"Okay." She nods obediently, voice small and hands folded together in her lap. She isn't ready. She isn't ready to leave him. To leave here? Hermione cannot wait. But to leave Malfoy? She feels numb as she slides her jersey on over her head, and fetches her boots, lacing them on tightly before she puts on her gloves and hat, and then sits back down on the edge of the bed. Malfoy's quill scratches quick over the parchment, his eyes terribly cold and empty as he finishes the letter with a flourish and then folds it up, sealing it with a blob of wax and the signet ring on his desk, before flinging his window open and whistling out it into the night.