Draco tugged and pulled at his shirt fussily, trying to cover her completely while he muttered something under his breath, eyes dark and lips a tense line. His cock was still hard and Hermione’s eyes skittered over it, feeling fragile and trembly, like she wanted to cling to him and cry and cry and cry. And some of the flood would be tears of surprised relief. Draco hadn’t protested her discomfort, hadn’t tried to convince her to leave her shirt off. He had just shut his mouth and covered her, what he wanted set aside for now. And Hermione knew he wanted to see her body. Draco wanted her naked and splayed out before him, pliable and eager, without any bloody insecurities about her body. But Hermione couldn’t help it.