Perhaps she'd imagined it.

"Romania." His long fingers toyed with the white tablecloth. "That's all I know."

"Romania," she repeated, willing her heartbeat to calm. "He's gone indefinitely?"

Draco nodded. "He can make emergency Floo calls, but he's not to be disturbed unless strictly necessary."

She frowned, knowing she had nothing but pure speculation.

Not wanting to push him too much after the previous evening, she refrained from asking more questions. She sat quietly in his lap as he finished his wine and ate his meal, her mind sorting through all she'd learned.

She was disappointed by how much he didn't know — how much she still didn't know— but at least it was a start. She didn't have the sense that he'd lied or withheld information from her. More importantly, they seemed to be making progress on an interpersonal level. Despite the evening's rocky start, they hadn't fought, which was a significant improvement.

The next night, she ate early and finished her wine quickly, giving her the courage she needed to push their boundaries a bit farther. She spent the meal curled into his side, running her fingers through his hair as he poked at his vegetables. She noticed that he held her eye longer than usual, and she tried her best to ignore the fluttering in her chest each time it happened.

"What about the Lounge," she asked.

She felt him breathe before saying, "What about it?"

"I've only been once." She took a deep sip from her wine glass. "You said the atmosphere is calmer—?"

"This is fine," he cut her off. "What we're doing here"—his hand gestured between them—"will be fine for Friday."

She lifted a brow, but kept her reservations to herself. They'd cross that bridge later, but for now, she didn't want to upset their progress. It was still too fragile.

As the week progressed, Draco began to distract her thoughts even more than usual. She had to increase the amount of time she spent Occluding in the morning so she could stay on task the rest of the day while she scoured the Prophet and continued researching.

But at night, when it was just the two of them, she pulled his shelf forward, letting his volumes flutter open to vibrant colors and patterns.

It was dangerous, she knew, given her history of feelings for him — but she couldn't see a way around the need to build trust. A solid connection with him, if not a friendship. She ignored the niggling voice in her head that told her she didn't want to find another way.

On Wednesday, she picked off his plate while sitting against his chest. He fought her for the last of his potatoes, his fork jabbing at her fingers when she reached for them. Her pulse thrummed as she smiled and tried to offer him the potato, pressing it to his lips. He rolled his eyes and turned his face away.

That's how Narcissa Malfoy found the two of them — with Hermione in her son's lap, his arm wrapped around her waist, and her trying to feed him as he dramatically twisted his head from side to side.