The clock chimes six times, and Granger brushes the feather of her quill across her lips, deep in thought, before scribbling on her parchment. There's an ink stain on the cuff of her sweater, and one of her curls has fallen into her eyes. She brushes it back, and Draco holds his breath. The ink doesn't smudge her cheek, but he wants to snatch her wrist and charm away the black mark. If Granger doesn't mark her face, she'll ruin her report or get ink all over her desk or—