Months had passed since her last encounter with Draco, yet every night it was the same dream. He came to her, and each time he would take her away in his strong, yet gentle embrace. Each morning she'd wake up, longing; her dream continuing to haunt her throughout the days.
But still she went on, through classes and the trivial day to day routines. In the absence of Draco, Hermione had become acutely aware of Ron's every pointedly affectionate gesture towards her. It was comforting to know she had someone there, who seemed so desperately to need her, but it was also quite annoying. There was no fire in her for Ron. She felt no flames licking at her skin with the slightest touch of his fingers, or any longing to press her lips to his. After every short meeting they had had, in a dark passage way or the prefect's bathrooms, she'd wept profusely. Her soul pouring into those tears she shed.
What had she done?