The itchy feeling of being watched continues to leech her energy for the next several days. Although Hermione is used to the unnerving thoughts and discomfort, she can't shake the fact that something is decidedly more real about the feelings now. They're long fingers, personified and choking her.

Before work that morning she goes to a muggle coffee shop and orders their morning roast, black. She detests black coffee.

Sitting at a table in a corner, so as better to watch the other people in the store, she lets the hot liquid burn her tongue until she's numb. Her mouth tastes like dirty sandpaper. She lets her eyes wander over a newspaper someone left on the table from the day before.

Front page news: politics, murderers, natural disasters. But nothing good. She scans an article about petroleum prices idly.

The bell chimes to signal another customer entering the store and her eyes flick up to watch the door swing open. A man steps in, dressed in an oddly formal manner. Her heart beats erratically at the sight of his impossibly blonde hair. No muggle had hair that white unless they were eighty. Her eyebrows furrow and she has no explanation for her racing heart.

Hermione watches Draco Malfoy approach the counter, place his order, hand over a few pounds. He peruses the coffee beans sitting in a basket near the register and scoffs at the prices. She watches him intently; her hand is on her wand despite knowing she can't use it.

She's terrified. She's absolutely terrified without a clue as to why when she watches Malfoy simply wait for his coffee. It's unreasonable to an extent, the logical part of her knows, but she glowers at the back of his long black cloak. He must feel someone watching him because his steely eyes sweep over the room until they finally land on her.

Hermione might as well have transfigured into a deer and launched herself in front of a train with the look on her face. Malfoy, for some odd reason, does absolutely nothing. He watches her watch him, unblinking, until Hermione thinks her spine will snap from the pressure of her clenched back muscles. His tea is placed before him and still his eyes remain. His face is impassive, hair shorter and more tame than she can remember last seeing. Everything is fuzzy. She shivers and breaks eye contact to put on her sweater.

When she looks up once more he's walking towards her. She stands impossibly fast and almost knocks her half-empty drink off the table. Stars swirl in front of her.

They stand straight and appraise each other.

She had forgotten how tall he really was – significantly taller than Harry or Ron. She flinches unknowingly at the thought of her two friends and looks at the silver buttons on Malfoy's vest. He could have been wearing a tuxedo sans jacket for all the regality he presented himself with.

"Granger," he speaks steadily. His voice is the same, but also changed. She doesn't know what to do. She says nothing. All manners and formalities are lost to her.

They continue to look at each other for another minute before he sits down.

"I did not invite you to sit with me, and this is hardly the time to join each other for breakfast," she snaps. His eyes darken.

"So soon with the malicious remarks are you Granger? It's a bit early for that, don't you think?"

She narrows her eyes at him. Why isn't he taunting her? Calling her names, breaking her down, ruining her life?

"It's never too early to dole out what is deserved of someone," she corrects him.

He shakes his head at her and smirks. "And here I thought you had changed."

She scowls. "Don't presume to have me pegged with one cursory glance across a shop."

He shrugs and eyes her black blouse. "I just figured you had the new mindset to match your new wardrobe. Is looking like a corpse supposed to be attractive this season?"

In spite of herself, Hermione feels her insides clench at his comment. She hasn't truly looked at herself in ages. She knows that she has stopped eating and grown thinner, and perhaps she's a bit pale due to all the time she spends working in the musty bookshop or simply at home, but she can't look that different, can she?

"And I see you're the same as ever," she retorts. His eyes flick back up to her own, done with scouring the rest of her body. She twitches under his gaze.

"Don't presume to have me pegged with one cursory glance across a table," he says simply. The smirk is back and he sips his tea, eyes burning her from over the rim of the paper cup.

She grinds her teeth. "What are you doing here anyway? You hate muggles."

He purses his lips. "I do not hate muggles…I just find their way of life to be simple and foolish." He shudders despite himself. "Blech," he mumbles.

Hermione feels a grin but stops herself. "Inconsiderate ass," she bites out. He shakes his head at her.

"Ever the charmer."

"Why are you sitting here? What are you even doing in London?"

"I happen to enjoy this shop. That's why I'm here."

"Malfoy. You don't enjoy anything."

"That's not true! I enjoy…"

He pauses and Hermione's lips twitch.

"My point exactly."

"No, I enjoy…rain. And freshly cut grass. Or a good novel." He crosses his arms at her and nods once. "There."

"A good…a good novel? I didn't know you could read."

He furrows his brow and scowls.

"You wouldn't know a good novel if it hit you in the face." She lets herself grin lopsidedly briefly at him. He tilts his head and something changes, but she can't place her finger on it. A little bit of him warms to her.

"Granger, my marks were just as high as yours in school, so watch your mouth."

"Dream on," she remarks airily. He shrugs, unperturbed.

"Yes, well, my knowledge and mindfulness seemed to suit you just fine during the War. You weren't complaining then, now were you?"

Hermione draws a strange blank in her head. Her memory skips and clicks like a broken record as she tries to recall her relations to him.

"You're going to freeze if you don't put on a heavier cloak."

"I don't need you to watch my every move."

"Everybody needs somebody, Granger."

Everything is foggy.

"Everything is wrong."

He is silent in the wake of his words. She watches him as he shifts in his seat. She seals herself back up.

"Your hands are like ice. But that's okay."

Her sweater is too thin, she decides.

"Granger. Why are you staring at me? It's disturbing," he scoffs at her. "You should probably blink before your eyes glaze over any further and you go blind."

Despite his tone, she knows he thinks something is wrong with her. She can tell in the curious furrow of his pale brows and the questions in his eyes.

Hermione doesn't move. She feels the air filter through her throat and fill her lungs, but otherwise, she's empty. The miniscule amount of coffee she's consumed is twisting her stomach in uncomfortable knots but she has no appetite to sate the acid.

"You are still a rude, foul and pathetic git," she suddenly tells him. "You will never change."

She sits for a few more seconds and watches as his face twists into anger and shock at her nerve. Something serious is wrong and he knows. He knows. She blinks idly before she stands to walk away.

She's two steps out the door but her mind is already a thousand miles away, the past half hour forgotten.

00

"You'll spoil your dinner, you know," Hermione reminded them.

Three heads looked up, mouths full, to appraise her.

"I don't think you understand, 'Mione," Harry told her once he had swallowed a bite of bread.

"Boys are always hungry," Ron told her. She was surprised he had managed to speak around the giant hunk of food he had crammed into his mouth.

Hermione's eyes flickered to the other boy – man – in the room and she watched him. He casually bit into an apple, cooly regarding the other males as if they were spitting on his shining reputation.

"Malfoy doesn't seem to be stuffing his throat mindlessly, and he's a boy," she reminded them. Draco's eyes turned from his bread to watch hers while Ron and Harry shrugged.

He finished his bite. The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile, one that only she could see, and her face flushed. His eyes darkened ominously at the red on her cheeks and she turned away.

"Nevermind," she told them, leaving the room.

She left to the cold air outside of the tent, breath shuddering through her frame as she recalled his face watching hers intently. She walked idly for several minutes. She pressed a hand to her churning stomach and swallowed thickly. She was better than her emotions.

They would never know. Never.

Turning to go back after her heartbeat had settled, Hermione stumbled and flinched at the face suddenly staring down at her.

"What? Did you follow me?" she said harshly. She flinched internally; she hadn't meant to sound so rude.

He didn't bother to look surprised at her outburst and simply watched her. She backed up slowly.

He was developing a nasty habit of just staring at her and apart from being rude it was extremely disconcerting. His eyes saw everything.

"Why so red? Something wrong?" he asked easily. She tried to hold her ground but he merely lowered his head, hair falling into his eyes, and moved closer. She put a hand behind her back to cushion the inevitable hit of a tree against her back.

"What do you want?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out," he murmured in a rare show of honesty. Her heart sputtered to a near stop.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but he placed his index finger over her lips. She shivered and closed her eyes.

She felt his breath against her ear before his mouth moved to her jaw, trailing slowly down to the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Draco, stop."

He put an arm on the tree above her head, trapping her. His other hand wrapped around her waist and he pulled himself to her.

"No," he said simply. She opened her eyes to look into his own. "I don't think I will."

Hermione turned her head to the side while he tucked a curl behind her ear.

"You can't do this. It's not right," she protested.

"There is no right and wrong like that, anymore, don't you see? It's alright," he told her. He smelled like winter and cinnamon. He was incredibly sure of himself for someone who didn't know what they wanted.

She briefly contemplated burying her face in his shoulder – a place she knew it would fit well – before pulling away and going back in the direction she had come from, heart racing once more. He let her go easily. He turned and she saw the frustration blow over his face like a storm before she frowned.

"I'm sorry," she said.


edited: 2/2/2012