REBEL

3. OBSIDIAN BLACK

3. OBSIDIAN BLACK

Completely resigned, I trudge through the training room towards the gym.

My recent conversation with Harry was sobering. While he didn't openly laugh at me when I confided in him that I suspect Malfoy of being a Legilimens, he didn't take me seriously either. Instead, he reminded me of how it felt for him when Severus entered his mind.

"You can tell when someone is sifting through your thoughts and memories, believe me, Hermione," he said morosely. "It fucking hurts."

That didn't calm me down in the slightest, because what does Harry even know? The conditions under which he tried to learn Occlumency several years ago were completely different. He knew then that mental attacks were coming, and in his case the sole purpose of the exercise was to actively fend them off. No wonder it was painful for him.

I wasn't convinced by his assessment, which is precisely why I'm now late for workout, because the first thing I did after our conversation was to pore over a few thick tomes on the subject. It was worth the time, though, as I've found out that it's entirely possible to perform Legilimency without the victim noticing the intrusion, which supports my theory. And besides, what other reason would Malfoy have to look at me the way he did the last two times our eyes met? There's not a single one that makes sense.

No, my suspicion is perfectly reasonable. After all, I'm one of the leaders of the Resistance and most strategic decisions are made in my presence, which makes my mind interesting for him. Not even Harry's remark that without his Dark Mark Malfoy would never dare leave our headquarters, and therefore cannot misuse any information he may have gathered, made me dismiss the thought. I don't trust him, it's as simple as that.

I take a deep breath, forcefully open the door and march into the workout room. Without really looking around, I make my way to Ginny, who is already slowly strolling on one of the treadmills. That's the moment I hear it.

It's a noise I don't recognize. A foreign, deep, vibrant laugh that sends a shiver down my spine and makes the fine hairs on my forearms stand up. The sound is both unfamiliar and pleasant, which is why I turn my head curiously. And then I stop dead in my tracks, because the source of this laughter is the very man I had resolved to ignore even more resolutely today than before.

Dennis Creevey is just helping him to his feet. After straightening up, Malfoy lifts his T-shirt and uses the hem to dab the sweat from his face. My gaze reflexively drops to his stomach, which I immediately regret.

I've already assumed that Malfoy is relatively well-trained, since the impressions I've involuntarily gathered during our previous encounters haven't left much room for speculation. So I should have guessed that his attractiveness would continue underneath his rebel clothing. Still, the sight is a shock, not least because it suddenly makes my heart beat faster.

The unexpected physical reaction promptly takes me back to a time when I allowed myself small glimpses of him every once in a while. During class, in the library, at the Yule Ball. Except I'm a grown woman these days and he's expertly proved for a solid seven years that he's not worth the slightest heart throb. But my body does what it wants: I just keep staring.

My gaze sweeps over two gracefully curved collarbones, then traces a zigzaggy scar that runs down his right pectoral muscle and fizzles out below his rib cage. Next, I discover symmetrical abs with defined contours — not too prominent but still clearly visible. Finally, my gaze lingers on two straight indentations that mark his loins and emerge like the opening of a large V from the waistband of his cargo trousers.

Malfoy is devastatingly handsome, there's no denying that. Even more so today than he was at Hogwarts. He's tall, he's lean, he's strong. He really has everything that usually appeals to me when it comes to the male species.