"Merlin knows," Draco sighed with faux-weariness. "I ask myself that same question constantly." Hermione smiled at the bed, suddenly feeling warm and glowy. He hadn’t denied it. "You aren’t fit to fight, Hermione," he started up again and she swore inside her own head, dragging Draco’s top sheet up the bed and smoothing out the wrinkles with small, vicious motions.