Hermione tightened her hold on the parchment, attempting to maintain the same level of eye contact while silencing the tumultuous argument raging in her mind. Why did she want him of all people? It was unfair. And yet, she could not imagine wanting anything—anyone—else like this. She had changed Fate so many times in her life, and this was Fate’s cruel joke to her. His grasp softened, but did not loosen. His thumb gently caressed the inside of her wrist, making her shiver. Her pulse sped up under his touch, the small patch of skin warming. It felt blistering hot, even though she knew it could hardly be any warmer from the slight sensation. He inspected her features with the sort of intense focus one may employ when wielding a surgical scalpel.