He leaned against the wall by the window. He didn't look it, but Hermione could sense his excitement. There was that gleam in his eye as he looked at her. His eyes were like black holes despite their color. He would stare and stare, his face so intent, so wanting. It always made her feel as though he was mentally slicing her open on an imaginary operating table to dissect her weaknesses, her anger. It made her feel terribly vulnerable and uncomfortable. It was easier when he looked at her in lust, there was little to wonder about sexual desire. It was when he looked at her without that heat in his eyes that she was most afraid because she could rarely ever tell what he might be thinking. Gooseflesh broke out over her skin but she repressed the shudder as he continued to stare. She wanted to pull her sheets back up to cover herself, but didn't, knowing that would only displease him.