On the beach, while Zabini busied himself with the wards, she breathed in the salty air. Watched as the waves crashed against the shore. And for reasons she couldn’t explain, she turned to look upon the mansion. Somebody was watching from one of the windows. Intently. The witch from three days ago, the Black cousin. She was too far away to say with certainty, but Hermione could have sworn she was smiling. 