CH-13

For some reason, I can't seem to find my voice. I walk around the table to sit down across from him. This is the first time I've seen his face in three years.

Back in school, I'd conceded that he was an attractive boy; I would have been blind if I didn't see that. His face hasn't changed much at all, maintaining the same flawless, aristocratic features. But his grey eyes are fixed on mine, ablaze with a new intensity that makes me feel like I've never seen them before.

I quickly look away from them, focusing instead on his hands, which are clasped together on the table in front of him. I never noticed how long and thin his fingers were. A thick ring bearing the Malfoy crest rests on his right ring finger, and I wonder how he could ever betray his family. He bragged incessantly about his father back at Hogwarts—why would he ever choose to betray him?

I glance back up to see that he has an unreadable expression on his face, and I begin to wish I could see into his head.

What is he thinking? Why is he staring at me like that?

As I consider my situation, it suddenly seems more difficult to breathe. I've been left alone with a Death Eater. It helps to know that he's unarmed, but Blaise's warning about how he doesn't know the extent of Malfoy's powers still worries me.

The tension between us could be cut with a knife.

I sense that he's waiting for me to speak first, so I clear my throat, keeping my eyes on his face. A flicker of some expression crosses his face, but it passes too quickly for me to identify. Something akin to amusement, maybe? This irks me as much as it frightens me—how is he so at-ease?

"Malfoy," I say quietly. "It's been a long time."

He smiles at me but doesn't speak.

God, he's even more terrifying when he smiles. I wish he'd revert to his famous smirk—at least that's a familiar expression that I can handle.

"Say something," I say.

Oh, I sound pathetic.

"Hello, Granger. You look well," he says.

His voice sends chills through me, and I look away from him. What the hell is wrong with me tonight?

He stands and starts walking around the table toward my side. I keep my eyes on him until he reaches my side of the table. I don't want to look afraid by twisting around just to keep him in sight at all times—after all, he is unarmed.

I will not be intimidated by him.

"I heard that your family lost Voldemort's trust," I say, looking at the closed kitchen door across from me.

He doesn't reply, and I hear his footsteps stop right behind me.

My heart is hammering in my chest. He's never had any sort of effect on me before, so I don't understand why I'm reacting this way.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a deceptively even voice.

His hands lightly rest on my shoulders, and I fight the urge to jerk away from his touch. There's a lump in my throat, and I swallow hard in an attempt to make it go away.

I feel his warm breath against my ear as he whispers, "I'm testing you."

"Get away from me," I say, shrugging his hands off me.

He backs off, and I can breathe normally again.

"The others have decided that I'll be your contact," I say.

He chuckles. "Yes, I see that."

I hate that he's behind me, so I turn around on the bench and face him. He's standing closer than I'd expected, and I lean back slightly against the table to put just a bit more distance between us.

"Why can't you just sit at the table like a normal person?"

"I'm hardly a normal person now, am I?" he replies.

"Well, it's nice to see that this war hasn't hurt your ego in any way," I say sarcastically.

He scrutinizes me for a moment, and though I start to feel uncomfortable, I meet his eyes without wavering.

"We should probably set up some rules for meeting," I say.

"Sure," he says, casually leaning back against the wall behind him.

Looks like he doesn't plan to help me. So typical of him.

"Do you have a meeting spot in mind?" I ask.

"Hmm, no. No, I don't," he says.

"And how are we going to contact each other? It'll have to be something better than a Patronus or an owl—that's much too obvious."

He smiles again, and I can't seem to take my eyes off him. His face just lights up when he smiles. I wonder why I never noticed before. Oh, it must have been because I was too busy being offended by the label he'd given me: Mudblood Granger.

"That I already have covered," he says.

He reaches into his back pocket, and I instinctively whip my wand out.

"Calm down, Granger," he says, looking at me with an amused expression.

He pulls his hand back out of his pocket, but I can't see what he took out. He holds a closed fist in front of my face, and I look between his face and his fist.

"What are you playing at?" I ask.

He opens his hand, palm face-down, and a gold chain dangles in front of my face. A small, gold, heart-shaped charm hangs on the chain.

"What's this for?"

"I got this idea from you, actually," he says. "A Protean Charm, like the one you did on all those fake Galleons for Dumbledore's Army in fifth year."

I bite my lip and reach out for the necklace, but he pulls it back, shaking his head.

"What? Surely I have to have one, if that's how we're going to communicate," I say.

"Stand up."

I glare at him. "I'm not taking any orders from you, Malfoy."

"Stand up, please," he says, smirking.

Oh, I can't stand this man. I get to my feet, and he gestures for me to turn around. I'm reluctant to turn my back to him, but I do so anyway.

He throws the necklace over my head and pulls the ends behind my neck to fasten them together. I pick up my hair to make it easier for him. His fingers brush lightly over the back of my neck, sending chills down my spine.

Why am I so sensitive to everything about him tonight? It's getting on my nerves.

When the necklace is secure, I step away and turn around to face him.

"Perfect length," he says with a small smile.

I frown—this necklace is hardly the perfect length. The chain is too long; the charm hangs between my breasts. I finger the small golden heart.

"A heart, Malfoy?"

"Girly enough for you to wear, Granger?"

"Sure. What's your object?" I ask.

He reaches up and traces a silver chain around his neck to the front, pulling the charm out from under his shirt. For a second, I almost think it's going to be another heart—that would be toofunny. But of course, it isn't. The charm on his chain is a silver oval with a serpent engraving.

"So, how are these going to work? Will a date appear on the back?" I ask him.

He fists his hand around his charm and closes his eyes. I watch him suspiciously and then jump in surprise as the charm that's hanging from my neck burns me through my clothes.

I point my wand at him, prepared to use it if the necklace starts choking me or hurting me—if he's going to strangle me, I'm taking him to the grave with me.

Then he opens his eyes.

"So tense, Granger," he says.

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