It is. The mattress manages to be both cloud-soft and perfectly supportive, and the linens are cool and silky smooth. Draco says something about Jincy having unpacked their things, but Hermione doesn’t feel like looking for pajamas. She drops her clothes on the floor and crawls into bed naked. Draco follows suit. It’s the way they’ve slept since she arrived in the Malfoy Woods, something to do with their magic, no doubt, but Draco can’t imagine ever wearing clothes in bed again. She is soft and warm, and she smells like soap and lilies of the valley. He pulls her close, settling her beautiful round arse against his hips, knowing that after more than thirty-six hours without sleep, he’s useless, but "I want you right here when I wake up," he whispers, his voice already drowsy. "Don’t go anywhere."