Seven
The following evening Hermione went to the library early. She wouldn't keep him waiting. She'd taken her broth and bread right after her bath and dressed in a clean, white linen gown.
He didn't arrive until hours later, a house elf behind him with his dinner on a tray.
"Granger," he said. For a moment, she thought he'd forgotten he'd asked her to be there. If he had, he hid it well.
While he took the seat across from her, and the little elf served him dinner, she shuffled her stack of books.
She peeked at his plate. God, it smelled delicious. What was that? Roasted chicken, potatoes, grilled peppers. Her mouth watered.
"Did you have dinner?"
Her eyes snapped up at his voice. He'd caught her staring at his meal.
"Yes," she said. She wiped her mouth, fearing she'd drooled.
He eyed her carefully. "Get Miss Granger a plate, please." He gestured at the elf.
"Yes, Master Draco."
Shortly after, she had a plate identical to his and he was raising his fork to her before they tucked in.
She moaned at the first bite, unable to help herself. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "This is amazing."
She was embarrassed at how unimpressed he seemed.
He cleared his throat. "You should have said you wanted something more substantial," he told her. "I assumed you couldn't stomach any more."
She was taken aback by this consideration.
"So," he said, "tell me about what you've read."