It grated on Draco. She shouldn’t feel like she had to explain herself to Potter. Shouldn’t be ashamed and unsure. It was none of Potter’s fucking business. Hermione looked back at Draco, like she was asking him to speak again, pleading in her wounded whiskey-brown eyes. Draco didn’t trust himself not to bite Potter’s head off – metaphorically if not literally – so he just shook his head minutely, a refusal that sorely tested his self-control. He was getting angrier and angrier as the seconds ticked by without Hermione throwing the nosy git out. Hermione frowned and her forehead furrowed, and then she turned back to Potter.