The door closed softly behind her and Hermione, still in the dress she had worn to Slughorn's party, sat primly on the edge of one of the two comfortable sofas in the living space, keeping tabs on the tense wizard in her periphery. He followed her movements with dark eyes, expression unreadable. She had prepared for this. Prepared for his recalcitrance, his irritation. She was ready. She didn't say a word. Just sat, legs crossed, eyes on the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. Draco didn't say anything either, but she felt his eyes on her, felt a low burn begin across the back of her neck, her cheeks. It felt like ages since he'd last looked at her so closely. She took careful, even breaths, as she waited for him to break the silence. Eventually, after what might very well have been hours, he did.