He was tempted. Hermione did not seem to care, and Draco had not felt the soft pleasure of a woman’s body since Hogwarts, before his and Astoria’s engagement had been decided. Despite her consent, despite his curiosity, he kept his hands and eyes to himself. He would not know where to start, anyway, and a masturbatory romp would not change or fix anything. Regardless of the body he wore, the void inside of him remained. A yawning, empty stretch that only one thing could satisfy. He imagined the moment: the press of his wand to Blaise’s chest, how it would feel to vocalize the curse he had been dreaming of for years.