And then Pansy Parkinson was shoving her way around his shoulder with, "Leave us alone for an hour" — a quick assessing glance to Hermione — "or three."

Hermione gaped at her as Pansy slammed the door in Draco's face and turned to her with a catlike smile.

"Pansy, you can't just—"

"Merlin, Granger. Your hair is outrageous."

And then Pansy Parkinson's hands were in her hair, twisting her curls as she babbled about mousse and hydrating potions. She ran her fingers across Hermione's cheeks, tutting over her skin and brows.

Hermione tried to protest amidst the onslaught. "Pansy—"

"You have excellent pores, but if you don't start moisturizing you'll look ninety at your fortieth. I have Harper Hoddy's Hush cream — you'll use it twice a day for the next—"

"Pansy." Hermione stopped her with firm hands on Pansy's thin wrists. "What are you doing here?"

Pansy tilted her head back at her. "Saving you from yourself, Granger." She lifted a brow. "Or from what you think qualifies as 'makeup and hair.'"

Hermione blinked at her, but before she could make total sense of it, Pansy was dragging her into her bathroom suite and plopping her on the chair in front of the mirror. She frowned at the mess Hermione had left out. "You know, it never ceases to astonish me that you've made it this far in life understanding nothing about makeup."

Hermione snorted. "It's simple. I don't care."

Pansy froze, then spun around to face her. Something icy in her eyes. "And how is that working out for you these days, Granger?" she asked sweetly. "Does that wonderful brain of yours get you everything you need in this new world?"

Hermione said nothing, the tips of her ears burning in irritation. She was right. Her cleverness would only get her so far.

"Now we don't have much time, so listen carefully." Pansy snatched up a thin makeup brush and waved it in her face. "This is not a shadow brush!" She slammed it down and picked up another brush. "This is a shadow brush."

Hermione stared at the two brushes — identical in her eyes — and then glanced to Pansy's irate face. Pansy took a deep, cleansing breath.

"It's alright." A cool smile. "That's why I'm here."

She pulled a pouch off her shoulder and opened it on the vanity. Creams, powders, gels, and brushes rolled out.

"But why?" Hermione found her voice to ask. "Why would you come to help?"

Pansy spun to her with a tube of something. "Because you looked atrocious the last time I saw you at Edinburgh, Granger," she replied flatly. "Like a child had dipped their face in a clown's makeup bag. And as amusing as it is to see you make a fool of yourself, I'd rather Draco not suffer the consequences of it."

Hermione frowned at her in the mirror. "Not every girl is done up and dressed to the nines—"

Pansy dragged the chair to face her with surprising strength. "Not every girl fetched sixty-five thousand Galleons," she said, leaning down to meet Hermione levelly. "Not every girl is on the arm of the Malfoy heir. Trust me when I say that you need to look and act the part. If you can't maintain the lie, Granger," Pansy said, voice sharpening, "you'll endanger the entire Malfoy family."