After many detentions, Hogwarts recommended that Draco visit a guidance counselor. "Draco, is it possible that your behavior is a cry for attention?” I awkwardly shifted in my chair. I didn’t like the sound of the word “cry.” I crossed my arms. "No."

“Granger, they’re after muggles,” I pointed out. She stared back at me evenly. My chest squeezed tight in my irritation. Death Eaters would be passing through here after ransacking the World Cup, my father coming to meet me. I had to get her out of here.

“Sorry I don’t have any lollipops or decorative bandages.” “I’m a bit old for needing you to kiss it better.” “Think it would help?” Tonks' voice was thick and slightly lower, two small signals nobody else might’ve noticed. But he did, him and the wolf.

“I’m not getting a hexed-on cheating rash from a stupid little game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, so I want this done fast and done right,” Draco whispered. Blaise glared at the other boy in the dark closet. “Fine. Luck of the bloody draw,” Blaise hissed.