sort of violent, bipolar person - tired and withdrawn one minute, enraged and aggressive the next.
"Yes," she said, remembering that he had asked a question.
"I said honestly."
"And honestly, yes! I regret every disgusting, vomit inducing moment of it!" She hadn't meant to shout.
For some unfathomable reason, he looked pleased with her show of spirit. He nodded. "Give me your draft. My owl can reach Borgin faster than any school bird, and he's more secure by far."
"Fine, but if word gets out and it' s all over the papers tomorrow, I' ll find some way to exact my revenge, Malfoy."
"Come now, it hasn't been all bad, has it? Where's that scholarly interest of yours, Granger. Haven't you been experimenting?" He waggled his blond eyebrows suggestively. The whole act ought to have been ridiculously charming. But Hermione was wise to him.
"What with making deals with your crazed father, and getting accosted and manhandled by you in dark corridors, I haven' t had the time," she spat at back him.
Malfoy feigned a look of innocence. "My tattoo's been doing all sorts of funny things," he informed. He sat on a moss covered log and pulled out a waxy, green apple from his book bag. Hermione remembered then that he must have missed lunch because of detention.
"Funny how?" she asked, both suspicious and curious.
He looked like he was posing for a portrait - 'snarky, evil, tormenting, git eating apple'.
Hermione couldn' t help herself. She was tired and irritable and her gaze was too stubborn to control. Her eyes strayed to his cheekbone, where all trace of his nasty, split lip had long since been mended. The soft, sensual curve of his mouth was its usual quick-to-smirk self. He bit hard into the apple, revealing an upper row of perfectly straight, white teeth. A sliver of apple juice oozed from the corner of his mouth, and he flicked at it with his tongue.
Look away you idiot.
Suddenly she was rather sorry that fourth year detention had caused him to miss lunch. Who would have known that Draco Malfoy eating fruit would have been such a spectacle? She could probably charge admission. Lavender and Parvati would request that he have a go at giant lollypops. He'd welcome the attention, sitting there with a smirk and his strong, pink tongue attacking hapless, helpless, candy.
Oh...
"Do that again," he requested. She hadn' t realised he was staring at her nearly as oddly as she had been staring at him.
Hermione blinked. "Do what?"
"Look at my mouth. You do that quite often."
She made a sputtering sound, suddenly thankful for the heat which had already rendered her face flushed.
"You' re barmy! I wasn' t looking at your sodding mouth, Malfoy. We' re in the middle of a class, if you haven't noticed. Watch yourself before people start wondering why you've decided to forget seven years of bigotry and rudeness by suddenly talking to me."
Damn her eyes, which seemed to have a will of their own whenever he was concerned. They strayed down to his mouth once more. It was too much to hope that he would have a giant bit of apple stuck in his teeth or some such thing, but his smile was flawless.
And annoying, don't forget annoying. She promptly removed him from her field of vision altogether.
"Hmm," he said, in a pondering tone, "left wing just twitched." He didn' t sound amused as much as speculative. If he had a notebook, Hermione thought he might have jotted in it.
This was Draco the A-Student, Hermione realised, whom she grudgingly admitted was slightly easier to get along with than Draco the Stuck Up Prat. He could actually be quite funny at times, though she'd happily swallow her Head Girl badge rather than admit that to him.
"Do you mean to say that your wings...move?" she asked, sounding horrified.
"It's more like a sensation of movement. Like tiny, sharp little currents," he explained, sounding speculative. "Quite pleasurable, actually."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Trust you to derive some sort of sick pleasure from all this."
Her derision was lost on him. "Too, I happen to be left-handed," he added, flexing his left hand.
It was an utter travesty that he should have such beautiful hands, Hermione thought, watching as he rested his hand on his knee. The tips of his fingers were sitting just over the delta of his pants, and seemingly on their own accord, her cursed eyes strayed there.
It's official, Hermione thought, with despair. I've lost the plot.
"Ooh!" he suddenly said, pointing to a spot