by the odd, combined sensation of goose bumps and a wave of warmth that seemed to originate from the core of her and suffuse into her extremities. It felt like someone had just doused imaginary hot rocks with water, adding to the heat and steam that already filled the room.
Against her better judgment, she raised her eyes to see what new mischief he was up to, and was greeted with the sight of his bare back and the tattoo that symbolized precisely half of their horrid little problem.
There they were, his wings, looking just as jaw-droppingly beautiful as the last time she had seen them. Being that close to them again, without the hindrance of clothing and crowds, was mesmerising. His back was slick with perspiration and this gave the already fluid-looking, black wings a wonderful lustre. Every ripple and movement of his muscles under his skin gave life to the tattoo. He looked like some sort of bruised angel, fresh from flight (or fight, in his case), still carrying all his tension from recent battle.
Where the left wing was bent in slightly, Hermione noted a recent addition to his otherwise flawless skin.
"Good lord, is that from Bligh?" she exclaimed, staring with wide eyes at the horrible bruising that marred his left shoulder. Everyone had seen the foul, but it hadn't looked quite that serious from the stands. The bruise was a mishmash of purple and blue.
He looked at her, glanced down at the bruise, and then shrugged. "I'll get him back."
For all his casual dismissal of the injury, it had to be hurting like hell. Harry tended to do the same. Boys were silly like that.
"Pomfrey gave me a salve to apply. I was hoping to obtain your assistance," he added.
Her sympathy vanished. She longed to throw something else at him. He obviously knew he wasn't welcome and yet there he was, shirtless and asking to share a bath with her so that she could play kinky nursemaid.
His pants were still on though, perhaps there was hope yet.
"You were hoping for a miracle then," she stated flatly. "Get lost, Malfoy. Go get Pansy or one of your other little conquests to do it for you."
He looked irritated now, and mildly baffled. "Pansy was never a conquest. Why does everyone keep thinking that?"
Maybe because of your reputation as the slut of Hogwarts, you tosser, she thought to herself, but had the manners not to say it. She had manners, even if he did not.
Outwardly, she turned her back to him and folded her arms. If all else failed, maybe he would disappear if she just ignored him.
No such luck, apparently.
"I've seen all your bits, Granger. And you've seen mine. Up close, remember?" he said. What followed was the unmistakable sound of trouser removal.
Honestly, nobody took that long on a zipper! He was being deliberately annoying.
"Unfortunately, yes. I do remember," she muttered, dismayed to see that her flush was now creeping down to her chest. A quick look at the towels and bathrobes confirmed that they were too far away. There was only a tiny washcloth in the bath, with her.
If only she had mastered wandless Accio. Harry could do it.
"I'm going to count to five, you disgusting letch. If you're not gone by then, I'll maim you." Idle threats never worked on him, so she put some steel in her voice. "One...two."
"You're beautiful," he told her, in a quiet voice. There was no teasing in his voice this time. He was probably naked now. He even sounded naked. "I don't think I've told you that. You make me hard just thinking about you."
Hermione's mouth went quite dry. His voice always dipped a little when he mentioned the unmentionable. The things he could say sometimes. She didn't think she would ever get used to it even if she were married to him for thirty years. He had a natural propensity to shock her.
"You're a liar and a bastard and I was a complete idiot to sleep with you. Three."
"Have a heart," he implored.
He was in the water now. Hermione heard the soft splash and felt the ripples. She made a sound to convey her disbelief.
"Have some sense of propriety! FOUR!"
She peeked around her shoulder and saw that he remained on 'his' side of the tub, leaning against the edge with his eyes shut. Even from that distance she could see his wet, spiky lashes resting on his damp cheekbones. There was a nasty scrape along his jaw line that looked like