And Draco realised he had lost, utterly and completely, and he might as well not even bother trying to deny it. He had lost and Hermione had won, and apart from the burn of losing – Malfoy's didn't lose – it was a relief. Draco wanted her – needed her – just as much as she wanted him, and Merlin's balls, a few millimetres deeper and he might not be alive right now. Lying in bed with his throat a dull hot ache, weak and with his brain floating off somewhere warm and contented, the threat of Azkaban seemed a very, very long way off.