The previous night, she’d run into one of Marella’s housekeepers, allowing her to (finally) secure her own bedroom. It was similar to Draco’s in many aspects, but the four-poster in this room was draped in a gauzy dark green fabric rather than blue. Hermione laid awake long into the night, staring up at the crystal chandelier hanging low under an intricate ceiling medallion. She wanted to knock on Draco’s door, curl up next to him, but the words to make that happen were quite beyond her. Admittedly, knowing that cared, that he held some regard and desire for her was equally disconcerting and entirely intriguing. 