Unphased by the glinting goblin blade raised at them in warning, Hermione brushed her fingers lightly over Draco’s cheek. Her honeycomb eyes glistened with admiration as she took in his dishevelled appearance. The clothes he had been wearing since the day Dumbledore had died hung from his frame. Covered in dirt and mildew from the cell they had been locked inside for months. His usually stark white, perfectly styled hair was several inches longer, falling into his eyes as he stared down at her. Occasionally, when possible the family elf had given him the gift of a quick