It’s a humiliating thing to disclose, but somehow she can’t care right now. Not when Draco is looking at her as though she’s the first girl he’s ever seen, his expression hungry, the blackness of desire slowly bleeding into his eyes. It’s an almost record-breaking thirty-two degrees outside. No wonder that, between the demon and the weather, Hermione’s entire body is coated with a slippery layer of sweat and she wants nothing more than to strip off her practical cotton pyjamas.