You press your hand to your side, wincing as Hermione crouches down next to you, her eyes widening.

“You’re bIeeding!” she gasps, reaching for her wand and a cloth at the same time. “Which is your type?”

Through the dizziness, you manage a weak grin. “Well… that’s easy. He’s a baddie, his name starts with D and ends with O.”

From where he’s leaning casually against the stone wall, Draco smirks, his arms crossed and his eyes gleaming with mock amusement. “Honestly, you could’ve just said my name. Spare everyone the riddle.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of something softer behind the smirk as he watches you struggle.

Hermione huffs, exasperated. “Come on! Your bIood type, not your man!”

You groan. “I don’t know… ask my brother. He keeps track of these things.”

Ron, who has been hovering nearby, nearly drops his wand. “Are you kidding, Hermione? It’s red! Obviously!” He throws his hands up, utterly unhelpful.

Hermione gives him a glare. “That’s not what I meant, Ronald!”

Draco chuckles low in his throat. “Merlin, you lot are hopeless. I suppose I’ll have to be the one to save her, as usual.” He pushes off the wall and strolls forward. “Don’t worry, love.”

Hermione looks as though she might explode. “This is not the time for flirting!”