"Malfoy, we need to talk."
She didn't appear to be angry but she had that look, that stubborn Gryffindor look about her; the crossed arms, a wide stance and determination set in her brow, it was all there.
Draco took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep, steadying breath, quieting the rage that remained from his conversation with Theo. He gave Ginny a curt nod and took his usual seat at the bar, directly across from her. Her usual carefree demeanour had vanished, leaving a terse, somber-looking witch in its wake.
Neither of them spoke initially, and now that his adrenaline had been used up, he realized how stupid he was for physically lashing out. Throwing that glass against the wall had strained him to the point that some of his wound had split back open. He felt idiotic and was just glad that Hermione wasn't around to witness his tantrum.
He glanced down at his grey t-shirt and saw the dark spot on the fabric spread.
"Shite."
Ginny had noticed the blood as well and quickly tossed a tea towel at him to hold against it. "Where is your salve?"
"Granger has it." Draco pulled up his shirt slightly, exposing his abdomen and the torn open gash. He heard her gasp at the sight and he looked up to see all colour had drained from her already pale face. Her eyes were wide in horror.
"Weasley, get a grip. Go get me the salve." He grimaced as he pressed the towel against himself. She still hadn't torn her eyes away, so Draco waved his free hand in front of her eyes.
"Weasley!" Nothing. "Ginny!"
Her eyes refocused and almost immediately she came back to her senses. She hastily made her way down the hall, and returned from Hermione's room in less than a minute.
"Cast a scorgify for me, will you?" Draco pulled away the towel to show her the weeping gash. She nodded quickly and gulped, the initial shock had worn off and now, instead of horrified, she looked merely sick.
She did as he bade, casting once to clean the wound, and again to rid the rest of his abdomen of blood. Draco could have wandlessly cast, but he wasn't keen on letting any Weasley know about his magical abilities. Not even Granger knew the extent of his talents.
When the Weaselette tried to administer the salve, Draco slapped her hand away and snatched the tin from her grasp. He scooped up a generous amount and tried to duplicate the way Lovegood had applied it, in small, counterclockwise circles. Luna and the muggle doctor had concocted the sticky substance to aid the healing process, especially in times like these when it reopened. It was a transparent paste that had a strong clove scent. When applied, it caused an unpleasant and incessant tingling sensation that Draco loathed.
"He did that to you?" She boldly reached for his shirt and pulled it up to his chin. "Merlin…"
Draco had finished applying the salve, so he removed her hand and let the shirt fall back into place. He reached into his pocket for one of his minor pain potions, gulping it down without hesitation.
"Well, I certainly wasn't in the hospital for all that time because of a cat scratch." He was glad that she knew how much damage her brother had done. The damage that was meant to be inflicted on Hermione. Still, he wasn't about to tell her the full extent of his injury, about how it stretched down over his pelvis and onto his thigh. Not for the last time, he thanked Merlin that the slash to his body had not strayed two inches to the left.
Ginny shuddered and grabbed the bottle that Theo had left behind and took a few large gulps. She dragged the back of her hand over her mouth and gracelessly hopped up to sit on the bartop beside him. At least the overly serious and stern-looking Ginny hadn't resurfaced.
She stared at his bloodstained shirt for another moment before deciding not to discuss it further. Instead, she brought up the very conversation that Draco had wanted to start in the first place.
"So, this not eating thing… Is this… Is this a recent development?" Behind the worried expression, Draco could see the guilt. Good.
"Surely you'd know the answer to that question, being her best friend and all." He laid the contempt on thick and his words made her recoil. Her discomfort encouraged him.
"What kind of friend wouldn't notice the fact that someone they care about was starving themselves. Or that they were being bullied and humiliated by their piece of shit boyfriend on a daily basis? A bloody terrible excuse for a friend, that's who."
Draco stood up and paced to the window with his hands balled into fists, bracing for her undoubtedly outraged retort.
"You're right." She said, shame evident in her voice.
He spun around, startled by her immediate acquiescence. "I'm — what?"
Ginny sighed and looked down in contrition. "You're right, Malfoy. I haven't been here for her. None of us have." She put the bottle down and clasped her hands together on her lap, studying them as she spoke.
"We've all been so busy rebuilding and she seemed to want to be left alone… I know that's not any excuse… I just thought, 'she'll be okay, she has Ron.'" She frowned at the mention of her brother. "I could tell that he wasn't the same, but no one was after the war. It changed us all."
Draco couldn't help but agree. The only person he knew that had been seemingly unaffected by the war was Lovegood, and maybe Blaise too. Everyone else had a proverbial storm cloud following them around. He even noticed at dinner that Potter had developed an almost constant nervous twitch in his wand hand, Longbottom constantly checked his pockets for his wand, and Theo, well, the change in him was significant as well.
"I just never thought he would be capable of something like this. I mean, he tried to kill Hermione!" She shook her head and huffed out a humourless laugh. "We were all so sure that he'd been Imperio'd, or at the very least drugged with hate potion, but all the tests came back clean, they couldn't even detect anything through legilimency."
Ginny ran her hand roughly over her face and scooped up the bottle again. As much as he resented her inattention towards Granger, Draco couldn't help but be relieved by her obvious destain for her brother. He had expected all of the Gryffindors to turn tail and side with the Weasel. Especially since three-quarters of the group had familial bias.
"What's going to happen to him?" Draco asked.
She took a deep breath, letting it woosh out loudly. "Well, technically he's in custody, even though he is still recovering from Hermione's rein of fire."
Draco had overheard some healers talking about Weasely's burns. Apparently, they were so bad that they almost couldn't be healed, even with magic. Even though the visual burns had faded, there was still considerable pain lingering from the massive scale tissue regrowth that his body had to endure. Much to Draco's delight, it was supposed to be excruciating. Whatever Granger had done to him must have been brutal.
"They are still investigating, but he will likely be in front of the Wizagamot within the next month. Until then, he will be held in a cell at the Ministry."
Draco figured as much, but he was glad to have actual confirmation that the prick was behind bars, even if it was only a Ministry cell and not one in Azkaban. He could have asked Hermione about his fate but he was afraid he'd upset her, or worse, she'd defend the git. Draco knew now that that wouldn't have been the case, but before their conversation the day earlier, Draco was terrified that she would stay with him for some misguided, Stockholm syndrome-like loyalty.
He studied Ginny carefully after her statement, and he was satisfied to see that the same disgust he felt for Ron was also written all over her face. Secretly, his respect for the witch raised ever so slightly.
"Look, Weasley, we both know you deserve it but Hermione has obviously forgiven you lot for abandoning her." He took a deep breath and tried not to grimace at his next words. "She needs you. As much as I'd like to tell you all to fuck off, she won't get any better without help. She has no one." His mind immediately went to her parents. He still hadn't learned the truth about them yet but he just didn't know how to bring it up.
Ginny raised her eyebrows him and scoffed. "She has no one to help her? Then what are you?"
His voice cracked when he replied, but he continued forcing an air of indifference. "What do you mean? I'm her ward, ordered here by the Ministry."
She let out a sad chuckle. "Face it, Malfoy, you're more than just a ward."
Not to her.
"I mean, you're standing here, telling me off for her sake. You chase away her nightmares and hold her when she cries at night-"
Draco froze, how much had Hermione told her?
"-and you even bloody jumped in front of a madman with a wand without a second thought! All for her!"
He turned back to the window. "Are you telling me that you wouldn't have done the same, Weasley?"
"Of course I'm not saying that. I would do that but why would you?"
Shite, she had him there. There was really no use pretending with her, it was too late to deny it now but he wasn't about to confirm anything out loud. Not even to himself.
"It doesn't matter what I am, it's not me that she needs." Draco fought off the tide of misery that brought. "Either way, I won't be here forever."
"What if you're exactly what she needs? Hmm?"
What is it with this witch and saying the most unexpected and ridiculous things?
Draco said nothing, for fear that he might betray his true thoughts.
"Why don't you let her decide what, and who she needs? She's more than capable." Ginny seemed to have relaxed back onto her playful self, swinging her legs back and forth like a toddler.
"She's in no position to make those kinds of decisions right now." He countered.
"Careful, your misogyny is showing."
"It has nothing to do with her being a woman! Merlin!" He rounded on her and sneered. "She's vulnerable right now, and after the number the Weasel did on her, it's likely that she's not going to have the best judgment between what she needs, and what's right in front of her."
They stared at each other for a moment in tense silence. The quiet ticks of the clock might as well have been cannon blasts. He knew he was drawing dangerously close to revealing information he ought not to, so he thought it best to end the conversation before he gave too much away.
"I'm going to bed, my fucking chest is killing me." Without waiting for her to leave, he stomped off to his room.
"Malfoy." She called after him.
Draco closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tightly. Of course, getting away wouldn't be that easy. He didn't turn, but he stopped walking to hear what she had to say.
"If we don't let her make her own decisions, if we take the choices away, then she's no better off then when she was with Ron."
A handful of footsteps and the woosh of the floo came next.
Draco let out a defeated sigh.
Damn her for being right.
—-
The damage to his bedroom had been repaired. If he didn't know better, he never would have guessed there had been a fight here at all.
Stepping further into the room, Draco noticed some new additions to his meager furnishings. There was a new wardrobe beside the closet and a forest green rug in the center of the floor. A new sturdy darkwood bed frame that matched his desk and wardrobe had been added, along with a small side table. But most noticeable were several picture frames placed on the walls. After closer inspection, he was surprised to see that they were his sketches, and they had been charmed to move.
Near the window hung a rendering of a vase full of hydrangeas standing proudly on a table prepared for tea in a lush garden. They were swaying slightly in the wind. Over the desk, the simple sketch was of flickering, dripping candles. He turned around, noting several other small sketches spread across the walls before his eyes fell to the largest of the pictures and the only one with colour.
At the head of the bed, a detailed depiction of two caressing hands was on display. The smaller of the two hands trailed its fingers down the larger, tougher palm. In the wake of the soft fingers, trails of familiar blue flames could be seen sprouting. Not in the violent and wild way that natural fire burns, but in a slow, almost seductive dance. The flames twisted and writhed until it had transformed into a little dragon. It took off, flying directly out of the frame before it circled the room above Draco's head.
He was gobsmacked. This level of magic was, well, it was impossible. To have non-corporeal magic actualize itself, there were absolutely no precedents. There were only two people in the world that cast blue flames like that, (Hermione had checked, and no one had ever recorded such an anomaly.) and since Draco didn't cast the spell, that left only one person who could have created such beautiful magic.
She's incredible.
He turned back to the picture just in time to see the larger hand brush its fingers over the other's fingertips before starting again at the beginning of the loop. He watched on in fascination as several more dragons emerged from the frame.
When he drew this scene, he had dreamt of the first night she had touched him. The night she put her healing hands on his body and thawed the ice that encased his heart. When he woke from the dream he felt compelled to pull out his materials and draw their hands in a tender touch. He had looked at the final product and convinced himself that the hands could belong to anyone. He had slammed the book closed and forgotten all about it until now.
There had never been blue flames on the original, and yet there they were. At this point, he hadn't even manifested his powers yet. This realization made his awe of Grangers powers grow. Could she cast his dragons now? He knew that she could summon the little plump flames, and he had a foggy recollection of her using his own fire to defend against Weasley. But she had never gotten out of control like him. Whenever she embraced the flames, it was always because he had ignited it. He filed this information away for later.
Her involvement in it was not coincidental, he decided. Besides the fact that she couldn't be burned, he also had to consider the strange euphoria that came over them. It was a peculiar kind of bond. Something he instinctively knew was meant to be, destined even. He didn't know how he knew, but he was positive that no one else would be able to share the experience with him. Even the thought of someone trying was disconcerting.
He watched the magical scene play out over and over again, tears filling his eyes as his emotions overwhelmed him. He'd never thought much of his drawings, but now, seeing how Hermione had brought them to life, he couldn't help but see the beauty. What they created… it was breathtaking.
Draco wanted nothing more than to go to her, crawl into her bed beside her and wrap her up in his arms. It had been so long since he held her, but he knew it was a bad idea. Regardless of what the Weaselette thought, he wouldn't pressure her when she was so vulnerable. Draco finally had to admit that his feelings for Hermione weren't some unavoidable byproduct of their bond.
He thought back on all the time he'd known Granger, marveling at how he could ever have hated her. Even though the war had changed her, she was still the most remarkable woman that Draco had ever met. She had never been ugly, he even knew that when he made fun of her bushy hair and beaver teeth when they were young. The insults were lame, but he had found it difficult to find faults in the little Muggleborn witch.
Teasing her for her blood status only went so far and she knew it. The first time she called him out for his unoriginality, Draco began looking at Hermione and her blood status in a new light, at least secretly. He remembered how the circumstances at the start of their third year played a huge role in how Draco would eventually turn against the Dark Lord.
"Draco, pass that over!" Crabbe said in a loud whisper.
"You'll get your turn Crabbe, and keep your voice down!" Draco's voice wasn't much quieter though, considering he already had a taste or two of his pilfered Firewhisky. Feeling quite giddy, he took another swig from the bottle and passed it to Goyle, completely bypassing Crabbe's outstretched hand.
They had broken curfew to indulge in some of Lucius' expensive aged Firewhisky that Draco had stowed away in his trunk. Having been almost caught every time they tried to drink it in the common room or the dorms, they were now trying their luck in the restricted section, well past midnight. They were sitting slumped up against the least offensive looking bookshelf in the very last row, with their legs spread out in front of them.
Goyle took a large gulp of the alcohol and shuddered at the sensation. "Blimey, Malfoy, this tastes awful!"
Draco secretly agreed with his friend, but he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys never showed weakness. "Perhaps you can't appreciate it because your pallet is about as refined as Thestral dung."
Goyle shook out his arms and shivered. He was passing the bottle to Crabbe when he suddenly froze. There was someone in the restricted section shuffling around.
Draco could feel his heart speed up in alarm, and one look at his companions told him they felt the same. Putting on his mask of superiority, he put his lackeys to work. "Go find out what that is." The two boys stared at him anxiously. "Now!"
Crabbe passed Draco the bottle and both boys set off to find the source of the disturbance. As the seconds ticked by, he became more and more nervous. Was there a Professor lurking about, or maybe Mrs. Norris?
After a few moments of silence, Draco felt his fear claw up his throat and he found it quite hard to swallow. It didn't help that he was feeling a little fuzzy from the Firewhisky. Just when he'd resolved to make a run for it, a small silhouette appeared a few rows away. Too small to be either of his companions.
The form took a few steps in his direction and stopped, looking right at him.
Draco froze, too stubborn to run and too scared to address the mystery lurker. He was fighting an internal battle to find something scathing to say when the person in front of him giggled. Feeling more confident now that he knew this stranger was just a girl, Draco straightened his robes as he stood.
He turned his head away in a show of flippancy and finally found his voice. "Whoever you are, quit sneaking about and show yourself already."
There was another giggle but the girl stayed hidden in the shadows. "And why, may I ask, should I do as you say?"
Draco frowned and crossed his arms. "Because if you don't, I'll go to the Headmaster and have you sent to detention for breaking curfew." There, that should do it.
"Hmm, you do seem to have me there." The girl sighed.
Draco's chest puffed up in victory, smirking at his quick thinking.
"Except, what would you tell Dumbledore when he asks how you knew I was here?" The girls form shifted, crossing her arms and popping her hip.
His smirk dropped off his face and was replaced with a sneer. "Don't you know who I am? My father is on the board of governors, and he wouldn't allow his son to be punished for something as silly as breaking curfew."
"Breaking curfew and drinking." The voice said confidently.
Right, Draco had forgotten about that part. He turned back to look at the bottle still sitting on the floor next to his previous seat. "That's not mine, clearly someone was here before me."
Unconvinced, the girl scoffed. "Right, Malfoy, we both know that if I smell your breath right now I'd pass out from the fumes." Her voice sounded so familiar, but he couldn't quite place it, hard as he tried.
"Oh yeah? Try me." He hoped his bluff would go unchecked.
"Hmm. No thanks."
Draco sighed internally in relief.
"But you can come over here and show me."
Shite.
"Why should I come over there? You're the one creeping about like a common thief." His impatience was growing. No one spoke to him like that, well, almost no one. "Who are you anyway?"
"You mean you haven't fig—" Her response was interrupted by a loud crash and a cat yowling. Both students jumped at the noise and Draco began looking around for an escape route while simultaneously casting a breath freshening charm to hide the fumes that lingered on his breath, lest the little witch turn him in.
Before he knew it, the girl darted around Draco and started squeezing herself between two bookshelves in the very back corner of the library. He didn't see her face, but he did see a familiar wild mane of curly brown hair just before it disappeared into the darkened corner. Without much thought, Draco followed, having a much harder time fitting through the tiny gap.
"What are you doing? Get your own hiding spot!" The girl growled, attempting to shove Draco back out. "You're going to get me caught!"
"We're both going to be caught if you don't stop trying to push me back out. I swear, if I'm going down, you're going down with me." He struggled to slap her hands out of the way and press himself into the tight space.
"What happened to 'my father would never let his son—"
"Alright, alright! I was bluffing! Now would you kindly get your hands off me and help?"
Before she could retort, there was another loud meow much closer to where they were. The pair froze momentarily before the girl grabbed Draco's shoulders and pulled. He stumbled into her and had to grab her shoulders in return to steady himself.
"That hurt! Did you have to be so—"
"Shh!" She scolded and smacked her hand over his mouth.
The pair stood as still as statues and listened, Draco's hands on her shoulders, and her hand over his mouth. They could hear the occasional meow, and the shuffling feet of what was assumedly Filch. After a few moments of this, Draco finally realized that she was still firmly pressing her hand over his mouth, so he did what any rational pre-teen boy would do. He licked it.
Immediately, she tore her hand away and let out a little squeak of alarm. This amused him immensely, and he decided that a little teasing was in order. "Now now, you mustn't draw attention, we are hiding."
He surmised that she was not amused by the scoff and the way she wiped her licked hand aggressively against his chest. "Maybe if you hadn't licked me…" She murmured and pushed his hands off her.
The noises continued outside in the library, so Draco focused on the girl in front of him. He blinked a couple of times before it hit him. He was alone. In a small, dark place. With a girl. A girl who smelled… He sniffed… Like flowers. Maybe vanilla? He didn't know, she just smelled good. Maybe tonight he would get his first kiss.
His head was still pleasantly light and his body was still thrumming with warmth from his illicit drink. That fact only perpetuated the desire to snog the mystery girl.
"So," He started, not really sure if this would work. "Does it smell?" He whispered.
The girl tore her gaze away from the gap between shelves to cock her head at him. He couldn't see her features, but if he had to guess, he imagined she had a perplexed look about her.
"What?" Yes, perplexed.
"You said that if you smelled my breath, that you'd be knocked out from the fumes. So I'm asking you if it does indeed smell as if I were drinking." Draco hoped that she hadn't noticed him casting a breath freshening charm earlier, or this wouldn't work.
"There's no need for me to check, Malfoy. We both know that was your Firewhisky."
"No, I still deny it." He stated in his most snooty tone.
She paused and sniffed without moving a muscle. "I don't smell anything."
"Hmm, no, you wouldn't from there would you?" He turned his head and left his statement dangling. He sensed that she wouldn't be satisfied until she knew for sure.
He turned back to her as she lifted up on her toes and sniffed again, this time only a few inches from his face. She grunted and sniffed a third time.
"See? You were wrong." It was strange how he could anticipate how to manipulate this girl without even knowing who she was. Her voice was familiar, as was her hair, but Draco still couldn't put the pieces together.
"I'm not wrong!" She clamped onto his shoulders and all but climbed up his chest to get as close as possible to his mouth. Seeing his opportunity, Draco helped by dipping his head just as she rose towards his face. Before she could get a good whiff, Draco puckered his lips and planted them square onto hers.
She let out another tiny squeak of alarm, but didn't move away immediately so Draco took the opportunity to place his hands back onto her shoulders. The thrill of his first kiss sent his mind reeling. His stomach was in knots, he was breaking out into a sweat and his posture was stiff, but the feeling was like nothing else he had ever experienced. The girl tensed, and after another second of contact, Draco pulled his face away a few centimetres and gulped. She still didn't move so he proceeded to kiss her again, intending to actually move his lips this time.
When his lips touched hers for the second time she snapped out of her shock. She pushed him as far away as possible in the enclosed hideout, pressing both of their backs against a wall.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Malfoy!" She spoke through clenched teeth, spitting out his surname and as if it were a curse.
A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized he had just manipulated a kiss from this girl, a stranger. He pushed the guilt down and pulled out his trademark cocky attitude.
"You'd think you'd be appreciative. After all, not just anyone can say they've kissed a Malfoy." He tried acting nonchalant, but inside he was hurting from the intense rejection.
"You wouldn't be quite so sure of yourself if you knew who I was." She pulled out what looked like her wand. "Lumos."
He paled at the sight of her. He felt like an idiot. Of course the girl was Hermione Granger. What other girl had the gall to treat him in such a way? Who else was quick enough to keep up with his repartee? And the hair? How could he have been so stupid? He blamed the Firewhisky.
Draco's temper flared as he stared at Granger. The light from her wand cast a blue-white glow on half her face, leaving the other side in shadow. Her expression was fiery and tempestuous.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Draco ground out.
"Well, it was quite amusing to watch you make a fool out of yourself. That is until you kissed me!"
"Believe me, Granger, if I had known it was you, I would have let Filtch catch me." He made a show of vigorously rubbing his mouth with the back of his arm. "I can't believe you put your filthy lips on me!"
She gasped, outraged. "You kissed me! Why would I waste my first kiss on a pompous prat like you?!"
"Well, it was my first kiss too! At least you didn't have to kiss a bushy-haired beaver!" Draco crossed his arms to put a barrier between them. "You'd better keep your mouth shut about this, I can't have people think I'm some muggle lover."
"I'm a witch, Malfoy, and don't worry, as far as I'm concerned, this never happened." She put out her wand and shoved it back into her pocket, leaving the pair in darkness once again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll risk being caught instead of spending one more second with you."
Granger made to move around him but he grabbed her arm. "I'm serious Granger, no one can know."
She laughed in mock disbelief. "Why? Because Daddy will be upset that you sullied yourself with a Mudblood?"
Draco flinched at the ease in which she said the word and his mouth popped open of its own accord.
"You're going to have to come up with some better insults Malfoy, I'm getting bored."
Her voice was full of vitriol, and her stance was threatening for such a small girl. She stared up at him with a tight scowl on her face, and he couldn't help but wonder if that's how he looked when he used the slur against her. Draco was struck speechless, wasn't he the one that was supposed to use that word? Now she had used it again at him, and it was entirely too discombobulating.
He let go of her arm and pressed himself against the wall to let her pass. He wasn't sure what would happen if he opened his mouth to retort, so he didn't, opting for a halfhearted sneer.
Hermione squeezed past him and only stopped to turn once she was at the corner of the first row of shelves. She had her hands balled up into fists, and her shoulders were stiff. "Tell me, Malfoy," she said mockingly, "before you knew who I was, did it even occur to you that you might have kissed a Mudblood?"
She didn't wait for a reply, which was good because Draco certainly didn't have one. She was right. The only thought running through his mind was how good she smelled, and how close she was. Not once in their entire encounter had he even thought to worry about blood status, and it scared the shit out of him.
As Draco changed for bed, his mind never strayed from the inebriated witch in the next room. He gingerly slid under the cool covers and tried his best to relax enough to sleep. When it was obvious that sleep was not forthcoming, Draco turned to look at the wall separating him from Hermione. He slid closer to it and placed his palm flat against the smooth expanse. He closed his eyes, feeling ridiculously melancholy without her.
He opened his eyes and regarded the solid wall.
Maybe…
Draco turned onto his side and pressed both hands against the wall and scrunched his eyes closed in concentration. He felt something shift and his eyes shot open. For half a second, he stared at the still solid divide. He didn't have time to be disappointed though, as a flame dragon flew into the wall where his hands were pressed. A great whoosh could be heard as a burst of flame erupted, spreading outward across the plaster. It died out as quickly as it came and left behind a large circle of transparent wall.
Draco could feel that the wall was still there, and one look in the mirror on Hermione's dresser told him that it was still opaque on her side. Exactly as he'd wanted.
Hermione was facing him thankfully, with her face smushed halfway into a pillow. Draco settled his head down on his own pillow, still lying on his side. The position wasn't the most comfortable considering his injury, but it was worth it to be able to look at her sleeping face as he drifted off.
—-
Draco felt like he'd only just fallen asleep when her nightmares started.
His eyes opened wide in alarm and he was relieved to see that his side of the wall had remained open to him. One look at the distressed witch had Draco scrambling out of bed. The wards in her room were left down, so he quickly made his way to her bed. Her sobs quieted down after she woke with some soothing words from Draco. He was careful not to touch her too much, or sit too close.
"Will you stay?" She looked up at him pleadingly. "With me?" She added, in case that was unclear.
I shouldn't. She's vulnerable, and probably still half drunk. I won't be able to handle it when she realizes my comfort was merely convenient, so I should just end this now.
He opened his mouth to tell her no before he went back to his own bed. Instead what came out was: "Yes, I'll stay with you."
Song recommendation: The Maze - Manchester Orchestra