It was Monday morning, ten days later, when Ron and Harry were both released from the Hospital Wing — Harry having been struck by McLaggen during the last Quidditch match.
Hermione had been in rather a good mood over the past few days. She'd been spending most of her time with the Slytherins, their relationship with Draco now open among their friends, no longer needing to hide from them or wonder whether Harry was tracking them both on the Marauder's Map.
She was looking over Harry's Herbology essay in the common room that evening, crossing out a few redundant sentences.
"Thanks a lot, Hermione," Harry said as he checked his watch. "I've got to hurry or I'll be late for Dumbledore…"
She struck out a few more sentences before sitting straight. "You should be fine now." She said, standing. "I'll see you later — I'm heading to the library."
"Spying on Malfoy?" Ron asked.
She tried not to let the tension show in her shoulders as she packed her bag. "Yeah." She was really starting to hate that lie.
She grabbed her bag, swung it over her shoulder, and slipped out — heading for the Room of Requirement.
That was where they'd been spending most of their time lately, working on the cabinet or their own assignments, with the occasional snogging break in between.
"I need a new excuse," she said, about an hour later. She was sitting on the bed, her own Herbology essay in front of her. "I hate telling them I'm spying on you. Harry keeps giving me that look, like he's waiting for Ron to catch on to my lies."
"And what exactly would you replace this lie with?" Draco wondered, turning toward her.
"I don't know. Maybe I'll say I've taken up a secret apprenticeship with Madam Pince. Or joined an exclusive Arithmancy club. One that meets at very suspicious hours."
He walked over and pushed the hair that had escaped her bun back from her face, then climbed onto the bed. "You could simply tell them you like shoving your hand down a certain handsome Slytherin's trousers," he whispered, grabbing her face and kissing her. "I imagine the shock alone would get Weasley off your back."
Hermione laughed into his mouth. "I haven't done that to Theo." She teased.
Draco groaned and pushed her away, flopping onto his back. "You're absolutely cruel, Granger."
She grinned, stretching out on her stomach beside him, chin propped in one hand. "You walked right into it. Besides, he'd look horrified for an hour before declaring a third wizarding war."
"Can a third one start if the second is still going?" Draco muttered.
She looked at him for a moment, deciding it best to steer the conversation elsewhere. "The others have been surprisingly fine about all this."
"With you, maybe. They won't stop looking at me like I've gone completely mental."
"You have gone mental." Hermione laughed.
"I get to call the smartest witch in this castle mine and snog her whenever no one's watching," Draco pointed out. "It's not exactly suffering."
She smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. "You're wonderful, do you know that?"
"I'm a Malfoy. It's in the blood."
Rolling her eyes, she moved away. "And there it goes."
Draco reached out, arm hooking around her waist to pull her back. "Potter hasn't hexed me yet. Not that I particularly relish him knowing we've got this thing going on."
She sighed. "Harry and I have an… odd arrangement at the moment. We give each other five minutes to be honest, and then we're not allowed to bring up what's said outside of it. That way he can tell me things I won't like, and I can tell him things he won't like, and we're not allowed to act on any of it." She explained.
Draco stared at her as if she'd just confessed to writing her essays backwards for fun. "So you two have… scheduled row-truces."
Hermione winced. "That's a very reductive way of putting it."
He arched an eyebrow. "Is it, though?"
She bit the inside of her cheek. "It works for us."
---
"Come on. If you can get it working without exploding in our faces, I promise to make it worth your while." Hermione sang in Draco's ear a few nights later, standing just behind him as he stared at the Vanishing Cabinet, willing it to cooperate.
Draco exhaled slowly. "Bribing me with sex now?"
She rolled her eyes. "More like I'll let your hands go under my shirt while we snog."
Draco tilted his head. "So… exactly what happens during every break already?"
Her chin brushed his shoulder as she studied the cabinet. "I won't stop you when you try to undo my bra clasp this time."
"Right, break time." Draco declared, spinning around.
Hermione let out a soft "ah!", laughing as Draco picked her up with practised ease and carried her to the couch, placing her down with a grin worthy of someone who had just won at Gobstones.
She giggled as he settled over her, his knees bracketing her hips.
"I said after you fixed the cabinet!" She laughed as he leaned down to kiss her — though she made no effort to push him away, lifting her hands to cup his face and kissing him back.
Draco hummed against her mouth, his hand slipping under her jumper, palm warm as he skimmed her waist. "Consider this motivation."
She laughed as he kissed her jaw, then her ear, trailing his lips down the curve of her throat, his teeth grazing just enough to make her squirm and arch into him.
Hermione reached up to his jaw, guiding him back to her lips.
Draco kissed her again, his hand curling around her waist.
She sighed into his mouth, her hands finding their way to the buttons of his shirt.
He let out a soft laugh against her lips as she worked through them, her hands running down his chest.
"Now who's enjoying the break?" He mumbled.
"Still you." She answered, feeling him shiver as her fingers traced his ribs.
Draco sucked in a breath, hips shifting as her fingers brushed lower. "Merlin, Granger," he muttered, kissing her deeper as his own hands found the hem of her jumper and pushed it up.
She lifted her arms without hesitation, helping him as he pulled it over her head and tossed it aside.
His eyes swept over her, a groan escaping as he kissed her again, his hands roaming more freely as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders and pulled him closer.
His mouth moved hungrily over hers as he settled his weight more fully between her thighs. Hermione's fingers shoved his shirt off his shoulders, the fabric catching at his forearms.
He didn't bother to yank it free. His hands found the back of her bra, unclasping it as he kissed down her neck, Hermione's eyes rolling back, her nails dragging up his back and into his hair as his mouth moved lower.
She arched up as his lips found her breast, soft and warm, his tongue rough against her skin, a whimper escaping her throat as her hands tightened in his hair.
She yanked him back up to her mouth, her hands fumbling between them as she pulled his belt open and dragged the zip down. "Merlin's beard, Malfoy." She gasped against his lips.
He heard them around the corner — Daphne's voice and Blaise's laugh. He sat up sharply, still between Hermione's legs, like a startled Hippogriff.
Hermione stilled, her hands still dangerously close to his waistband as they both listened, hoping they'd imagined it.
"…I'm telling you, they forgot to eat again." Pansy's voice carried down the corridor.
Hermione groaned and moved to sit up. Draco immediately pushed her back down as their friends rounded the corner.
He was acutely aware of his own state — shirt hanging off his forearms, chest heaving, hair no doubt in every direction, face flushed, zip undone.
Pansy stopped dead in her tracks, a takeaway box in her hands.
Daphne almost walked into her. "What's wrong with — oh."
"Bold choice," Theo said cheerfully. "Did you get attacked by a Banshee?"
"I was reading." Draco said.
Daphne's gaze dropped. "With your fly undone?"
He flicked a look down at Hermione — still mercifully hidden from view by the back of the couch — then produced his most withering glare. "Yes, actually. You should try it." He huffed, standing and turning away to do up his zip and right his shirt before facing them again. "Why are you here?"
"We brought you lunch," Blaise explained. "Though it looks like you've skipped straight to dessert."
Draco hummed, trying to look unbothered while subtly scanning the area for Hermione's bra — or at least her jumper. "Thanks."
Hermione looked up at Draco, eyes wide, mouthing: Get. Them. Out.
"Where's Hermione?" Pansy wondered.
"You just missed her. She left a couple of minutes ago — we were taking a break, hence the reading."
She hummed pleasantly. "So we can speak freely? About the cabinet?" She asked — feigning innocence, though she'd already clocked the grey jumper bundled at the edge of the couch the moment she walked in.
Draco hesitated. "Anything you know, she knows."
He was entirely and irreversibly done for. If he reacted too sharply to shut Pansy up, they'd know Hermione was still there — and Hermione would know the cabinet was a far larger matter than he'd let on. If he said nothing, however, Hermione would probably find out anyway.
Pansy's eyes gleamed with the particular brightness of someone who had scented blood in the water. She moved further into the room, setting the takeaway box down on the old side table with unhurried precision.
Hermione could hear each of them — Theo scraping a chair closer, Blaise unwrapping food, Daphne popping something into her mouth.
"Oh, good," Daphne said brightly. "Because I do have a few questions. About the connection between the two cabinets."
Draco's mouth went dry. "Now?"
"Why not?" Blaise smirked. "Seems like you're finished with… whatever this was."
"I was reading."
Theo snorted. "Mate, seriously. That lie is more embarrassing than if we'd actually caught you with Granger."
Pansy stepped forward. Draco darted to intercept her, any pretence of casualness entirely abandoned.
"Draco." She sighed.
"Pansy."
They locked eyes.
"You're blocking me."
"I'm guiding you. Toward the table. Where the food is." He said pleasantly.
"And I'm just going to hand Hermione her jumper." She said, nodding at the grey heap on the couch arm, peering over Draco's shoulder. "'Mione?"
"Hi." Hermione's voice came from the couch, accompanied by a small, resigned wave of her arm.
The room went quiet.
Not awkward. Not particularly shocked. Just amused, smug, entirely vindicated silence.
Pansy stepped past Draco, scooped up the jumper, and handed it to the Gryffindor girl. She waited until Hermione had sat up, now dressed, and was running her hands through her hair. "Lovely weather today, isn't it?"
"You're all lucky I like you more than my other friends right now," Hermione whispered, climbing off the couch. She walked over to Draco, smoothed his hair into something presentable, then headed for the table and sat down next to Blaise.
Draco watched her go, cool as anything despite the flush still clinging to her cheeks. She had her jumper back on, bra conspicuously absent, curls wild but half-tamed. Her fingers had brushed through his hair with that infuriating tenderness of hers, and now she was settling herself next to Blaise as though she hadn't been half-undressed on the couch approximately forty-five seconds ago.
The audacity.
She plucked a spring roll from Blaise's box and took a bite, raising a brow as if daring anyone to remark. No one did.
Draco walked over and dropped into a seat as Theo held out a box to him.
"I'm genuinely astonished we didn't catch you two at it sooner, if this is what the past few weeks have looked like," Blaise admitted.
"Particularly given your terrible excuses," Theo nodded. "'Reading'."
"You try thinking up a better lie when the blood's gone elsewhere," Hermione said, spooning out some fried rice.
Blaise laughed. "Not like he needs much of an excuse."
She hummed. "I'm far too sensible to answer that."
Theo pointed a chopstick at her. "That sounds like someone very satisfied would say."
Hermione pointed hers back. "More like someone who hasn't actually been shagged yet."
Draco buried his face in both hands.
---
Harry, Hermione, and Ron were alone in the Gryffindor common room the next evening when it happened.
"How d'you spell 'belligerent'?" Ron asked, shaking his quill very hard while staring at his parchment. "It can't be B-U-M —"
"No, it can't," Hermione pulled the essay toward her. "And 'augury' doesn't begin O-R-G either. What on earth are you using?"
"It's one of Fred and George's Spell-Checking Quills… think the charm must be wearing off."
"Must be." She said, pointing at the title of his essay. "Because we were asked how to deal with Dementors, not 'Dugbogs', and I don't recall your name being 'Roonil Wazlib'."
"Ah, no!" said Ron, staring horror-struck at the parchment. "Don't say I'll have to write the whole thing out again!"
Hermione took out her wand. "We can fix it."
Ron sank back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Merlin, I love you, Hermione."
Hermione's spell faltered. "Don't let Lavender hear you saying that." She said, swallowing thickly, brows pulling together.
'And don't let Draco hear it either,' she thought to herself.
"I won't," said Ron into his hands. "Or maybe I will… then she'll ditch me…"
"Why don't you just end it with her if you want to?" asked Harry.
"You've never actually broken up with anyone, have you?" said Ron. "You and Cho just —"
"Sort of fell apart, yeah," said Harry.
Hermione glanced at him, wondering if he and Pansy had started things up again. She'd brewed the Potion for Pansy days ago, and — thankfully — it had come back negative. She kept that to herself.
"Wish that would happen with me and Lavender," said Ron gloomily, watching Hermione silently tap each of his misspelt words with her wand so they corrected themselves. "But the more I drop hints that I want to end it, the tighter she holds on. It's like going out with the Giant Squid."
Hermione handed him the essay back. "There."
"Thanks a million. Can I borrow your quill for the conclusion?"
She handed it over. "I should probably get to bed." She'd begun packing up when —
Crack.
She let out a small shriek, Ron spilling ink all over his essay as Harry hissed, "Kreacher!"
The house-elf bowed low. "Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give —"
Crack.
Dobby appeared alongside Kreacher, his tea-cosy hat askew.
"Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!" he squeaked, shooting Kreacher a resentful look. "And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so they can make their reports together!"
Hermione felt her heart drop somewhere into the vicinity of her shoes.
She slowly sank back into her seat, hoping she wasn't as pale as she felt. "What's going on, Harry?"
Harry hesitated before answering. He hadn't told Hermione he'd set Kreacher and Dobby to tail Malfoy.
"Well… I've had them following Malfoy."
"Night and day," croaked Kreacher.
Her eyes went wide, and she forced herself to breathe in.
Night and day.
"Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!" Dobby declared.
She looked horrified. "You haven't slept, Dobby? Surely, Harry, you didn't tell him not to —"
"No," Harry said quickly. "Dobby, you can sleep. Have either of you found out anything?"
"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood," croaked Kreacher at once. "His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of —"
"Draco Malfoy is a bad boy!" squeaked Dobby angrily. "A bad boy who — who —"
Hermione could barely focus. If they'd been trailing him for days, she'd have noticed — wouldn't she?
"Right, we don't need a tribute to Malfoy," Harry told Kreacher. "Let's get to where he's actually been going."
Her eyes flickered to Harry.
"Master Malfoy eats in the Great Hall, he sleeps in a dormitory in the dungeons, he attends his classes in a variety of —" Kreacher was dutifully listing, and Hermione had never been so grateful for an elf's unswerving loyalty to purebloods.
"Dobby, you tell me." Harry cut Kreacher off.
"The Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but he is still keen to avoid detection. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor with a variety of other students." Dobby explained.
Hermione closed her eyes, already hearing in her head everything Ron was going to say.
"The Room of Requirement!" Harry smacked himself on the forehead. "That's where he's been sneaking off to! That's where he's doing whatever he's doing!"
"Malfoy got into Headquarters there last year, so I'll be able to get in and spy on him, no problem," he continued.
"I don't think you will, Harry," said Hermione, choosing her words with great care. "Draco already knew exactly how we were using the Room, didn't he — because that idiot Marietta had blabbed. He needed the Room to become the Headquarters of the DA, so it did. But you don't know what the Room becomes when Draco goes in there, so you don't know what to ask it to transform into."
"Why haven't you worked this out sooner?" Ron wondered. "You've been spying on them for months."
Hermione glanced at him. "He's very secretive. And I don't think the others know anything. I really think he's just — having a terrible year."
"Well, if he's shown them his Dark Mark —" Harry started.
"The Dark Mark he doesn't have." She cut him off, standing and stretching.
Ron blinked. "You sound very certain."
Hermione met Harry's eyes. He was watching her with the patient, careful look of someone waiting for her to slip.
"I've seen his arm. I've been saying it all year. There's no Mark."
"You've seen it?" Harry asked.
Hermione glared at him. "Yes. At the — Quidditch pitch. After a practice. I was there with Daphne." She felt the heat creep up her neck at her near-mistake. Harry and Ron didn't need to know she'd been in the boys' changing rooms with Daphne a few months ago, and they most certainly didn't need to know she'd seen his arm just the day before in the Room of Requirement.
"Our Quidditch robes have long sleeves," Ron pointed out.
She huffed. "He was changing! As people tend to do after a match!"
"Right, because spying on Malfoy now includes watching him undress," Ron muttered, grabbing his essay and storming off.
Hermione watched him leave, then closed her eyes and turned to Harry. "You should have told me."
Harry glanced at Dobby and Kreacher, dismissed them with a nod, then turned back to Hermione. "How was I meant to go about that? 'Hey, Hermione, I'm sending House-elves to follow your boyfriend because I think he's a Death Eater.' Which you already know."
"He's not."
"You don't know that."
"Harry," she hissed. "Do you really think I'd be — I wouldn't be their friend if he were one. Don't you know me at all?"
Harry leaned forward. "Why is he in the Room of Requirement?"
"He's not."
"You still owe me five minutes."
Her heart dropped. She swallowed. "Use them to ask me about this, and you'll lose whatever trust I have left for you." She whispered.
Harry stood up. "I don't have to. You just told me everything I needed to know."
---
She was back to ignoring him.
Draco was growing thoroughly tired of this game.
They'd be perfectly fine for a while — especially when they were alone together. But then everyone would pile back in, or something would happen, and she'd go cold again.
It was like the start of term all over again.
Except worse.
Because now he didn't just know what it was like to kiss her. Now he knew what it was like to thread his fingers through her hair, to feel her smile against his mouth, to work alongside her on the cabinet and take breaks to snog her senseless.
Now he knew what it was like to have her rest her head in his lap while they worked on their own assignments, to sneak her down to the kitchens for dinner, to feel her hand wrapped around his —
He snapped his textbook shut and ran a hand over his face.
Pansy looked at him sidelong. "Trying to irritate Snape?" She whispered.
"Trying not to hex myself." He muttered, his eyes drifting to Hermione, who sat across the classroom.
"Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost," Snape said, and the class turned toward Harry. Draco took the opportunity to look properly at Hermione, trying to catch her eye.
"Er — well — ghosts are transparent —" Harry started.
"Oh, very good," interrupted Snape, his lip curling. "Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. Ghosts are transparent."
Pansy snorted, which earned her a glare from Harry.
Draco barely registered the rest of Harry's floundering or Snape's sneering. His eyes had not moved from Hermione. She didn't look at him once.
Not until Snape said, "Now open your books to page two-hundred and thirteen and read the first two paragraphs on the Cruciatus Curse."
She looked at him. When she saw he was already watching, she looked quickly away.
He felt it like a blow — the confusion winding through him.
Why would she react like that? There was no reason to, not unless —
He turned to Pansy. "Did you tell her?"
Pansy didn't look up from her book. "Tell her what?"
"You know what." He hissed.
Pansy turned the page — slowly, deliberately. "I'm not an idiot."
---
Harry was muttering about Snape's insufferable questions as they walked out of class that day, Ron complaining back about being practically called a dunderhead.
Hermione walked a few paces behind them, quiet. It wasn't that the conversation didn't interest her — more that she kept feeling it. The way Draco had looked at her was like she'd been breaking something beyond repair.
Lavender had caught up to them, hanging off Ron as she joined in on the grumbling about Snape. But as Ron disentangled himself, muttering something about a detour to the boys' bathroom, Hermione felt someone grab her arm and yank her sideways.
She let out a startled yelp as she was pulled into a shadowed alcove.
She was ready to dock house points from whoever had done it — when she saw Draco's face.
They didn't speak for a moment, Draco's eyes scanning her as if reading her body language. His grip on her arm loosened and dropped.
"What are you doing?" She hissed. "Anyone could've seen —"
"The Cruciatus Curse," Draco cut her off, voice tight, "is used to torture people."
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone — and the tremor running under it.
"Yes. We just read about it." She whispered, her eyes darting toward the corridor.
Too exposed. They were hidden, and no one was nearby, but it wasn't exactly a broom cupboard. Especially not with Dobby and Kreacher lurking about.
"The Imperius Curse," he continued, eyes still fixed on hers as if she held the answers, "is what I believe was on your mind when you looked at me."
Hermione turned her attention back to him fully. "What?"
"When Snape brought up the Unforgivables," he said, his voice low, measured. "You looked at me for the first time all week, and then looked away."
She blinked, trying to catch up. "I don't — what do you — what?"
Draco shifted, stepping back slightly. "Your head snapped toward me like…" he looked away, "…like something had just fallen into place."
"It's not as though you're torturing me, Draco." She scoffed.
He looked at her again, and she could read the hurt behind his eyes.
"The Imperius Curse." She repeated quietly, closing her eyes. "Draco —"
"You won't even look at me, and then Snape says 'Unforgivables' — and suddenly I'm the face of your darkest suspicion." He scoffed. "You think I made you — what? Kiss me? Want me? Is that what you've been telling yourself?"
"No," she said instantly.
"You keep disappearing, Hermione!" He hissed.
"You're being followed!" She snapped back.
Draco stared at her. The hurt in his eyes went somewhere colder — guarded, calculating. Like a wall slamming back into place after having been down too long. "What?"
Hermione swallowed. "I didn't know. Not — not at first. I didn't know. Harry has Dobby and Kreacher tailing you. And when I found out, I couldn't work out how to tell you without —"
Draco was silent, staring at her as if she'd just confirmed every one of his worst fears. Then he laughed — short, bitter, entirely humourless.
"Of course," he said under his breath. "Potter's personal spy network. Why not?"
"Draco." She whispered, stepping toward him.
He stepped back. "You should have told me."
"I couldn't."
"You could have. You didn't tell me because you were worried what Potter would think. Or Weasley. Or whoever else sits on your righteous little ethics committee."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" He said sharply. "All my friends know about us. But the moment there's even a chance yours might find out —"
"I've been defending you for months —!" The words got stuck in her throat.
He looked physically winded at her choice of words.
The look in his eyes wasn't angry — not at first. It was rawer than that. Something like betrayal wrapped in disbelief.
Hermione felt it the second it left her mouth — the sharp edge of defending you, as if he were some cause she'd taken on, some secret burden she'd agreed to carry. That wasn't what she meant. That wasn't what she felt.
"That's not what I meant." She whispered.
But he was already pulling away — even as he stood less than a foot from her. "It's what you said."
"You're under so much pressure, you're doing something dangerous, and I'm frightened —"
"You don't even know what I'm doing!" He snapped.
She blinked, startled by the volume of it. Her response came out defensive. "Not from lack of asking!"
"I've asked you so many times, Draco. You never answer. You deflect, or you flirt, or you — you just kiss me!"
"Because you don't really want to know!" He said again, quieter but no less sharp. "If you did, you'd already know, Granger — you're not stupid!"
His hand twitched at his side, the urge to just push his sleeve up and show her, to put an end to all of it, very nearly overwhelming.
Hermione stared at him, stunned into stillness — not because of what he'd said, but because of how true it felt. Like some buried knowledge she hadn't wanted to unearth had just been thrown into the light without her permission.
Draco's chest rose and fell quickly, every breath costing him something. His eyes were too bright — anger, yes, but also something rawer and more exposed than he ever let her see.
He took one step forward, voice quieter now, but no less sharp for it. "You think I don't see it? Every time the cabinet makes progress, your eyes change. How you swallow the lump that forms. If you wanted to know, you'd know."
"Draco — I care about you." She whispered, reaching out to grab his left forearm — almost instinctively, as though stopping him from doing what he was considering.
And perhaps she was.
Perhaps behind every time she'd told Harry and Ron she was certain he wasn't a Death Eater, she'd already known the truth. Even if she hadn't wanted to say it to herself. Even if the safety of uncertainty had felt kinder than the alternative.
Draco looked down at her hand on his arm. Her fingers were curled tight over the very place he'd nearly exposed — the final thread of denial fraying between them.
The corridor was impossibly still.
A sharp crack split the silence, and Hermione closed her eyes.
She wasn't sure whether to hope for Dobby or Kreacher.
She didn't have to wait long.
"Shameful. Filthy. Disrespectful." The voice was low and venomous, as if the very words caused offence.
Kreacher slunk into view, his bloodshot eyes narrowing at her as though she'd dragged mud across a sacred relic.
"Filthy little Mudblood," he hissed, mouth curling with disdain. "Twisting the young master's mind. Defiling ancient blood. Disgraceful. Disloyal."
Draco stared at the elf as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing from a creature now technically in Potter's service.
"The Noble House of Black would weep to see it."
Well. That explained that.
"Master Potter says to follow the traitor. Kreacher follows. Kreacher sees. The little witch meeting him in the dark. Whispering. Touching." His nose wrinkled as though he'd caught a foul smell.
Hermione dropped her hand from Draco's arm and turned to the elf. "Harry didn't tell you to spy on me."
"Master Potter said to follow Master Malfoy. If the Mudblood is about, that is not Kreacher's fault." He Disapparated with a crack.
Draco was already stepping out of the alcove.
She sighed. "Ignore him. He's a vile little creature."
"He just said everything I'll never stop hearing, being with you, Granger." He said simply. "If anything, he was rather polite about it."
She wanted to say something — anything — to fix it. But the truth of what he'd said was undeniable. Kreacher's whispered venom only echoed everything Draco had always feared, everything he'd been carrying about the two of them.
There was nothing she could say to change that.