A/N: Happy Holidays to you all! I am so honored by all your follows and favorites and reviews. Have a safe and wonderful New Year!

She took a breath. The hard covers of the books dug into her palms, and she opened her eyes, staring at the wooden door to the hospital wing.

She should go back. Sit in the common room and just forget she ever had such a silly idea.

Footsteps from down the hall. She would look so foolish standing outside the infirmary clutching books to her chest. She quickly stepped inside and let the door shut behind her.

The mint green curtains were drawn on several beds, and Madam Pomfrey's office light was on. Someone was moaning at the end of the row, and Hermione peeked to find a first year holding his arm, eyes shut tight. She continued down the row, checking left and right. And in the fourth bed on the right, she found him.

His blonde hair was plastered down on his forehead, wet with sweat. His cheeks were pink with fever, and his brows were drawn together, but he was asleep. Relief flooded her veins, now that she wouldn't have to speak with him, to see his snarl and hear his taunts.

She stepped closer and saw that under the thin sheet pulled up to his chest, his pajama shirt was unbuttoned and open, and an angry red crack started just left of the dip in his collarbone, zagging down and disappearing under the sheet.

She gasped, and the sound ricocheted around the infirmary, dancing with the first year's moans. Pressing her lips together to keep silent, she reached and pulled the sheet down slowly. The line crossed his chest, cutting the other direction just under his heart, and sliced down across his belly. It glistened with the salve Pomfrey had slathered on him. Hermione's lip trembled.

"Come to finish the job, Miss Granger?"

She spun, dropping the sheet, and almost dropping the books. Severus Snape hovered at the foot of the bed, robes pulled tight as he crossed his arms. His black eyes studied her.

"I—I'm sorry. I was just… just delivering Malfoy's notes." He raised a brow at her, so she continued rambling. "He missed classes, and I know he's been falling behind, so I- I wanted to drop off a summary of the lessons, and anything in particular the professors said –"

"If you were assigned the task of taking notes for Mr. Malfoy, then what did Miss Parkinson bring by after classes today?" He nodded to a stack of papers and books on Malfoy's side table. Hermione blushed.

"Doodles and love notes, I'm sure." She refrained from sneering, and looked up into his dark features. "But if you, Malfoy's professor, would prefer Pansy Parkinson's notes to mine, then I'm sure you believe them to be complete, and my notes – unnecessary."

Snape's mouth twisted, and his hand shot out, requesting her papers. She blinked and handed over the book and notes. He flipped through her notes, examining them, and suddenly Draco's body seized. His back bowed and his hands pulled into fists. His legs kicked. Snape did nothing, but flipped a page.

"Is… is he going to be alright, Professor?"

Snape snapped closed the book and frowned at her. "Oh, how I love Gryffindor guilt." He turned to watch Draco as he whined, still asleep. "Yes. The counter-curse will need a few days to work its way through him. The dittany will stop most the scarring."

She watched as Draco's fingers clawed at the sheets, but his hands stayed at his sides. His wrists must be spelled to stick to the bed, she realized, and he must have been trying to claw at his wounds. His face scrunched in pain, and she itched to sit beside him and run her fingers across his tight face..

"Will that be all, Miss Granger?"

She jumped at the silky voice, and turned to find Snape dissecting her. Harry told her what it felt like when he entered your mind, so Hermione knew it was not Legilimency.

"Yes," she said, and turned to pass him.

"Unless you would like me to give Mr. Malfoy a message –?"

"No. I – thank you. I will head back to Gryffindor tower." She hurried to the door and flew through it, muttering to herself about foolish ideas.

"He would have saved me."

Harry stared at her blankly. "Okay..." He grabbed her elbow and guided her out of the room. "I don't really know what that means, but we have to go." He threw the cloak over her head and grabbed her invisible arm.

Harry led her out. She could hear her shoes clapping, feel her legs working, but she wasn't sure her brain was firing. She was still hearing the screaming and the gasp.

Harry locked the door with a combination of spells she didn't recognize. Her pulse racing. Footsteps down the hallway, and she gathered herself enough to cast Silencio on her feet. Harry leaned in to where he supposed her to be standing.

"Leave when it's safe. I'll come by later."

And Montgomery rounded the corner, tugging at his sleeves. "All good here?"

"Yep. Boring as usual."

The tang of stale cigarettes filled the hallway, and once Montgomery reached them, she slipped past, continuing through the maze she'd memorized.

She reached the main concourse of Level 2, and wound her way through the cubicles. She was having trouble catching her breath and wanted so badly to duck into an empty cube and take off the cloak, but she knew she couldn't just appear out of nowhere.

She zipped past Katie Bell's cube as she munched on a snack, and slowed as she passed the bottleneck near the conference room. The door was open.

Draco sat at the conference table. His back to the door. She stepped in, moving around the table to see him, creeping by his right shoulder and to the other side. His lips were turned down as he studied what looked to be a map.

He scratched his jaw.

She thought of him in her house. On the top of the stairs, he'd headed left first, then chose right. How had he known which room was hers?

She thought of him in her bedroom, bursting through the door, even though the house was empty. What did he hope to find? Or not find?

She thought of him in front of his fireplace, shaking, rebuilding his wall after it shattered.

She watched him now as he breathed deeply at the conference room table, sighing. His hair had fallen across his forehead and she wanted so badly to push it back for him.

She had tried to solve the enigma that was Draco Malfoy. And he felt as foreign to her as before.

In response, his eyes snapped up. He turned over his shoulder and looked at the door. He narrowed his eyes, brain working, listening.

After thirty seconds, he stood, and she held her breath. He moved slowly to the door, and she crept further from him. She watched as he poked his head out of the doorway, looking left, then right. He came back in, staring at the ground, thinking.

He looked up at her. She swore he did. But then his eyes glazed over her spot on the wall and he took a breath. He looked out the door again, a frown in his eyes.

Footsteps. "Afternoon, Malfoy!" Robards' jolly voice.

She watched as Draco smiled softly. "Afternoon, sir. Is Granger up here?"

Hermione gasped, and slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Granger? Er, no I don't think so. Did you need her?" Robards' form appeared in the doorway.

"No, no, that's fine. I just thought I'd seen her."

How. What?

"I can call her up. Have…" Robards lowered his voice. "Have things resolved themselves with you two?"

"Er, no. It's still best if we don't work together. Thank you."

Hermione blinked. She frowned at the ground. That would explain why she hadn't been summoned up for almost two weeks. Draco didn't want to work with her after the incident.

Robards bid him a good day. Draco stood in the doorway, eyes glazing. He inhaled again, looked out the door, cracked his neck, and returned to his chair.

She slipped out of the room, racing for the small office to the left of the elevators. She whipped the cloak off of her, gasping for air. She tilted her head toward her body, sniffing. She didn't wear a perfume. And she didn't have body odor – thank god.

The only thing she could smell was her hair. Her shampoo.

He would have saved her, and he recognized the scent of her hair.

Hermione sat down before she passed out.

She decided to take down the Wall that night.

It was time. She'd gotten the answers she was looking for when she first put up the Wall. She was just pulling down the newspaper clipping from her birthday – Draco visiting Lucius in Azkaban – when Ginny came home.

She burst into her bedroom, eyes wide with joy and curiosity, and then she deflated. Hermione nodded to her in greeting, and Ginny watched as Hermione placed the newspaper clipping back in her chest.

She didn't know what to say to her.

I was wrong. About everything.

I feel so wicked and guilty, having broken into his mind, into his heart.

I think Draco Malfoy might have cared for me.

I just watched myself be tortured. I can still hear myself scream.

She didn't know where to start.

Ginny took her in and looked to the Wall, now half bare. She frowned at the floor and moved to the other side, to the most recent articles and notes, and began taking them down, one-by-one, in silence until they met in the middle.

She'd finally began speaking to Ginny once the articles were taken down. There were handwritten notes that still needed to be vanished, like a mocking wallpaper. After she'd taken her through both memories, Ginny stared at her with wide eyes.

"He lied to you." Her voice was soft, like she was experiencing something grand.

"Which time?" Hermione laughed.

"All of the times."

Hermione looked at her, and Ginny was examining the empty wall again. Ginny stood, walking to the spot on the timeline where Hermione had added the number 35,000 in ink. Ginny traced the number with her fingers. Hermione watched as Ginny's eyes moved backwards. She passed the door, moving to the wall on the left and tracing her way back through the scribbled events of the war. She passed the Battle of Hogwarts, passed Malfoy Manor, and landed on Christmas Eve – 1997.

"He volunteered?" Ginny's eyes on the date.

"That's what Dolohov said."

"That's what he didn't want you to know."

Hermione looked to her. Ginny was creating her own timeline in her head. She would look at the Wall then stare at the ground, eyes moving, then back up to the Wall. Ginny spun and turned to her, eyes sparkling.

"So…. He loves you."

Hermione's heart fluttered before she beat it back into its cage.

"He… he was relieved that the house was empty. Whether or not that means that he cared about the inhabitants, or that he was glad there was to be no killing that day—"

"The inhabitants? Granger!" Ginny yelled. "He ran straight for your bedroom! Is that not proof enough for you?"

"It's—it's, of course, a possibility! But maybe—"

Ginny put up her hand. "No. No maybes. I won't let you talk yourself out of this." Ginny joined her on the bed, grabbing her hand. "Hermione. Lucius Malfoy was right." Ginny raised a brow and blinked, as if the sentence had pained her. "Draco went to his pure-blood grandmother, asking for 35,000 galleons as a contingency plan to save a Muggle-born girl that he wasn't even dating." Ginny sat back, eyes wide. "Merlin, what balls he has."

Hermione's nose wrinkled at her expression, and she stood, beginning to pace.

"I… I understand what you're getting at Gin. I can concede that… that it seems as if Lucius Malfoy was correct and that Draco had… some sort of feelings for me." She turned to the redhead. "But that was then. And who knows what he's feeling now."

Ginny groaned and jumped off the bed, opening the chest with the articles they'd just taken off the wall. She snatched one up and held it in front of Hermione's face.

"I do! I know what he's feeling now!"

Hermione took in the article from their lunch date at Fortescue's. Draco's hand coming up to guide her as she walked across the street. Draco's eyes on her as she and Narcissa talked. Draco's easy smile and flashing eyes as he dropped her back off at the front door of Cornerstone Books. It seemed like a lifetime ago. How would she ever get back to the ease of that moment?

"But now he's dating someone. Multiple someones!" Hermione walked around her bed to place the Fortescue's article back in her chest.

"Well, then go tell him you'd like your name to be added to the waitlist!" Ginny jumped on Hermione's bed, standing tall. It reminded her so much of their last year of Hogwarts that she almost smiled.

A crackle and whoosh from the fireplace. Harry's voice called out a hello.

"Make some tea, Potter!" Ginny yelled to him. "And open some wine! We have some planning to do."

"Oh, bollocks," Harry muttered from the living room.

Hermione spent the next half hour filling Harry in on the memories. Well, Ginny did most of the talking, putting her own spin on things. Hermione sat at the little table in the dining area, drinking a glass of wine that Ginny had forced upon her.

Harry quietly sipped his tea throughout. Hermione could see the strain on his face, the tightness of his lips as the events of the War were recounted for him. Ginny didn't notice as she charged on, painting new pictures for him. Hermione didn't blame her. She wasn't there. She wasn't in Godric's Hollow on the night Draco and the Death Eaters had tried capturing them at her parents' house. She wasn't at Malfoy Manor, or on the beach. She didn't have the image of Dobby's grave imprinted on her memories like Harry and Hermione did.

"So the task now," Ginny said, and Hermione was pulled from her thoughts, "is to get these two on the same page!"

"Isn't he dating that Bulgarian girl?" Harry said, picking up his teacup.

"Yes," Hermione said. "And she's wonderful."

"Alright, enough of that." Ginny poured her more wine. "Katya Whatever doesn't matter. Harry," she rounded on him. "As a bloke… is it possible to date one girl but be in love with another?" Ginny placed her hands on her hips.

Harry looked back and forth between the two of them, eyes landing on Ginny. "I feel like this is a trap."

"It's not. Answer the damn question, Potter. I know you love me."

"I… Well, yes. It's a rotten thing to do, though."

Ginny smiled brightly and said, "And Draco Malfoy is a rotten person, so great! There it is!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and drank deeply from her glass. She thought, perhaps in the future, she would try to deal with her romantic entanglements without involving everyone.

"So," Ginny continued. "Malfoy wants Hermione. Hermione wants Malfoy. I should think the next steps are quite easy."

"Well…" Harry murmured. They looked at him.

"'Well' what?" Ginny demanded.

Harry looked like he wished he hadn't spoken. "Well… what was the last conversation the two of you had?"

Hermione blinked. "I… I saw him in the elevators on Thursday. I asked him about his business and told him to have a good day."

"And before that?" Harry winced. Hermione was confused.

"It was the Marcus Flint thing, yeah?" Ginny said, sitting down at the table. "Where he responded to her throwing herself at him!"

"Yes, but…" Harry took a breath. She wished he would just out with it. "Did you not also accuse him of drugging you to… take advantage of you?"

"But she apologized for that. They mended it." Ginny shook her head in frustration. Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them as they discussed her.

"Alright, but it still happened. He knows you think him capable of it."

She felt a rock in her stomach. "No, that's… I mean –" she started.

"Well, let's disregard that because you 'mended' it." Harry stood. Ginny glared at him using her words against her. "And what happened before all that?"

"I accused him of splashing blood on my parents' walls." She looked to the table, resigning herself to what Harry was getting at.

"No, no. He didn't do the splashing," Ginny said. "And we now know that's not what really was happening—"

"Yes, but Malfoy doesn't know that she knows that, because that would ruin the perfect little secret mission Hermione and I just went on—"

"But what does it matter?! She should just bring it up again and tell him that she doesn't believe he would have hurt her or her parents if he found—"

"She can try!" Harry flung his arms out to the sides. "But it won't help that she's already accused him of it, already thinks him capable—"

"I get it, Harry." Hermione frowned at her hands. Harry was right. And it was awful.

"And let's not forget," Harry started, softer, "what happened before that."

Hermione looked up at him.

"What?" Ginny said. "Before that was Lucius Malfoy."

"Before that," Hermione said, feeling hopelessness fill her chest, "I told his mother that I would never marry him."

Ginny opened her mouth to argue, then shut it. She said, "Maybe Narcissa didn't tell him that part?"

Hermione smiled sadly.

"Now, I'm not Draco Malfoy," Harry said. "Thank Merlin," he muttered. "I'm not a pure-blood, Slytherin, pain-in-the-ass. But as a bloke…" Harry took a breath and caught her eyes. "I would assume that ship had sailed."

Hermione nodded at her hands, feeling a tightness in her chest.

"Well, then. We'll need to turn that ship back around!" Ginny said quite proudly, clearly not understanding the Muggle phrasing.

How to make Draco Malfoy fall in love with her again. She tapped her quill against the ledger book. This would be so much easier if only she could figure out how she'd managed it the first time.

She leaned against the counter at Cornerstone, watching the hag move listlessly through the stacks. She started doodling a list of ideas an hour ago. Approach Robards for more projects. Write to Narcissa Malfoy. Kidnapping.

She glanced at the letter she had begun drafting to him. The second book in the new Lance Gainsworth series would be released to Cornerstone in May. The pre-order list usually started three months before a book was to be released, so writing to him six months before, asking if he'd like to be placed on the pre-order list was a bit of a stretch.

No, she would need to find a casual way to maintain their relationship, especially since his last day at the Ministry was this coming Friday. She had no relationship with him outside of the office any longer, so she would need to do something this week, something to keep his interest. Casually.

She raised her gaze out the windows at the cobblestone streets outside, and had to shake herself when she saw Draco Malfoy on the street, taking a deep breath before reaching for the door handle. Had she conjured him?

She looked down quickly, finding her half-finished letter to him on the counter. She grabbed it up and crumpled it, tossing it into the rubbish bin and pretending to close the ledger book and store it when she looked up. Casually.

"Good afternoon." She let her eyes land on him as he ascended the steps to the main landing. She faked surprise. "Oh, hello."

"Granger." He nodded in greeting, and she shivered at the memory of Granger across her ear.

"Did you... did you have a book on reserve?" She turned to the reserved shelf, knowing full well there was no book under Malfoy or Black.

"Er, no," he said. She turned back to him, keeping her face as open as possible. "I was... maybe just going to browse."

He was wearing a satchel bag across his chest, looking ever the part of a Muggle college professor. Hermione couldn't decide whether she wanted to laugh or swoon.

"Wonderful." She felt her heart beating in her fingertips. He was here. And she was anxious to keep him. "There's actually… um…" She moved around the counter toward the seating area and stacks on the left. "Quite a few new titles since you were here last."

She led the way to the fiction section, feeling him follow her. Merlin, she had no idea what she was doing.

"There's a new novel out, based loosely on a Muggle book from the 1980s." She stopped at the shelf and tapped the spine. "Dystopian future, marriage law, regulations on bearing children." She glanced up at him and he was watching her face. "In my opinion the Muggle book is better, but no one's heard of it here, so…"

She trailed off and shrugged, moving down the shelves. There were several people milling in the fiction section and a young witch sitting in one of the armchairs was studying the two of them. Hermione ran her fingers over a few spines and saw him follow her.

"And here. Phineas Bourne has tried his hand at fiction, frighteningly enough. I haven't had the stomach to sit through it, but Morty told me it's quite a gruesome horror novel, if you're into that…"

She bit her lip, thinking how foolish she must look, leading him through the shop as if he'd never been in a bookstore before. No other person reading quietly had received a private tour of the new releases.

She was in too deep. She should present him with one more book and then leave him to it. She couldn't even look at him, afraid to find that he'd seen right through her.

"The last one I wanted to show you…er…" She turned a corner and thankfully found an empty row. She was desperate to get out of sight of the young witch who knew exactly what she was doing. "Here." She retrieved a book from the bottom shelf. "A new biography on Chadwick Boot. I've written to Terry Boot to see if this author had any sort of claim to the information he provides, but I'm still waiting for his response."

She pulled her eyes from the cover. His gaze was on the book. He looked up at her, a smirk hiding behind his lips.

"I'll take all three."

She swallowed, watching the way his eyes changed colors. "Really? Er… Wonderful." She smiled, trying to maintain her sense of professionalism. "I – I mean… I didn't mean to force these on you." She laughed, and the sound was very odd. "You are welcome to browse, of course."

"No, no," he said, plucking the biography from her shaking fingers. "If Hermione Granger recommends a new book to read, then I'd be a fool not to listen to her."

Hermione watched him flip the biography over, and read the back of it. She didn't remember the last time he'd spoken her first name.

"I'll… I'll grab the others and meet you at the counter then." She pushed past him, her hips brushing against his thighs in the small space. She grabbed the two other books she had recommended, ignoring the way the young witch grinned at the pages of her book.

She headed to the counter and focused on her breathing. She pulled the ledger and began writing as she heard him approach.

"I actually wanted to ask you for something," he said.

She looked up at him. His eyes flickered to the counter. She held her breath as her pulse skipped and her mind raced.

"Anything."

Oh, god. Oh, god, Hermione. Her voice had been light at least, and not darkened with lust or heavy with promise. What a stupid response.

He looked up at her again, face blank. Occlumency. He'd shut her out.

"You are acquainted with Quentin Margolis?"

That was not at all what she was expecting.

"The werewolf leader?" she said, and Draco nodded. "I suppose I am. He's been in the office several times, and after the war he wanted me and Harry to introduce him to Teddy Lupin…" She was rambling. "Why do you ask?"

"I am hoping to take him on as a client. Well, him and his pack." Draco scratched his jaw and looked away. "He's been… unresponsive to the owls I've sent to him. And I'm beginning to think it's my name, my reputation." His jaw clenched. "My history with Greyback."

Hermione saw the shame cross his brow before the image of Fenrir Greyback sniffing the air in her bedroom swam before her eyes.

"I see." She didn't. "Well, Quentin spends very little time away from the pack. It's possible your letters haven't been received?"

"Oh, they have." Draco grinned tightly. "'Unresponsive' was the nice way of saying it, but he's let me know that he has no interest in meeting me."

She nodded, twirling her quill.

"It might be a matter of money. The community may not be able to afford your services. Werewolves have a hard time earning and keeping employment –"

"That's what we're fighting for. Equal rights for werewolves. Anti-discrimination laws."

Her breath left her in puff. "Anti-discrimination laws?" She met his eyes and knew her own were wide. The fight for werewolf rights was a long-time coming, and Kingsley had told her that it was under review for upcoming hearings. But if someone like Draco Malfoy and his consulting group was leading the charge… with real legal counsel…

His eyes roved over her face, and then he looked down at the counter, as if he were embarrassed.

"I just need an 'in,'" Draco said. "A recommendation."

"Of course." She was breathless. "I'll write to Quentin on your behalf."

"You will?" His eyes burned her. She nodded. "I have… here…" He turned to his damned satchel bag and pulled from it a leather folio file. "Here is the proposal. If you'd like to familiarize yourself with it at all."

She took it from him with greedy fingers, anxious to pour over the ideas and plans in it. "I'll have it back to you on Monday."

He nodded. "Thank you, Granger."

Granger. Whispered against her ear.

She smiled and tucked the folio away, and continued writing out his purchase on the ledger. It was possible the only reason he was buying these three books was because he needed a favor from her. But Hermione didn't have any qualms about that.

With her eyes still on the ledger she said, "Is your team taking you out for a celebration on your last day?"

"Er, no. I don't think so."

She looked up at him and brushed her hair away from her face. "That won't do," she said. "Harry and I will have to plan something then."

His eyes flashed at her. She hadn't seen them do that in forever. He'd dropped his guard.

"You… don't have to."

"Of course we do," she said, grinning. "We'll have to do something truly embarrassing, like print your face on a cake."

He winced. "That must be a Muggle tradition."

"Absolutely." She laughed. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt like she was playing with fire. "We'll do Friday after work? On your last day." She was flying awfully close to the sun and she felt the need to slow down. "I'll have Harry spread the word at Level 2. Bring Katya if you'd like."

Like splashing cold water on herself.

"Or Noelle," she grinned, strained. "Or whoever's on rotation for Fridays." She managed a small laugh as she placed his three books in a bag.

She couldn't even look at him. She could tell he was watching her.

"You'll have to tell me how the horror novel is. I don't think I can get through it," she said. She handed him the bag.

He took it from her and said, "Thank you. For writing to Quentin Margolis."

She met his eyes. "Of course. Anything you need."

He smirked, and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "Careful, Granger," he said, and she watched his eyes sparkle. "I may just take you up on that."

The smile broke on her lips before she could stop it. She bit it back, knowing she looked quite the fool, pressing her lips together and blushing as he turned and strolled out of Cornerstone Books.

She floated through the rest of the day. She floated home. She floated into her bedroom and found two envelopes waiting for her on her bed. Ginny must have grabbed them from the owls that delivered.

One of them was an ivory envelope, with perfect, slanted cursive spelling Miss Hermione Jean Granger. The other just said H.G. How odd.

She opened the ivory envelope first, recognizing Narcissa Malfoy's handwriting.

Dearest Hermione,

Narcissa and Draco Malfoy wish to cordially invite you to the annual Malfoy New Year's Eve Gala, and official launch party for Malfoy Consulting Group.

There were several other slips of paper in the envelope such as an R.S.V.P. and instructions on how to arrive by Floo, but she was consumed by the "Dearest Hermione" bit.

She smiled at the delicate scrawl. Perhaps things were heading back to normal now. She and Draco were talking – flirting, even – and Narcissa was addressing her with endearments. She imagined arriving in a beautiful dress, getting her hair done, letting Ginny do her makeup, and letting Draco take her up on her offer of "anything he needs."

She was still blushing, biting her lip, as she opened the other envelope, removing from it several pieces.

Her heart stopped and her body shook as she recognized the handwriting. An even scrawl she'd last seen on a scrap of paper against a metal table.

Miss Granger,

I have written to Madame Michele and am I quite shocked to find that she has no upcoming appointments with you.

I have written to Miss Truesdale, Madame Bernard, and Monsieur Dubois, and have found that you have made no attempts to schedule appointments for dance lessons, interior design lessons, or hosting classes.

It was my understanding that you were not romantically involved with my son, and if you chose to become involved, you recognized the qualities that we had agreed you would work on.

As you have no intention of becoming an eligible candidate for my son, I'm afraid I will have to reevaluate my willingness to separate Draco's inheritance from his marital obligations. It's such a shame that this may affect Draco's business plans. I had hoped he would start anew and grow to be quite a leader in this world, but perhaps he is not ready.

Do not embarrass yourself any further by trying to deny it. I have seen the proof with my own two eyes, Miss Granger, and I must insist that you remove yourself from my son's world.

Lucius Malfoy

With shaking fingers, she set the letter down on her bed to find several photographs behind it. She watched as she threw herself into Draco's arms in a dirty alley, threading her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips against his neck. She flung that picture across the room and found the image of Draco pressing her against a brick wall as she sucked on his wrist.

She dropped the photos and stumbled to her bathroom, heaving.