She watches him in the blue of morning, motionless under their blanket, twilight tinting his skin. She wants to run the tip of her finger down the weak lines of past stress on his forehead, the straight and narrow line of his nose to the point, and feel his breath on her palm. She wants him to wake up and say something he’s never said before, and to surprise her with some unknown look or gesture. She wants him to be warm, and for his feet to be cold when she slides hers between them. She wants to stand with him on the balcony and feel the dew of morning on his skin, and the laziness of his mouth on hers that tastes like coffee and bananas. She wants to argue books, and fight with him over leaving the toothpaste uncapped, or have him yell at her for what she’s done until that vein appears at his temple. She wants him to be exactly who he was meant to be, and feel something, anything at all.
He peels his eye open, unblinking as he looks at her, and she closes her own in response. “Draco,” she whispers, her tone even with hours of wakefulness.
“Hermione,” he replies, amused, and she squeezes her eyes tighter.
I have seen your heart, and it is mine.
I thought of Draco as someone who is very capable of compartmentalizing his life and his emotions, and always has done. So, he’s shut down his pity, enabling him to bully effectively. He’s shut down compassion - how else would you become a Death Eater? So, he suppresses virtually all of the good side of himself. - JKR
I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me.
The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.
Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.