Hermione sat in one of the Malfoy Manor floo parlours, picking at her cuticles as if they’d done something to offend her. The little moments from the past several months spent with Draco flitted through her mind as she waited for their friends to arrive. Draco making her tea, or coffee,  depending on her mood. Waking to Draco’s arms wrapped around her and his watchful eyes observing her as she slept. Finishing each other’s sentences as they studied a particularly difficult set of runes. Nights spent talking about the war, about their respective roles in it and how they each wanted different for themselves moving forward. Time spent with their friends toward the end of term, once they’d finally become comfortable enough in their relationship to spend time  together,  publicly. 