It didn’t feel terrible touching him; he didn’t bring back memories of the Manor. She didn’t feel his chest rising and falling beneath her hands and think Malfoy, she thought Draco and something small and warm seeded in her chest. And then his shirt was buttoned and Hermione smoothed her hands down the front and across his shoulders automatically, without thinking about what she was doing – it was the sort of thing she would have done with Ron, or even Harry. Smoothing out the wrinkles, making sure they were presentable.