She told herself it was the unusually warm day that made sweat drip down her neck but she knew that was a lie.  She’d dreaded this meeting from the moment she’d found out.  So much for Gryffindor courage, she thought as she studied him.   She’d never thought he was especially handsome in school.  Too pointy, too pale, too mean.  Handsome is as handsome does her mother had always said, and Hermione had agreed, especially when it came to bullies like Malfoy.   Was it her blood that made him seem attractive now, all part of this curse, or had he truly aged into an agreeable-looking sort?  She doubted she’d ever really know.  Everything about Malfoy was subjective now.