Draco stirred, a low groan escaping his swollen cheeks. His usually immaculate hair was a disaster, plastered to his forehead with sweat. The ice packs had long since melted into sad, soggy bags on the nightstand.

Pansy turned to leave, pausing at the doorway.

The door clicked shut, leaving Y/n alone with the unconscious Slytherin prince—and the ridiculous post-surgery instructions the Healer had left behind.