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The last member of the party, after all of this, was still stuck in the front hallway. His arms were crossed over his chest, and despite the humidity his skin crawled so that his bare arms longed to be covered. The last time his skin had tingled in this horrifying way he had watched his mentor murder Headmaster Dumbledore.
Ron and Draco sat in the kitchen unmoving for five minutes, unaware that they were both thinking about the last time they had been alone in this room together. Finally caving under the stress of not knowing where he was allowed to rest his eyes, Draco pushed his plate from in front of him and crossed his arms on the table before burying his head in them.
“We do all of our laundry together,” Hermione was looking straight at Draco with visibly wounded eyes, as if she couldn’t understand why he’d blurted her secret, “We gossip like old women.”
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