With a heavy sigh, Hermione stood, carefully. Just as carefully, she did up the side zip on her mid-thigh length dress, wincing only slightly as the metal zip dug into her fingers. Susan, bless her, had altered the dress magically after taking Hermione's measurements. The clothes she had packed away in Italy no longer fit, and all had to be magically sized to her new, skinny build. It was just something else she had lost. Hermione of three months ago had lovely curves, anybody would agree. in fact, many had agreed... although it had been awhile. But something about the sucking away of her magic had sucked away those curves, leaving her bony and angular in a way she hadn't been since her youth. And she was weak, damn her. The muscles she had built and maintained in Italy just... withered to nothing. Sighing again, feeling particularly maudlin, she slipped her tights-clad feet into a pair of pointed black flats and smoothed her riotous main of curls back before gingerly moving towards the door. She had taken all of three steps when Blaise stepped into the room after a brief knock. She watched with an empty expression as his eyes roamed over her calves, her thighs encased in warm fleece-lined black tights, and up her hips, chest and her exposed collar bones. The deep purple dress was more fitted than most of what she wore now (sweatpants and overlarge hooded sweatshirts) and was certainly fancier than anything she had worn in months. Blaise, apparently, appreciated it. She didn’t bother acknowledging the blatant want in his expression. It would only encourage him and, now more than ever, she had nothing to offer him in return for his affections.