She’s in the kitchen the next week, sitting calmly, staring at her tea. She'd had breakfast alone today, Draco's off on some mission. She'd been woken up early in the morning with them all leaving, combat boots stomping by her door. The last week’s mornings have been full of innuendos and comments, and Hermione has bitten back, too, but she’s not quite as cutting as him. She doesn't know what he wants, or, she does, but she can't give it to him. 