But then the charm finally worked and the door was locked, the privacy spells activated, and Hermione turned around and Draco was there. Standing by her bed, staring at her with drink-glazed grey eyes, pupils swamping his irises, pale-blond hair falling over his forehead – silky and tousled and begging for her fingers to twine in it. His face was paler than usual, the whites of his eyes bloodshot and his hand trembled at his side – the aftermath of Pansy's news Hermione supposed, trying to repress a frown and a sense of resentment towards the other witch.