Her brows furrowed, trying to work out a piece. "Why did you have to go to Italy? Are you… Have you been promoted?"

He smirked. "As Lucius Malfoy's son, I don't need a promotion. I volunteered, actually."

Her lips parted in shock. "You—"

"For Blaise," he said. "His mother was close friends with Bravieri — a well-known bit of gossip. It was in his best interest to volunteer his assistance with the 'transition.'" He stared off over her shoulder at the Manor. "And it seems to have deflected any suspicion. The Dark Lord gifted Giuliana to him as a token of gratitude for his service."

Hermione's lip curled. "So she'll have to pretend now, too. Only it was real for her. I saw her there. That girl is a child. She isn't strong enough to act like Zabini's plaything—"

"Giuliana won't be attending any time soon," he cut her off. "She's not... in any state for it. Blaise will make her excuses."

The summer wind brushed through them, and Hermione felt it dance across her spine in a shiver.

"What happened to her?"

Draco pressed his lips together. No response.

"Malfoy—"

"Do you really want to ruin your evening before it even begins, Granger?"

"Yes."

He sighed deeply. A hand came up to rub his brow. "Jugson thought it would be a bit of fun to put multiple hairs in her potion. Apparently he was plucking them at random from around the room. Half of the men didn't even realize until… it began."

She blinked up at him. "Oh." Bile crawled up the back of her throat as her imagination flickered through a series of disgusting and depraved images of… multiple people… and— "How old is she?" she croaked.

Draco paused. "Fourteen." His reply wasn't surprising, but it still hit her like a blow to the gut. She swayed her on her feet. He continued, "So Flint's potion is no longer allowed—"

"Was your hair mixed in?" she asked, her voice cracking.

His face turned to her sharply. And the disgust on his features brought her as much relief as the words from his mouth.

"No. We were at dinner when it happened."

His lip curled, and he turned away from her again as she nodded.

"And the Dark Lord was displeased?" she prompted, breathing easier now.

"The involved parties were punished. He reminded his followers of the purpose of these revels. Not just a place to amuse ourselves. A place to serve him and his ambitions."

Something was familiar about his wording, and it was only a moment before Hermione realized that they were Narcissa's words.

A smirk curved her lips. It seemed that Narcissa Malfoy had pulled not only her husband's strings, but the Dark Lord's as well.

He held out a hand for her arm, and she gave it to him. His hand was warm over her tattoo as they moved through the gate. They walked to the hill where they could Apparate from, and she felt relief thrumming through her veins that he'd made it through the last week unscathed. "Your mother was worried about you in Italy. Was it dangerous?"