Hermione didn't go to lunch in the Hall; she ate in her rooms like a coward instead, her mind racing madly in leaps and bounds, racing in circles chasing its own tail. Her – rather excellent – memory dredged up every significant interaction between her and Malfoy since she had started being polite to him, and in hindsight it was blatantly clear. Blatantly, painfully clear. They had been flirting. She and Malfoy had been flirting all this time, and she had developed feelings for him that went beyond the platonic. And although Hermione wouldn't be willing to bet on it, it seemed very much as though Malfoy had developed a similar attraction to her. In fact, she was rather certain of that. Oh dear Merlin, this was not what she had wanted from her first year of teaching at Hogwarts.