You’d lost track of the days. Two weeks of sitting vigil in this chair, your neck cricked at an unnatural angle, your hand limp in his on the starched sheets.

A soft sound broke the silence.

A breath. Not the steady rhythm of the medi-wizard’s charms. Something sharper. A hitch.

Your eyes flew open.

Draco Malfoy was staring at the ceiling, his grey eyes narrowed against the dim light, his jaw tight.

Then he turned his head. Looked at you.