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Walking up to him, she ruffled his hair. The caramel color he got from her but his hair was as smooth as his father’s. The kind of hair she had always wished she had…
She suddenly felt lightheaded and dizzy. She slumped to the floor as the darkness enveloped her.
After weeks Hermione had started to notice little things about Draco. Like how his eyes were three different kinds of grey, or how ruffled his hair looked in the mornings, and especially the intoxicating woodsy smell he had.
Dawn came slowly, the sky over the tall, skyscrapers turning gradually from slate to soft gray to pale blue, reminding her off Draco’s eyes. Hermione was standing at the window watching some robins hopping across the hospital’s front lawn, pecking at seeds and insects, when Draco spoke.
She flopped over on her back with a deep sigh. There simply wasn’t any easy way of saying it. Whether she said it offhandedly or with deadly seriousness, the result was going to be the same. He was probably never going to forgive her.
At the door, she hesitated and turned back. “Draco...”
She tried to ignore the feeling of being on the witness stand undergoing cross-examination. She felt torn between the desire to defend herself and the desire to touch him. She had tried hard, ever since they’d returned to the house together earlier that day, not to acknowledge the old tender feelings for him that were surfacing. She was here to discuss their son, period.
“Why can’t I come there now? I bet uncle Ron would bring me.”
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