The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

Perhaps it's not too late to run, Hermione thought quickly to herself, as the sound of the door being unlocked cracked through the silence. Just say something else came up and you have to come back another time. She glanced behind her at the grounds, which were growing increasingly gloomy. There was a definite chill in the air, with the light fading unusually fast due to the surrounding topography. It felt like the local forests and hills were swallowing up the sun, plunging her into a personal darkness. Her pulse began to race and she felt her throat closing up.

Susan was completely oblivious to Hermione's panic and instead hopped from foot to foot, trying to keep warm whilst the numerous locks on the door were undone from the other side.

Oh god, what will I say? Hermione thought, picturing a handsome and respectable Draco opening the door to them.

Her worry, at least on that count, appeared to be unfounded. The door opened, revealing a small stone porch. Sconces with bewitched candles flickered on the walls, casting strange shadows on the stone. No man had opened the door and Hermione was temporarily confused, until she looked down. An elderly house-elf, clad in a dark green waistcoat, bowed before them.

'You are welcome to this house,' he said obligingly. His voice sounded like the creak of aging wood, hinting at his age and the term of his servitude.

Hermione seethed. How dare he not be there. All the hassle I've gone through to get to the arse-end of nowhere and... her internal rant was cut-off, as a pale figure appeared from behind the elf. Draco was dressed in dark blue jeans and a fitted bottle-green shirt. He stared at her, a neutral expression changing to one of incredulity. It was as if time stood still for those few seconds, the pair of teenage lovers standing opposite one another. She felt her pulse begin to slow, something reassuring and familiar in that look.

The spell was quickly broken: Susan didn't wait for any welcome from the host and crossed the threshold, grabbing Hermione's wrist to pull her into the porch. The elf shut the large door, cutting off the cold breeze from outside. Susan let out a squeal of relief.

'Thank god, it's freezing out there,' she said, shivering as she acclimatised to the house temperature.

Draco barely glanced at Susan, his eyes still fixed squarely on Hermione. She tried to stop herself from blushing at the intensity of his gaze. Did this answer her question? Was it a look of lust, or longing?

'What on earth happened to you?' Draco asked, gesturing to her mud-splattered skirt and stained shoes. Hermione scowled.

'We had to trek for two miles to get here.' Clearly, it had been a look of disgust.

'I sent Mibby to the station to collect you,' he folded his arms, 'I'd arranged transport from the station, but your train got here early. I guess you two were eager to get this over with.'

'Nothing like a country walk,' Susan replied, trying to allay Hermione's annoyance. She was largely unaware of their previous relationship and was worried about the impression Hermione was making on her client.

Draco was unconvinced and found himself already vexed by Hermione's presence. It's not my fault you didn't take the carriage I'd arranged, he thought bitterly.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd expected their first encounter to go down, and while Hermione's annoyed expression was a familiar blast from his past, it hadn't been what he was hoping for. Draco frowned, his thoughts shifting to doubt. She clearly wasn't happy to see him. Perhaps he shouldn't have meddled in her affairs... after all, he knew that the enquiry into his well-being was really from Kingsley and not her. He just wanted a good interview for his paper. Draco had had no reason to oblige with Kingsley's desires; he'd lived his life in the shadows for the past ten years and was resigned to stay there. It was only the pull of seeing Hermione again that had made him agree to put himself in the limelight.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and bent down to peel off her stockings, dropping them into a neat pile on the porch. It was a relief to be free of the clinging, wet nylon. The look on Draco's face as she straightened was almost priceless and she wondered whether she'd broken visitor etiquette. Maybe her removal of the underclothes was historically akin to giving him the finger. Good, she thought to herself proudly.

'Um...' he was slightly lost for words, struggling to keep his eyes from Hermione's bare legs. Now that she had drawn his attention to the form-fitting pencil skirt, it was all he could think about. 'I've arranged for dinner. I thought you might be hungry.' He gestured to the main corridor and Susan happily obliged, almost running through the house. Draco found himself trailing behind the eager witch, while a despondent Hermione followed after him. Hermione winced at the touch of cold stone on her feet and he heard her muttering under her breath. He glanced back at her enquiringly.

She narrowed her eyes. 'I see you still have house elves,'

'Many are from families which have lived here as long as the Malfoys,' he explained, pushing his hands in his pockets. So, he thought to himself, she's determined to be in a mood with me. Perhaps he should have left her in London and continued his solitary existence, but he wasn't prepared to give up the fight just yet. 'They get paid for the time, if they want to be, and they can take holidays.'

'Do they?' Hermione asked, unimpressed. Draco frowned and shook his head. She did have him there. 'Hmph.'

He turned his gaze back to the front and scowled at Susan's back. She found the dining room easy enough, it being the main room of the house, enclosed within the original structure. The old house had been knocked into one, providing a double-storied room which contained two hearths and a large dining room table. Church-like windows ran along one side but provided little light. The table was already set, glittering silverware marking out three places, with pale blue candles acting as a centre-piece. The room was bare, but as Draco had seen as a child at his mother's parties, no amount of decoration could change it.

Susan really was eager, dropping her bag by the side of a chair and sitting down. At least someone's enjoying themselves, Draco thought wistfully. He paused, waiting for Hermione to move past him and claim her own place, but she was not forthcoming.

Hermione had paused in the doorway, recognising the room. Her eyes were focused on the spot where she had once lay, being subjected to the cruciatus curse. She'd undergone pain unlike anything she had felt before, or had come since. Her fists began to ball up and she began to hyperventilate, unable to look away. Her chest was constricted, as if a phantom Bellatrix was once again straddling her, carving into her arm with that knife.

Draco was worried by Hermione's expression and watched as she began to tense up and pale. He quickly moved towards her, his hands moving out to cup her face, a familiarity stretching through their history and back to a time where she would have allowed the gesture. He turned her face away from the floor and to his eyes, even as she resisted. 'Hermione, look at me,' he insisted. The brown eyes locked onto his and her breathing began to stabilise. He slowly realised why she was so affected. 'We won't eat in here,' he called back over his shoulder, for the benefit of Susan and the waiting house-elves. Hermione looked back at him gratefully and he released his hold, letting her slip out of view and back into the corridor. He turned and looked down at his elves. 'We'll take dinner in the study, I think,' he suggested. They all bowed and moved back to dismantle the set-up of the dining room. Susan pouted, picking up her camera bag and following after him.