Draco looked back at her. Stoic. Stiff. He didn’t say anything at first, but Hermione read in his strained gaze that he was thinking the same thing. The way they had looked at each other the previous afternoon, on the broomsticks. The silence that had surrounded them as she’d held him by the front of his jumper. How they had done nothing to stop it. How either or both of them should have stopped it instantly. Because it wasn’t the right thing to do. Because it wasn’t something that should have happened. Because just standing there, staring at each other in the solitude of the Changing Room, already felt indecent. Dirty. Wrong.