His book lay forgotten on his lap, fingers idly rolling the corner of a page sacrilegiously between his fingers and softening and curling the paper. Rolling, unrolling, rolling, unrolling. His grey stare bored into Hermione’s snuggled up shape under the blankets, only the tip of her nose visible between the blankets and the masses of hair that had fallen back over her face. She, the infuriating, self-righteous, bushy-haired, kind Hermione Granger was the only thing currently brightening Draco’s dreary existence.