"No, actually," she said in brittle tones, snatching the stupid damned game back from Draco's hand. "Actually, when I went back to Godric's, I was falling apart, convinced you were dead already, and, and..." She sniffled and wiped at her cheeks and Draco felt like the most enormous prat in existence. He stepped toward her, hand held out, but she retreated as he advanced, still babbling tearfully. "And it was bad enough I'd made an utter fool of myself at Ballater, so I went down to the cellar and sobbed my eyes out on your bed." She drew shaky breath. "It smelt like you. You and me. And...and firewhiskey. It stunk of that. And I sat on your bed and hugged your stupid pillow and cried my eyes out. And then I saw the Scrabble just sitting there, and I thought that you couldn't be dead, you couldn't, and even – even if you were, I had to be...to be there. I –"