She frowned. "I did wash my hair."

Pansy lifted a brow and pressed her ruby lips together. "With what? A bar of soap?" She spun on her heel and led Hermione back to her room. "I'll speak to Narcissa about your products. Clearly, Draco Malfoy — the grand interior designer — couldn't be bothered to fill your closets or your cabinets with anything useful."

Hermione rolled her eyes as Pansy threw open her wardrobe to hang up the garment bag before dragging her into the bathroom and shoving her into the chair at her vanity.

"Alright now," Pansy said, examining her closely. "What shall we do with this…"

Hermione scowled up at her as Pansy narrowed her eyes. Then she forced her to wash her face again — And moisturize! Damn it, Granger, how many times do I have to tell you! — before she started rubbing the goo on her cheeks.

When it was quiet, Pansy asked, "Have you heard from him?"

Hermione blinked open the eye Pansy wasn't jabbing with a brush. She was stirring her concoction of colors together, frowning at her palettes.

"No." Hermione cleared her throat. "Narcissa told me that no owls are permitted to travel in or out of Switzerland. But Lucius travels into Germany often and sends updates."

She waited for Pansy to ask anything else, but she simply ordered Hermione to close her eyes.

When Pansy moved onto her hair, Hermione said, "I have a question about the day you were captured."

Pansy scoffed and slightly jerked the curl she was working on.

"Please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I answered your question."

Pressing her lips together, Pansy met her eyes in the mirror. After what felt like a lifetime, she gave the slightest of nods.

Hermione drew a slow breath. "I woke up with my tattoo already on my arm. Did you? Or do you remember when it appeared?"

"Oh, I remember alright." Pansy's features darkened as she prodded at a finished curl.

Hermione's heartbeat quickened. "Do you remember anything about the spell they used?"

She twisted another wayward curl around the wand and frowned. "I don't remember a spell. Just the potion and the parchment."

Hermione felt her skin prick. Every hair on her arms stood on end.

"What kind of potion?"

"Well gee, Granger, when I was allowed to examine it, my findings were inconclusive—"

"You drank a potion?" Hermione turned to her, tugging her curls away from Pansy's fingertips. "You're sure?"

Pansy scowled at her. "Yes, Granger. I'm positive I remember having my jaw pried open."

"No, I mean…" She tried to gather her racing thoughts. "Was it mint-flavored? Did it suppress your magic?"

"I felt my magic leave me, yes, but it wasn't minty like the Suppressant Potion. It tasted like ink."

Hermione blinked at her, then looked down to the D.M. on her arm.

Ink.

She'd thought that the tattoo was a spell cast upon a person, an external charm. But maybe the key to the tattoos' magic was inside of them.