"Draco," Hermione’s voice made Draco’s shoulders go rigid, and his pulse doubled. Fuck. He couldn’t deal with her right now; trembling from exhaustion, and coated head to toe in mud from crawling along a godforsaken ditch under the noses of half a dozen Death Eaters. Draco glanced over his shoulder at her. Fuck, it really did hurt to look at her. Draco felt miserable. She was right there, and he didn’t know what the hell to do. If he had her, he’d lose her, and if he ended things now, he’d lose her. Either option was unacceptable, but there didn’t seem to be a third.