Martin had already gone to his things and was sorting out his palette for the day, his smock tied behind his back. The light coming in from the window flattered him a good deal but he didn’t notice, preoccupied as he was with setting up his station. His eyes were focused and he had a paintbrush tucked into the waistband of his pants, the clean bristles pointing upwards. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Hermione found herself appreciating his appearance for a little too long, froze, and turned away abruptly. 