Hermione lay awake well into the early morning in her guest room, tossing and turning in her silky sheets. She supposed Harry was right, and it left a churning feeling in her stomach to think that she’d written him off so immediately when Harry, who loathed Draco, was quick to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it was as if she was waiting for Draco to do this, to be who she’d always thought he was, because then she would be right. She would be heartbroken, sure, but right. 