Draco was a bad fucking choice. No future beyond the war, no place that he fit in, nothing he could offer her. He wasn’t the smart choice, and if he knew anything about Hermione at all, Draco knew she always tried to make the smart choice. He slammed his fist down on the railing; the impact bruised his hand, left the railing unscathed, and did nothing to relieve his feelings. Draco shook his hand, wincing at the throb. "Fuck."