The word excitement wouldn't do justice to how she felt right now. She wasn't sure any words in the dictionary could capture the essence of her feelings. It didn't matter whether he could see her, but her therapy partner eliciting the desire for her to get all dolled up was a good sign. She completely changed her look to make her feel like she was doing this for the first time. The power was in his hands, and she liked handing the steering wheel to someone else. Everything depended on his promise of bringing this witty and talkative self of his for their next therapy session. Where her unyielding trust came for the most unreliable character on earth remained a mystery, but she didn't let it stop her as she tended her hair in an old-school fashion with rollers.

The altering of her appearance didn't stop there, as she converted her room into a 60s hair salon with pink and white squared tiles and pastel pink wallpaper. She installed some of those large hairdryers resembling a helmet. Some vintage black and white magazines were scattered on the table next to her as she sipped her glass Coke with a red and white striped straw while listening to a famous '60s record from The Ronettes.

Did she mention that she also dyed her hair black? She matched the red of her lipstick to her fake press-on nails. The look was ultimately completed with a heavy coat of winged eyeliner and black and white saddle shoes. Hermione stood in awe in front of her mirror as if looking at a stranger. Even her eyes were unrecognizable as they seemed darker due to her false lashes and eyeliner.

She left a pair of brown and white saddle shoes on Ginny's bed and instructions on operating the hair salon. The poor girl expecting to jump on her bed after an intense quidditch practice won't know what's coming as Hermione had never toyed with their room before.

Her ability to do this made her appreciate being a witch, and a change of scenery occasionally could keep things exciting instead of having to stare and come home to the same four walls every day.

"My, my. Is it Halloween already?" Theo held her hand and gave her a twirl, "Let me guess, Jennifer from Jennifer's Body?"

She's never seen that movie, "Nope. I wanted to switch things up a bit."

Theo smiled, his gaze still in exploring mode. She watched as his eyes went from her polished nails to her saddle shoes, "No way! I forgot about these!" he exclaimed, quickly retrieving his wand and transfiguring his shoes, "There. How do they look?"

She nodded with a smile, "Anything looks good on you, so," Theo wondered if Harry would react the same.

"Well, what can I say?" he casually brushed off his shoulder, "Are you going to Hogsmeade?" Before she could respond, he added, "You're going on a date." I wasn't a question. Her delusions did want to think of her therapy session as a date, but it sure was far from it. She doubted he had any feelings for her even though they had a nice chat last time. Although he opened up on slim occasions, he seemed reserved, like someone whose eyes were already hooked on another or could even be in a relationship, which is a scenario she would rather ignore if she wanted to keep her spirits up.

"No. I…"

Draco went to the forest to drink. It wasn't the ambiance one would want when enjoying a glass – alone and cold with nothing but the sound of rustling branches. He had conducted his drinking endeavors in this fashion many times before. It was generally a peaceful experience, and the absence of distractions helped ease his mind. But when his mind was distracted by a certain swotty Gryffindor, it created the opposite effect.

He only drank an amount enough to soothe himself without getting drunk before he had to leave to go to this therapy session when he saw Theo converse with a girl whose back was turned against him in the hall. They were preoccupied with those odd-looking shoes, muggle, he presumed, or a terrible wizarding fashion trend, causing them to overlook his presence.

He didn't recognize her. No one except Parkinson had such unnatural jet-black hair. It repulsed him, though he couldn't ignore that her height and bodily proportions resembled Granger's, but he didn't give it a second thought. He dreaded going. His mind was on her, and that sweet, sweet taste of hers hadn't left his mouth since that kiss. It lingered and burned his throat stronger than the Firewhisky.

His imagination ran wild as he hungered to feel the rousing touch of her hands caressing his cheeks. Skin against skin, her timeless blend of vanilla and floral scent lingering in the air, as soft as a whisper. Yet, when she looked at him, the absence of the sparks in her eyes tore him apart. What had he done?

He stepped into the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. Hermione arrived just a few seconds later than him, caught up in trying to convince Theo she wasn't going on a date, and her change in appearance was to merely try out different looks and perhaps find ways to enhance her features and a whole lot of other crap. Her experiment did everything but enhance her features. But it was fun. She had always wondered how it would feel like to live in the 60s anyway. Too bad a Death Eater had stolen her time turner. What if it said Death Eater was Malfoy?

The icebreaker came from the launch of an enthusiastic "Hi!" on her part.

Draco sighed with frustration as he drowned in his misery. He kept trying to recall anything he might have said that could've triggered her, as miscommunication was the root of most problems — excluding the fact his mere presence was already the biggest trigger of all.

Her dreads had become very real, with a harsh slam of flashbacks bringing her to their first meeting. A minute had passed in silence, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt as he might be running late, "Are you there?"

Her pressuring words put him on edge, and he seriously considered leaving. Who cared if he did? Attendance wasn't mandatory. Or was it? He couldn't remember. Not that he would've ever cared, but full attendance, with the exception of three absences, were the terms for his probation.

She twirled the tips of her curls when the unmistakable clink of metal hitting the hardwood floor pierced through the room's stillness.

"Fuck," Draco mumbled under his breath, barely perceptible to her ears. His vexation led to him haphazardly dropping his signet ring while caught up in aggressively fiddling with it.

"Really?" the hurt in her voice was evident. The vicious words filling her core proved themselves a challenge to tame. She was unsure whether she should release them, leaving a thread of hope that he would explain why. Perhaps he was sick and had lost his voice?

"What do you want from me?" There. He said it. Yeah, he promised he would talk, but that was when everything was going right for once. There was no reason to keep something that would eventually end when they graduated. Why couldn't this vacuous girl just get that? "I don't want to talk to you. I never did."

His words slashed through her soul, momentarily stealing her breath away. What could have happened in such a short period for him to say things like this? This couldn't be about her. He had to be lying. Just like his promises had the reliability of a teaspoon, his words were the same. The speed at which his temperaments changed was nothing short of impressive – significantly surpassing the yo-yo sentiments of a woman undergoing menopause.

A chilling sense of indignation coursed through her, tinting her cheeks red – not the good kind – as she called him out, "You're lying."

Draco had been prepared for various yells and complaints, but this one wasn't in the specter of expected responses, "How would you know?"

"I know! I also know that it has nothing–" she had hoped to be cut off by his words rather than the sound of his footsteps before a firm shut of the door. His response reaffirmed the universal truth that all men walked away. Perhaps she was the one to blame. She sought a man who would fight for her and projected her desires on an unwilling soul instead.

Being unwanted hurts the most. Even if you know you're not the shit and mainly possess traits deemed undesirable and tedious, you still want that one person to like you. It was selfish. What did she have to offer? Nothing. He was probably better off without her, and even though cruel, she hoped he wouldn't be. She wanted him to need her instead of whoever he was so stuck up on. She felt like a fool trusting her judgment to allow her to believe his empty promises while another steered his mind.

The way she coped with life after the war had been fine. It was livable until he came along, destroying her routines, thoughts, and sentiments. She smacked her head for not being able to control her human urges. She shouldn't need to be wanted. She should be okay with herself, just like she was after the war. Even if she was devoid of anything remotely close to true happiness, it was far better than the result of unsealing her buried hopes and heart. Life had cornered her with its favorite checkmate. Rejection followed by heartbreak. Someone better get the chessboard, or she'll break.