But Hermione remembered very clearly the way Malfoy had looked at her in the Three Broomsticks, leaning down, so close to her she could smell his cologne, his pupil-swamped eyes locked hard to hers, his fingers just barely grazing her shoulder and yet making her shiver all over. She had wanted to kiss him so badly. And it was more than just a brief flash of chemistry – it was so damn much more than that. She just hadn't realised until now. Hermione's breath escaped her on a juddering groan and she dropped her spoon back in her soup in frustration. She retreated to the little couch before the fireplace, curling up on the soft leather and staring into the flickering fire, her chin resting in the cup of one hand.