"Yes, please, my Lady." Martin was picking palette knives out of the disorganized mess of his suitcase. Hermione sat on the chaise and watched him. He was young—couldn't have been older than herself and Draco. But he had lines on his face and a bent posture that suggested he spent more time awake than asleep, and indoors, at that. Probably working on other paintings, or on his studies. Hermione felt a pang of jealousy.