He almost lost her.

The gravity of it nearly takes his breath away.

He brutally reminds himself that he doesn't have her anyway, not like that, like she's his to lose. But... but... she could have told him to sod off for good, that she never wanted to see him again.

He thinks she might have been quite close to doing just that.

It feels like he took a hex to the chest. He can't breathe, thinking about it. And the severity of his reaction…

He feels trapped in a negative cycle, his fear of losing her and his realisation that losing her would feel like this.

Draco's finding it a little hard to intake air. His inhales are coming too rapidly, his exhales too shallow, and he thinks if he stood up too quickly he'd probably faint. Like some dramatic witch, he scoffs, and this helps centre him somewhat. His mother still uses words like 'swoon,' and it's something witches do. An absurd reaction for him to have. He wouldn't faint, he assures himself. That's ridiculous.

This mental exercise is helping his breathing and he looks down at the sleeping witch on his arm.

She'd fallen asleep there after he'd apologised in as many ways as he could think of, and Draco's terrified to move. He doesn't want to wake her. His arm is also thoroughly asleep and he's sure Hermione is far more comfortable. That's okay, though. He can manage.

He'll have to wake her soon, though, so she can get back to Gryffindor Tower before patrols begin. Only... what if he didn't?

What if they both just fell asleep here? Would it be so bad? If he knows anything about Hermione Granger, it's her attention to detail, her almost-obsessive minding of rules and expectations. If she was so concerned, surely her inner clock would be screaming at her. She must feel comfortable here, too. It's not the first time she's fallen asleep with him, risking them both sleeping right through the night.

She's laying on top of his left arm and even though his glamour is in place, he hates the knowledge that her glorious hair is currently touching his Dark Mark.

Fuck; how have they got here? Draco curses and for the first time, wonders if it might have been better if she'd never approached him that night they were supposed to be revising. That was only a few short weeks ago, but he has no idea how to manage what's happening any longer. He has no idea how to juggle his mission, his father's incarceration, the unexpected support of a few friends... but maybe that can help. If Pansy was telling the truth, that she and Theo think things are going too far.

After he saw Hermione's face when he stepped out of that cupboard, he hadn't been able to think about a single thing but her. He needs to, now. He has her back; she forgave him, she believed that he doesn't want Pansy - or anyone else. She's sleeping on him now, her beautiful face turned into his chest. His heart skips a beat and he makes himself refocus.

His mission. Pansy's olive branch. Greg and Vince shouldn't be trusted; he'd known that was likely but he feels a visceral flood of relief that Theo and Blaise can. He hopes they can be, anyway. Gods, if Pansy was just trying to trip him up... he doesn't know what he'll do. But he guesses he'll know soon enough if she was being disingenuous. She knows about Hermione. If nothing comes of that, Draco thinks he can probably trust Pansy's stated motivations.

No, he knows he doesn't wish he and Hermione had never started this - whatever this is. He's so, so glad they did. The courage she'd shown in asking him in the first place had been humbling. He didn't even know for certain his own dick would cooperate.

He thought it had a decent chance, after his nightly imaginings, but Draco couldn't have guaranteed his stress levels wouldn't override everything else. Learning that Hermione hadn't done anything else, either, helped both of them. He hadn't known that would be the case, of course; he'd only wanted to better understand why she was asking him, of all people. Then her story had gradually revealed itself, Draco painfully prying every sentence out of her.

She's tried over Christmas. It had 'sort of' happened, but not really. No, nothing else had been done, either. Then she'd gotten hilariously indignant that Draco wouldn't simply shag her on the floor of the library, and he'd snogged her. And then... then. Everything inside him ignited. His erection leapt to life, something that hadn't happened to Draco in ages.

Before he'd even known what he was saying, he was laying the foundation for loads of things pre-shag. Things she should experience anyway in the natural order of operations, but things he definitely wanted to experience with her.

He has no idea how he'd stopped himself at snogging. Feeling her pressed against him, her response to his mouth and hands, her saying she didn't want to stop. But he had, somehow. It was like some part of his brain knew he'd want more times with her, not fewer.

He'd felt so stupid the night they first shagged. She'd never seen his dick, never even touched it, really, outside moving her weight against him in various delightful rhythms. And as if he thought he could just shove right in? Please. In an abstract way, he knew he couldn't, but after all his careful step-by-step planning of her body's experience, he'd given absolutely none to how it would actually be to take the final step. At the same time, it would have felt - odd, selfish even, to have her do things to him. It had never occurred to him to bring it up.

Partly, he'd still been astonished that he was hard at all when they finally moved things to the Come and Go Room. The resurgence of erections into his waking life still seemed like a tease. Draco kept expecting them to abandon him without notice.

When it became clear they weren't going to - and he had still taken this night by night, not wanting to make assumptions - he was perfectly content to come in his pants. It was easily cleaned and Hermione was having orgasms, and everybody was happy.

Then somehow, they'd gotten to the night and Draco hadn't considered exactly how it would go. He would have to take his pants off. How had he not thought about the obvious foundation work of that?

But Hermione had taken it all in stride, astounding him yet again. Again and again. Her comforting him about it, for starters, getting things back on the track she wanted. Her actually having an orgasm from penetration, something Pansy'd never had. Daphne'd made lots of noise all the time in general, but that had been Daphne, and while he thought she might have on occasion, nothing had ever felt like Hermione tightening around him when she came. Draco had just been working himself in, really, making sure she was wet and going slow. Something about the angle worked for her and before he knew it, she was coming right on his cock. It had taken everything he had to keep it together.

And then, finally, she'd astounded him by pulling him fully inside her, knowing it would hurt like hell. He'd been too shocked to resist. It had happened so fast. His body had responded on instinct, the natural thrust when a woman pulled like that. Her heels had hooked the back of his thighs and her nails were in his shoulders, and she'd moved her body to move his.

Brave witch. She'd barely hesitated.

Not only was she able to take him inside her, she took him deep, and she'd orgasmed around him again. She liked him deep. The feeling of her clenching around him, muscles spasming with nowhere to go, her wet heat wrapped completely around his cock - it was indescribable.

('I want to move, though. I need to.')

He's never felt anything like it, can't find anything to compare it to.

He almost lost her. His breathing catches again, looking down at her.

She's still sleeping peacefully and he makes a snap decision to lay his head down. He wants to smell her hair. His arm is fully numb by this point and it takes a bit of doing to slide down the pillows. She curls into him and he freezes, seeing if he woke her up, but no.

Blood returns and the tingles rush into his arm, rocketing down to his fingertips. He cringes, but doesn't move it. He can't quite yet, anyway. Lower in the bed, now on her level, Draco lets his non-numb arm come around and lightly stroke her hair. Hermione burrows her face into his chest and his heart staggers. He brushes a curl off her cheek, glad that no part of her is now touching his Dark Mark.

Bugger. Draco glances over and sees his wand, barely within reach. He grasps it and casts a non-verbal glamour back on the Mark, just in case. It's the only private acknowledgement that maybe he plans to sleep here, after all.

It's not about the sex. He knows that, if he ever thought otherwise. If it was just about the sex, they'd both be back in their respective dormitories.

No, Draco doesn't share - even when it is just about sex - and he was telling the truth earlier. She's not sharing him, either. When she wakes up, he thinks he'll propose a... a détente, of sorts.

They don't have to tell anybody, if it's what she wants. Draco's only friends in the whole world apparently already know, so he's no longer fussed on that front. But if she wants it a secret... he can do that. He will do that, if it's what Hermione wants. But he's going to propose that they definitely not share. He'll get it out in the open this time. He thinks they probably arrived at that conclusion anyway, before he carried on with the physical part of his apology, but he'll make it a spoken thing.

Satisfied with a decision made, he settles further into the pillow. He stares down at her sleeping face. She gives a little twitch, breathing in a little deeper than her last few, and snuggles into his side. He lets his hand trace lightly up and down her skin, content that she's deeply asleep enough to not wake at his touch.

Her breasts are pressed against his ribs and he closes his eyes. He lets the steady feeling of her inhalations, her moving chest, lull him. He hasn't felt this relaxed in days, not since Pansy and that stupid broom closet.

His fingers continue their light tracing and he tries to think about his mission next.

He has to make this work, somehow.

For right now, for the purpose of his internal debate, he's going to assume Pansy was telling the truth. If he accepts that, he knows Pansy, Theo, and Blaise want to help - and they want to help because they're afraid of the growing Dark movement, not because they believe in exterminating people like Hermione. Draco can use this. He'd be a fool not to. But how?

The vanishing cabinets are nearly ready. Draco thinks he knows the final piece of the repair work; he just hasn't done it yet. He's drawing it out on purpose, and he can freely admit it now. He wants to hold it off until everyone is gone for the summer. Surely, that wouldn't be such a horrid compromise, would it? Especially if no one knows it's a compromise at all. He just has to convince everyone else that the job simply took that long to complete.

Depending on how confident Pansy, Theo, and Blaise appear to others outside the castle, they could help solidify his story. Yes, Draco's working on it - whatever it is. He's working hard. Tirelessly, in fact. But if they haven't been visibly involved up to this point, suddenly involving them might look odd. It feels strange, but now Draco hopes at least one of them had been asked to keep an eye on him all year. Laying a false trail will be that much easier.

But he can't count on that. He can count on Greg and Vince to be reporting back, though, and so he'll redouble his efforts in front of them. He'll appear to be on task.

He has vague ideas of using the cabinets himself, somehow. Maybe getting Hermione out, if push came to shove. But what if Borgin were right there, standing in the middle of his own bloody shop, when Draco did? Aside from the obvious problem of Draco stepping out of a vanishing cabinet with Hermione Granger, it would alert everyone far and wide that the cabinets were fixed after all. No, waiting until summer is still his best bet.

Two more months, now. A little more. It's nearly May. Once it's summer, Hermione will be... well, back at home. His heart aches at that. Two months left. But she won't be here, in the castle, when whatever plan the Dark Lord has will happen. That's what's important. Draco wishes he could think further ahead than that, but he can't. One crisis at a time.

The first - believably postponing his mission, in a way that doesn't come back upon his mother or his father. Delaying it in a realistic way until Hermione is out of harm.
The second - his time with her will be up, their secret trysts like this at an end. Hopefully it's only temporary, hopefully it's something... something they can keep doing later. Next year.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what to do past the summer. He has no idea how things will be, where things will stand, what pieces will be in motion. That brings him to the third crisis, which is really a gigantic bundle of impending crises he can't separate. It's a massive tangled knot of potential crises. What comes after the summer?

On these disquieting thoughts, Draco falls asleep.

"Malfoy!"

Hermione's hissing yanks him from slumber. He nearly lunges awake, sitting bolt upright and looking around. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"We fell asleep here."

Ah, bugger. Right. He glances down at her, his heart rate gradually returning to normal. Is she so concerned? The first time this had nearly happened, she'd seemed almost annoyed to have to leave. No one would care about Draco's absence from his dorm, but she'd admitted she'd probably have questions to answer. He knows now how she hates the double-standard.

It still looks like the middle of the night, though. "I don't think there's much we can do about it now," he yawns. "I suppose you tell people you were in the library if they ask."

Hermione still seems vexed. She looks around again and gets out of bed. Moving to the window, she pulls back a drape and sees the pitch black sky. Being the time of year it is, that alone says it's well past curfew. Hermione stands there at the window, glaring out like it's personally wronged her.

She woke him up alarmed, but he was hard. He can't deny it. He couldn't help it if he wanted to; Hermione, sleeping on him, still naked. Even if his brain hadn't clocked that truth, the odds were solid he might be hard. If anything, the potential hazard to the room has given him an extra throb or two now that he knows everything is fine.

She's naked and he can't help an accompanying throb. Her bare back, her arse, her tousled hair. The slim of her waist and the flare of her hips as she stands there, pulling the drape to the side. Draco feels a sudden rush at the thought of people on the other side, potentially seeing her topless, and he rolls off the bed. He knows there's no one out there at this time of night, but even so.

Draco cant help it. He leans into her ear, still tantalisingly close, and says, "We're trapped here for now. Would you like to go back to sleep, or do you have other ideas of passing the time?"

She's gorgeous and he wrestles with the conflicting impulses within. People thinking she's gorgeous, yes, fine, but not knowing who she is. People seeing this nymph in the window with perfect tits, seeing a man come up behind her and slip his hand across her front and down between her legs. Not her, though; not Hermione Granger. Just a woman everyone else would see as desirable, a woman everyone else would want.

She sucks in a breath and parts her legs slightly, looking out onto the grounds. Her hand fists the fabric of the drape but she doesn't move. Draco lets his finger slip inside her and she leans her head back onto his shoulder.

Breathing a little hard now, she says, "Lovely, isn't it?" and he nods into her shoulder. He isn't talking about the grounds, though. He adds a second finger and notices how her breath catches. Her head is resting against him and he lets his other hand come up to her hip. He lets the weight of his arm go heavy on her, and she puts the full of her weight back onto him.

Draco loves her like this, her back to his chest while he stares down at her peaked nipples. He loves the feeling her hair trapped between them. But right now, he wants to see her face. He works his fingers inside her and slides them out, swirling around her bundle of nerves and slicking her wetness through her folds. Without a word of warning, he scoops her up behind the knees and carries her back to the bed. He splays her flat, raking his hand down her body. His fingers trace lightly across her skin, moving back towards her legs.

"Is this okay?" he asks in a husky voice, watching her face. She'd been worried about being here, but they are definitely stuck for now - as far as he can tell. Hermione nods, biting a lip, and his cock jumps at the way her eyes close.

"I want you to know," he says, though he hadn't planned it like this, "that I'm not going to mess around with anyone else. You won't have to worry about sharing. I'll only do this with you."

Hermione looks to him, meeting his eyes. Her expression is one of unexpected hope and he doesn't know how to read it. It disappears as soon as he thinks he saw it, and she glances down. "You already know I haven't done this with anyone else. And... I won't. I don't want to. I'll only do it with you."

Gods, what a rush. Draco didn't anticipate it. He cups her face with his hand and dips down to kiss her softly. "Are you my good girl?"

She nods, kissing him with her eyes open. He feels another tingling ripple right down to his toes as she whispers, "Only yours." Then, with a slightly devious expression Draco decides looks good on her, she adds, "And I'm the only good girl you have?"

"My best girl," he assures her. Before she can fully form a hurt pout, he says, "my only girl."

She kisses him this time, tilting her chin up to meet his and Draco thinks she should be treated like a good girl. "Did you like the pyjamas?" he asks suddenly and after a startled moment, Hermione nods.

"I wish I had them here, as it seems we're spending the night."

That single sentence provides too much miscellaneous fodder for Draco to sort through with the blood currently rushing to his cock. Spending the night with her, even if accidentally. Her liking the pyjamas he thought she would, liking them enough to currently wish she had them.

"If you didn't look so perfect like this," he runs a hand up her bare leg, "I'd wish you had them, too. I'd like to take them off you."

"Another time, I suppose," Hermione breathes and she turns a little pink before turning her cheek into his neck. He nuzzles into hers, pushing her hair aside, and kisses just below her ear. She exhales, tilting her head back and giving him more room. He starts working his mouth down her neck to her collarbone, continuing south.

Another time, another time, another time

Draco's brain chants it like a mantra. He'll make that happen. All that needs to happen first is a smooth exit from the room in the morning, no consequences of being trapped here. Then, he thinks, she might agree to do it again.

Also, he needs to get her more pyjamas, cosy exactly like the first set. He could get her those and something sexier, maybe.

That's not helpful, his brain corrects. He'll need to consider sexier nightwear on Hermione's body later. The 'cosy pyjama' track was keeping his brain busy in a good direction, since his good girl currently has her hand wrapped around his cock and is guiding it towards her. Draco doesn't want to come anytime soon, though. He lets himself enjoy the feeling of her fingers around him for another few seconds before gently removing her hands. He places them on the bed at her sides, under his own.

"What do you want me to do?"

Hermione's still pink but he can tell it's more exertion, now. "I want to touch you," she says at last, and maybe the pink was a little bit of blushing after all.

"You do a great job at that," he says, deliberately watching the tremble move through her. "But not too soon. So what do you want first?"

"Your... your mouth." She still squeezes her eyes shut, as if embarrassed to be requesting it, as if Draco hadn't specifically asked her to name something.

He doesn't want her to be embarrassed about it. Not now, or ever. He slinks down the bed as she parts her knees in the way he likes - her heels nearly touching her arse, her adorable little toes right in his face. He drops a kiss on the big one, painted red. He's missed seeing this toe peeping out of her shoes.

She's wet, from the short fingering by the window or what they've done on the bed, and he inhales the scent of her arousal. His dick jumps again, hard and almost painful, and he ignores it.

"You smell so fucking good." He breathes in again, deep, letting his exhale drift across her heated flesh. He sees her tighten briefly at his words, can actually see the muscles contract, and his dick jerks again. Draco lets it come to rest against the bed covers. It can find its own friction there.

The glistening on her skin is too much for him to bear and he moves in to lick her, a slow, long pull from bottom to top. Hermione moans and he feels one of her hands in his hair. Her nails scrape across his scalp and she makes a fist.

"I love the way you taste," he tells her, doing it again as slowly as before. He lets his fingers spread her apart and he goes in a third time, reaching different parts of her. His tongue darts inside and his breath catches as she tightens on his tongue.

"Fuck," he breathes, saying it directly into her clit and she shudders. He has to feel that squeeze around his fingers, further inside. He moves his tongue over her clit, laving and pressing, flicking it. His fingers go to work and she's just as hot and tight as he dreams of. Her arousal is spilling over him as she wriggles, his hair still in her fist, and he gives a broader licking suck. He wants it all.

"Oh, gods, Draco! Please? Please -" she's quivering beneath him and he knows she's close. He wants to taste it. He attaches to her clit with his mouth, loving the engorgement of it when she's this turned on. It's the perfect size to catch between his teeth and he's noticed that a gentle nip there nearly always puts her over the edge. Curling his fingers against her inner wall, he scrapes a slow rhythm with his two fingers as he makes that little nip.

She almost shrieks her cry, muffling it, and Draco can't look up to see her face. More's the pity, but she's orgasming so prettily on his mouth he can't feel much of a loss. Her slick coats his hand and he licks it up, every drop he can reach.

When he finally glances down before moving back up the bed, her toes are curled so tightly into the bed covers he can't even see them.

Hermione's slowly recovering, one arm thrown over her eyes. How many orgasms had he given her last night during his apology? Three? He smirks.

His cock is almost painfully hard and he strokes it lightly, watching her face. If she's sore from last night and this one now, only a few hours after, they don't have to have sex. She's still breathing heavily, almost panting. Her exhales are fluttering a stray curl stuck to her cheek by perspiration, and he fists his cock more firmly. The tip is red, swollen, and leaks a drop of pre-come. It won't take him long.

She flings her arm off her face and onto the pillow next to her. "No, none of that." She looks almost offended, staring at his hand wrapped around his cock. "I said I wanted to do that."

Touché. Draco removes his hand and gives her a crooked half smile. "You won't have to do much."

She's still offended and it's adorable. "You mean I won't get to do much." She rolls off the bed and stalks over to a little loo the room conjures up for her against the far wall. Draco stares after her, puzzled, but feeling intrinsically that he is not supposed to go back to handling himself.

She comes back out of the bathroom a few minutes later, hair somewhat less chaotic - although he prefers it the other way - and her intent was effective. He's slightly further than a hard breeze away from coming.

He's propped up on one elbow, hands obediently away from his dick. Hermione crawls back onto the bed and gives his elevated shoulder a push. His back hits the mattress and he arches his eyebrows. "Yes?"

In a swift movement, she straddles him on her knees. Reaching down, she lets her fingers trace along him from base to tip, but only once. It jerks and she leaves it alone, mercifully, he thinks, but no. There's no mercy to be found. Watching him closely, Hermione settles over his hips and reaches her fingers between her legs. Draco's heart starts to race.

"What are you doing?"

Instead of responding, she closes her eyes and bites her lower lip, fingers moving quickly. Draco stares at the ceiling, praying for strength, and feels her wet fingers trace the head of his dick. He groans and covers his own face with his elbow, just like she had done only moments ago.

He starts reciting potions ingredients. What do they need for that next project, another joint assignment between Slughorn and Sprout? Powdered hens' teeth, he thinks, ashwinder eggs, and -

Instead of her wet hand, he feels a different sheath, far worse for his crumbling self-control. It's hot and tight and for a wild moment, he thinks it's her mouth. He'll blow a load right down her throat if it is, and he forces himself not to look for another few seconds. But she's never done that before and as she shifts back up and down again, taking him a little further, he knows she's working to impale herself.

"Are you sure you're not - too sensitive? After last night, and -"

Hermione's lower lip is still trapped between her teeth and she shakes her head. Working her hips at a slight angle, she takes him further in. That's interesting, actually, a rolling motion from her left hip to her right, rather than just up and back again. His preoccupation with her physical comfort is helpful and he feels himself slightly further away from a hairs-breadth orgasm.

She comes to rest fully on him, her weight on his hips and he feels that surprising strength in her thighs. "No. And like this, I can control it."

Yes, she can. The only time they've shagged like this was in the bath, and it was still different. Draco can't deny she's wet. She feels fucking incredible but if he lets himself think about that too much, he's going to be in trouble again. She cants her hips once, slowly, rocking onto him.

"You can't say this isn't better for you than my hand."

He swallows hard. "No. There's nothing in the world that could compare to how it feels," he pushes his hips up gently, rocking with her, "to coming inside you."

Hermione bites her lower lip again and her eyes flutter shut. She rocks again but she's keeping him deep. He's noticed she likes this, maybe more than feeling the ridge of his cock scrape her walls. Back to potions ingredients, he thinks, letting his hands rest on her hips and closing his eyes. He can tell she's still doing that slight turn, moving the left hip just before the right and he wonders if it's hitting a specific angle for her.

He makes the mistake of opening his eyes and is stunned with the visual of her back arched, her breasts pert, her head tipped back. She's at the top of her movement and cants down with more force, her hand flinging out to his stomach to brace herself.

He coughs out a gasp, wrestling not to come. With her hand there, she starts to ride him, getting a little more distance between them before pushing back down. Fuck, she's wet. He groans. The number of times he's imagined this exact scenario, Hermione riding his cock to her own orgasm, breasts bouncing, head thrown back and hair draping so far down it brushes his thighs.

Draco pushes his cock up, meeting her and the resulting force makes her cry out. Her hand tenses on him and she does it again, bringing her second hand to rest next to the first. Fucking hell, he can't last much longer. She's leaning forward now, supporting her weight on his stomach, sliding on and off him like silk. She shoves her hips backwards, scraping him against her, and her body trembles as she slams back down.

"Hermione, I can't -"

"Don't, then," she pants. "I want you to do it."

This might have been for him but Draco can tell she's close, too. He doesn't want to spoil it. "You feel so good," he tells her. "So tight. So fucking good. The way you ride my cock, I've never felt anything like it. You're perfect -"

That's all he has to get out before he feels her arousal gushing out of her, and she begin to tighten. A little at first, then more, an increasing set of spasms that end with her completely clenched around him. It's all he needed and he lets his go, filling her completely as he jerks. He wants to clutch her to him, lay her right on top of him while he spends his last, but she's continuing to ride hers. Her hips rock back and forth, quickly, and he realises she's leaning forwards to scrape her clit against him.

That, in turn, provides a last round of jerking from him and he thinks the entirety of his brain matter just spilled out of his cock.

They fall asleep again, almost at once. They're sweaty and tired and spent. Draco's too exhausted to fight it even though he's worried they'll oversleep, now, ruining a clean exit and statistically decreasing the chances that Hermione would agree to do this again.

And he wants to, very much.

He drifts off thinking of what he can send her next.

Morning dawns uneventfully, the pair of them woken up by the sunlight streaming in the window. The little loo the Come and Go Room supplied contains a very necessary shower. Even though Draco loves the idea of Hermione sitting through classes smelling like him, even he can admit they both need one. He's impressed with the way she manages her hair, tousling it on purpose. He likes that she's owning the way it looks, confidently letting it be. She slips her feet into the boring flats that he'd like to set on fire, and he wonders if she'll reappear in lessons in the shoes he bought for her instead.

He leaves the room first, making sure the coast is clear - he's more concerned about Greg or Vince being here, since they know he spends a lot of time working in the Come and Go Room - and Hermione makes her way off through an empty hallway. She flashes him a quick smile before turning her back and scurrying off, leaving him with the visual of her glorious hair instead.

Morning with Hermione. He reflects on it, making his way to his own dorm. If they hadn't had sex twice in a span of maybe six hours (five orgasms for her, his mind notes) he'd have thoroughly enjoyed some morning sex. Or shower sex. Or both.

He thinks again about how she looked astride him and recalls a particular fantasy of giving her a necklace or something, something that could rest right in the valley of her breasts. He could watch it there, dangling perfectly.

Vince punches him on the shoulder, harder than casual, and Draco glares at him. He won't admit to being caught off-guard by either Crabbe's presence or the punch.

"Busy night," he hisses at Vince with a glinting smile.

"Get a lot done?" the troll grunts and Draco stops in his tracks. Crabbe has no idea what Draco's trying to fix in the Come and Go Room, but he doesn't appreciate the comment.

Pulling himself to his full height, he steps into Vince's chest. He sticks out his left forearm, covered by his shirt. "Are you questioning me, Crabbe? Are you questioning this?"

Crabbe ducks his head. "No, Malfoy."

"I hope not." Draco brushes past him, heading across their common room. Theo tips his chin at him as they pass one another, and Draco has a quick flash of relief. He doesn't have to be alone in this.

He sends off for another set of cosy pyjamas, burgundy this time. His brave little witch should have some red ones to match the green he already gave her. Tucked beneath those is something different, a black lacy slip of a thing. Draco wonders how anyone could find this sort of thing comfortable to sleep in, but then again, he's planning to have it off Hermione long before there's any sleeping.

He bundles it up in a small parcel to send out with Fox, his owl, but not before placing a small note on top of the pyjamas.

For my best girl