"There she is." The purr in his friend's voice brought to mind silk sheets and dark promises. Draco was going to be sick. For sure, definitely, was going to be sick right there, in the hallway outside the kitchen. His knees nearly buckled as Blaise brought his forehead down, resting it against Hermione's in a move that looked so intimate it made him ache. Their noses brushed, and Draco heard Hermione sigh. He couldn't tell, honestly, truly couldn't tell, if it was a sigh of pleasure, of welcome, or something less. And it killed him. A knife wound, straight through his chest.