"It doesn’t have to mean anything," she said, not moving. Draco felt the fabric of her shirt under his hands, the warmth of her chest pressed against his. He felt elation knowing the brilliance of her brain and the ingenuity of her ideas were finding rest and comfort against his chest. He felt joy, the only other time in his life he’d felt something similar was from riding a broom for the first time and learning he had access to the freedom of the sky, the privacy of the clouds, and the agency to go where no one could follow. 