Hermione hit her head against her desk repeatedly, groaning into the thick blankets of parchment and quills scattered across its surface. Ginny, who was visiting Hermione on her lunch break at work, chuckled from her seat across the desk. Sipping her tea casually, she shook her head in amusement at Hermione's childish fit.

"Ginny-y-y," Hermione whined, propping up her elbows and threading her fingers into her thick mess of hair. "Why is this happening to me?"

"Oh, stop it with the dramatics," Ginny said in a scolding voice that all but rivaled Molly's. "You knew this was a possibility for weeks now. There's a good chance you'll never see him, anyways. Hasn't he got, like, a million other locations all over the bloody country, or something?"

"But if I do see him?" Hermione pressed.

"Since when are you so scared of Malfoy?" Ginny raised her eyebrows accusingly.

"I'm not scared of him!" Hermione exclaimed, offended. "It's just that, after everything's that's happened, with his parents and—"

"None of which was your fault," Ginny interrupted, her voice a bit softer this time. "And besides, it's been years, Hermione. He's all but left us alone since, and he's obviously quite successful now, so I'm sure he's probably even forgotten about it—"

"Forgotten about the death of his parents, Gin?" Hermione stared at her friend incredulously. "I doubt it." She attempted to run a hand through her tangled curls and failed, her exhaustion suddenly falling on her all at once. She suppressed a sigh.

Ginny frowned at her, concern tainting her pretty features. Hermione found herself wishing she had put just a smidgen of cover-up to hide the dark purple crescents that were forming beneath her eyes, in order to spare her friend of worry. "How have you been though? Really?"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "I'll be fine. You know how work has been lately."

"You've got to give yourself a break every once in a while, you know. You've been working too hard. Besides, you're long overdue for a visit."

Hermione smiled at this. "How about you, though? How is Harry doing?" she asked meekly.

"I'm doing well." Ginny smiled serenely. "And Harry—you know how he gets with his Auror stuff. He absolutely loves it. A little too much, I'd say."

Hermione laughed, genuinely warmed at the happy news of her best friends. Nothing in the world could lift her spirits like they could, and just one visit from Ginny had reminded her of that. She was ashamed of herself for allowing her work to take up so much of free time, and vowed silently to herself she'd start visiting them more often and soon. Ginny was right, a break was much needed.

Ginny's visit at lunch had brightened her mood significantly, and Hermione left her office later that day feeling infinitely better than when she had entered that morning. All she had left on her agenda today was a quick trip down to Gringotts to withdraw a small bit of her already dwindling account for an upcoming S.P.E.W. project. The thought of her pajamas, a good book, and possibly a large cup of wine waiting for her at home made her speed along.

She stepped foot inside the bank only to want to speed right back out again.

The moment she entered, she spotted him: the one and only Draco Malfoy, in apparent deep conversation with a goblin, his body half-turned towards her. Hermione stopped and openly stared at him in shock, his bright blond, almost-silver hair hard to miss under the glimmering chandeliers in Gringotts. Excluding the photos of him that constantly littered The Daily Prophet and even Witch Weekly, it had been so long since she'd last seen him face-to-face.

She quietly observed him from the short distance, and noted irritably his typically impeccable appearance. His hair, which he'd stopped slicking back and cut to a shorter length years ago, was now slightly tussled. He looked fit beneath his perfectly tailored and expensive black suit. Clearly he had grown up; even his once pointed face had turned out to be structurally appealing. How was that even possible?

Hermione needed to think and think fast: either she sucked up her pride and continued on with her errand without bothering to acknowledge his presence, or she run. And run fast.

Malfoy, as if suddenly feeling prying eyes on him, coolly glanced up.

Shit. Hopefully he hadn't seen her.

To hell with pride. Six years sans confrontation with the slimy git, there was no way in Merlin's name she was about to start now. Vigilantly and embarrassingly aware of his presence in the grand bank, Hermione made a dash—a graceful one, mind you—for the front doors.

She was close now, just a few feet. Ha! Maybe he hadn't noticed her after all. Maybe he—

"Well, well, well."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of that voice—that arrogant, aristocratic voice she could recognize anywhere. She grimaced, eyes clenched tight, embarrassment coursing through her at being caught trying to scurry away from him like a little mouse. She couldn't very well run now. Heart pounding, she turned on her heel to face the devil himself.

"Running away now, are we, Granger?" Malfoy sneered, his familiar icy gaze scrutinizing her. "What happened to Gryffindor bravery?"

Hermione huffed indignantly, feeling her cheeks warm. Six years later and he still had this effect on her. And why did he have to look so—so—well put-together? Hermione resisted to the urge to glance down at her tattered old clothes and compare them to his sharp black ones. Damn him.

"Still quite a bit more bravery than you'll ever have, Malfoy," she retorted haughtily instead, nose practically in the air.

Hermione didn't miss his small answering smirk. "Fair enough," he replied evenly. She raised her eyebrows at him momentarily, disconcerted by his deceptively calm reaction. Unsure of how to respond and slightly alarmed at the evil glint in his eye, she turned to leave, hoping by some miracle that he would let her.

"I see you've started up on your own business there, Granger," Malfoy continued on coolly, ignoring her second attempt at escape.

Right. This was Malfoy we were talking about here. There was no way he'd be letting her off easy.

"Yes, and…?" Hermione said crossly, folding her arms across her chest, silently daring him to insult her pride and joy.

The moment it reappeared, Hermione thought about slapping that smirk right back off his face like she had all those years ago.

"We're neighbors now, you know," he replied softly, taking soft, deliberate steps towards her petite frame. Wait… when had he gotten so tall? Hermione was suddenly reminded of a deadly predator, stalking towards its unsuspecting prey. She instantly fought the urge to back away from his approaching form. "I'm afraid we'll be seeing a lot more of each other now."

"Rather unfortunate, really," Hermione muttered under her breath.

He was getting close now, too close. She could smell his cologne, the alluring aroma overwhelming her senses and flustering her momentarily. There was no way she was going to be made out to be a coward again, so Hermione kept her feet planted on the ground, ignoring her sudden fight-or-flight sensation kicking into overdrive.

That was strange; she had always known him to be a conceited and arrogant prick, but he was never... dangerous, was he?

Her eyes flickered to her surroundings, to the goblins spread across the bank, clearly paying them no mind. Surely he wouldn't attack her in broad daylight, in the middle of Gringotts?

"I…" Hermione trailed, thrown off when she glanced back up at him again. He was just inches away now. She was staring directly into his molten gray eyes. They were dark, sinister clouds on the brink of a rainstorm, staring intently into her own brown eyes. "But why are you here now, after all this time? What about your other offices?" Hermione found herself stupidly blurting out, almost trance-like, transfixed by gaze.

"Been keeping tabs on me, have you?" he murmured. This time, his smirk was slow and devious. She felt like she couldn't move, her jaw slackening and her pulse tripling.

"What—"

And just as quickly as he had appeared, he pulled away, taking his distracting scent and disturbingly mesmerizing eyes with him.

Hermione blinked. Then blinked again.

He appeared pleased with the effect he'd had on her, as if it had been his plan all along. His smug satisfaction was subtle, but it was there. "I'll be seeing you around, Granger," he said suddenly. He made his way towards the doors, brushing past her shoulder lightly as he did.

"I'll make sure of it," she jumped slightly at the sound of his silky voice breathing into her ear from behind. She felt him snicker against her before sliding his hands into his pockets and exiting nonchalantly, as if he had not a care in the world.

And that was how he left her after their first encounter in years: standing alone, in the middle of Gringotts, mouth agape, like a dumbstruck fool.