressed her lips together, and pushed away those thoughts.

She went to the armoire, reaching into the drawer that held her knickers. She rummaged through them and decided on the pair that looked the most sensual.

The dress slithered down her skin, needing to be tugged around her backside. She slipped the collar on, and the metal shrunk to her skin just as it had last time. She fidgeted with the chilly gold metal as she checked the clock, testing to make sure it hadn't glued itself to her. It seemed to shrink and tighten in response to her touch, attracting to her skin like a magnet. She easily fit her finger between her neck and the collar.