A hand on her elbow. Her head pounded as she squeezed her eyes shut, registering that Draco was touching her. When she opened her eyes and righted herself, he said, "You should be careful next time. It can be very draining."

She blinked to find him staring down at her, body close and fingers still light on her arm. He wobbled on his feet, looking pale.

"You're still injured," she said. "You should be careful as well."

His eyes danced over her face, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

Her skin tingled even after his fingers lifted from her arm. He offered to accompany her back to her room so she could rest. She could feel the air between them as they walked, every sound of footsteps on the marble echoing in her mind. They were slow to climb the stairs, his ribs still healing and her head still throbbing, but at every corner they turned she could have sworn she felt the ghost of a hand on her back, guiding her, steadying her.

He walked her to her door, and perhaps it was her pounding head that made her dizzy with the ludicrous comparison that he'd just walked her back to her flat at the end of a date. His eyes drifted over her as she nodded at him in thanks, and when she shut her door, she leaned up against the cool wood, listening for his delayed footsteps back to his own room, trying not to think about how his lips might have felt against hers if he'd claimed them in a goodnight kiss.

She woke the next morning to a large pot of coffee at her bedside table.

~*~

She didn't see Draco in person for several days. By the third day, it grimly occurred to her that he might have joined Lucius, wherever he was. She concentrated on her Occlumency to keep herself busy, steadily increasing her endurance and trying out other techniques as well. When she exhausted herself after a day of practicing, she'd curl up with one of her fiction books, allowing herself an hour or two of peace and rest.

She was in the middle of reading her second favorite Dickens on the fourth day of Draco's absence when her bedroom door opened. She looked up from her wingback chair, startled to see him in the doorway.

He usually knocked.

"Yes?"

He stared down at her, his mouth in a hard line. "Get changed. Something presentable."

She blinked down at herself. She was in leggings and a jumper. She supposed she wasn't quite prepared for company, but she didn't expect to have any.

She stood, closing her book. "Where are we going?"

He was silent. She rolled her eyes and headed to her wardrobe. She looked at him as she pulled open the doors, lifting a brow. "Any requests?"

A flick of his fingers and something satin barreled forward into her face. She plucked it off of her head and glared at him. It was a slip. Practically a négligée.