The familiar chocolate hue of her eyes warmed Draco's frigid exterior, melting him down to nothing. He hurried to her side, taking her dainty hands between his own, and didn't bother fighting the liquid welling behind his pale grey eyes; the salt of his tears stained his cheeks. The moment – the exact second – she blinked and focused her eyes on him, every ounce of hatred and betrayal he felt towards her washed away. She was awake, alive, and his. He knew it in his cold heart that the woman lying in bed – who calls herself Hermione – is the same woman he shared a bed with (a life with) the past few years.