"We aren't together, Zabini. We fuck, on occasion. And perhaps there should be someone else for you." Everything about her was blank: her eyes, her tone, the look on her face. It had been this way since he'd seen her for the first time since Hogwarts: the girl who once crackled with energy, the girl who couldn't stay still or keep herself from racing off to her next project, was nowhere to be found. In her place was this quiet, still, serious woman. He wasn't sure if it was the war that had changed her, or the years since she had left England, or both. The war, and the events leading up to why she left, why she stayed gone for so long, were topics she refused to acknowledge or speak about. Even after they'd become flat mates, when they'd started sleeping together more consistenlty, the most he was ever able to find out about her was that she was intensely private, closed off to the point of rendering herself nearly emotionally catatonic, and worked incredibly strange hours. Maybe it was the mystery, maybe it was the chase, but damn him, and damn her, but he wanted more.