At a quarter till eight, she headed down to the dining room to check on preparations. Remmy had set two places, just as she'd asked — one at the head of the table, and one just to the left. A bottle of red wine had been decanted, and the serving dishes were full of vegetables and roast.

She awkwardly took her seat at the side of the table, and only had to wait five minutes before Draco's footsteps drew her gaze to the door. She stood swiftly as he entered, and she was glad to see his dragon leather shoes instead of his Death Eater boots. His eyes skimmed the wine and food on the table before landing back on her, quickly assessing her braided hair and jeans.

"Granger," he greeted before sweeping to his chair at the head of the table, with the confidence of someone who usually enjoyed dinner with his slave.

She managed a quick nod. Retaking her seat, she focused on placing her napkin across her lap as she asked, "How was your day?"

He cleared his throat. "Fine. And yours?"

"Lovely, thank you."

She reached for her wine glass and drank deeply, trying, but failing, to think of something to break the silence. Draco filled his plate with food before pushing the serving plate in her direction, his lips in a thin line. Hermione played with her utensils, heat creeping up her neck.

They ate in silence for thirty-six seconds before she could bear it no longer.

"Clearly neither of us are ones for small talk, but I don't intend to sit for two hours in silence, Malfoy." He lifted a brow at her, and she felt the flush spread to her cheeks. "I have more questions. But I know you hate questions—"

"I don't hate questions—"

"They put you into a 'mood'—"

"They do not. You put me into a mood."

She scowled at him and speared her vegetables with a forceful clink.

He sipped his wine, studying her. She took a large, defiant bite of food, and held his gaze.

"What are your questions, Granger?"

She swallowed thickly. "Who is Charlotte?"

"She's descended from the Selwyn family." He frowned in thought. "Charlotte's mother was disowned for marrying a Muggle-born. The family is British, but Charlotte was raised in Germany. She lived there until her father started organizing against the Dark Lord, at which time she was taken and given to the Carrows."

Hermione's mind whirred, taking it all in. "And why has she been given so much authority at Edinburgh? You said she has more freedom than any other Carrow Girl."

"I couldn't say, really." He sliced into his roast with small, precise cuts. "I suppose it's because she's… quite good at what she does."

A cold suspicion crashed over her. "And what exactly does she do?"

Draco's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Host. With a smile. Flirt and joke. Be seen when she needs to be seen, be invisible when she needs to be invisible."