“What are you doing here?” her voice came out resigned and weak instead of angry and defiant. She hoped the glare she sent his way compensated for the lack of conviction in her statement.

Her pulse thrummed hotly against her veins as her eyes greedily took him in—from the wind-tossed platinum blonde locks that glinted under the sunlight to his probing grey eyes and down to the familiar tilt of his mouth. God, she missed him so much. She wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and bury her face on the juncture of his neck and shoulder so she could inhale his scent.

“Does there need to be a reason?” he drawled out. 

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a menacing stare. “Don’t play games with me, Malfoy. Answer me. Why did you follow me?”

He seemed unruffled by her heated retort, taking a tentative step toward her, then another, until he was a mere arm’s length from where Hermione stood. 

“I wasn’t aware I needed a reason to,” came his calm reply, obviously aware of the fact that his answer would only make her more furious. He reached over to cup her cheek, but she turned her face away, knowing full well that once he touched her, the resolve she had to stay mad would vanish and she would fall under his spell again.

“Come on, Granger, what do you want me to say?” his fingers weaved through her hair, silver-hued eyes swarming with an emotion she could not put a finger to. They held a mix of despair and tenderness and… something intangible, something she found hard to analyze. “That I came because I wanted to see you? Because I haven’t been able to sleep for the past thirteen days and four hours that we’ve been apart? Or perhaps you would want me to spout some drivel about missing you and your fucking scent, and everything—”

He was unable to finish his tirade for her lips were already on his before he could get another word out.