Hermione pushed her hair off her face and undid her shirt with trembling fingers, feasting her eyes on Draco. He leaned against the wall so close to being naked he might as well be, torso pale in the overcast afternoon light. Shoulders broad and no longer as thin as they had been, chest smooth, the old scars from his mistreatment at Voldemort’s hands healed by one of the Machi sent by the Warlock of Chiloé, leaving only the cruel swirling scars Bellatrix had etched into the right side of his abdomen with her cursed blade.