Hermione pursed her lips as she cut her roast. The arrogance of the Death Eaters was astounding. It seemed like an awful oversight to give a girl with a background like Charlotte's the keys to Edinburgh, allowing her to move from room to room largely at will. Hermione stared at her plate as a new thought occurred to her. Charlotte probably knew almost every detail of the goings-on at the castle. Even the ones in the "other" room that Hermione had not yet been allowed in.

She filed the information away and moved to her next question.

"The tattoos. How did you and Blaise find a way around them for Pansy?"

"We didn't." She narrowed her eyes at him, and he shrugged. "A blood purifying spell and pure luck. We weren't sure if it would work. It's my understanding that if Pansy had crossed the estate line, it would have been all but impossible to remove it."

"And you have no idea how to find out a way around these tattoos."

"It's not exactly the kind of question I'd go around asking other Death Eaters, no," he said dryly. "All official slave trades are supposed to go through Yaxley or Dolohov."

"Hence why Pansy's 'dead.'"

"Yes." A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Making your grand escape plan, Granger?"

"Hmm," she said innocently, ignoring his question. "You were willing to divulge information on who escaped at Dover during the card game. Care to share?"

She watched him chew, lips pressed tight with small bites, just like his mother. An aristocratic jaw moving quickly.

"Bill and Fleur Weasley made it out."

Hermione blinked, gaze pulling from his lips. "They did?"

He nodded down at his plate. "And my aunt and her grandson."

Hermione squeezed her napkin in both palms, letting out a shaky breath of relief. Bill, Fleur, and Tonks' mother and baby were safe. She hadn't heard anything about them. Apparently Voldemort had been censoring the Prophet's list of Undesirables as well.

"Do you know where they went?"

"France." He drank his wine, and she watched him swallow. "They're causing quite a few problems for the Dark Lord there."

Hermione smirked into her napkin. Good. When she glanced back up at him, a smile still fading on her lips, he was still looking away from her.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the second half of her plans for the evening. Grabbing her wine glass and taking two huge gulps, she stood.

His eyes snapped to her. "What are you doing?"

"I think"—she swallowed, hating the reedy sound in her voice—"I think we should practice."

His fork and knife hovered over his plate. His eye twitched. "Practice."

"To get more comfortable around each other." She moved to the other side of him, reaching for the wine bottle. He didn't move an inch while she filled his glass, like she usually did at Edinburgh. Standing just to his side, she pressed her lips together when he didn't look up at her, still frozen in his chair. "I think you should pull me into your lap now."