Even though he was in the wrong.

Scowling, she drained the rest of her coffee mug and went to her bath to wash up.

~*~

After collecting her thoughts, she searched the Manor for him. She found him in his study on the first floor, the door slightly cracked. There was no response after a few knocks, so she pushed the door open with her fingertips, holding her breath as it swung backward. He was bent over his desk, sealing an envelope with the Malfoy wax seal with an impassive expression on his face. She stood in the doorway and waited for him to acknowledge her.

He finally glanced up at her, glaring before his eyes raked over her jeans and trainers. He always hated when she wore jeans, she'd noticed.

She swallowed and lifted her chin. "Can we have a discussion?"

"By all means, Granger." His tone was acerbic as he stood, replacing the seal and the wax in his desk drawer.

She felt the anger that only he stirred in her start to boil before she refocused.

Staying put in the doorway, almost blocking his exit, she said, "I'd like to talk about the fact that we haven't had a successful evening at Edinburgh yet."

His eyes flickered up to her. "Successful." She nodded, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "And what would that look like, Granger?"

"You tell me," she said quietly. "I've been twice, and both times I've felt like I'm drowning."

A flash of something in his face — guilt, perhaps. She pushed forward, holding his gaze.

"I want to continue going to Edinburgh. I don't want you to take someone else in my body again."

He inhaled sharply. "Granger—"

"As terrifying and disgusting as it is, Edinburgh is the one place I get to see my old friends," she rushed over him. "And hear a bit about the world outside."

She paused, biting her lip. She'd decided against telling him about the note or the communication channels. Even though her heart told her that Draco could be trusted, her mind knew it was illogical. He'd kept her in the dark about so many things.

"What are you trying to say, Granger?" He stood next to his desk with his hands in his pockets, staring at her with a tilted gaze.

"We need to be on the same page at these parties. No more rows."

"And how do you propose that?"

"Well, for starters, if I must refrain from kissing Marcus Flint in the future, I suppose I can make the sacrifice," she said dryly.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "How magnanimous of you."

"I think we need to be more comfortable with each other," she said, jumping right to the point.

His eyes snapped to hers, unreadable.

"I'm too stiff, you're too… skittish." He opened his mouth as if to argue with her. "Against 'intimacy,' whatever," she said with a flippant gesture. His mouth closed, and she looked away from his intense gaze. "I like to go into situations with all the necessary information. I didn't know you had an aversion to kissing, nor did I know about the details of Pansy's trip to Edinburgh in my body" — she was quite proud of her voice for not cracking — "and both of those facts jarred me." She tore her gaze from his desk and found his eyes staring at a point over her shoulder. She swallowed. "I believe Flint read my discomfort."