The less they said about his reasons, the better. Hermione sipped at her fire whiskey, wishing that she didn't have to be present for a conversation in which the two men discussed her without actually discussing her out loud. She hated when anyone did that. It made her feel like she was back to being the terrified girl ripped from the broom cupboard unsure what her life was going to be like or how long it was going to last. The feeling of helplessness was exactly why she had become so brutal and dangerous. Not the potions Rabastan got her addicted to or the mental manipulations his brother subjected her mind to. No, she was already a hardened and angry witch long before either one of them spent any length of time in her presence.