They spent the next hours together in bed. Draco touched Hermione as though she were made of glass. He didn’t want to break her any more than he already had. They talked of nothing. Half-forgotten memories from school, the delicious noise cigarette paper made when taking a drag, how they had felt when their wands had chosen them, Hermione’s old cat Crookshanks, the weather. Bathed in moonlight, she looked like a goddess.