"You haven't accepted it. You can't. Because you love him, and you haven't accepted that." She sounded so fucking sure, so confident of herself, and Draco let out a rasping sigh and grimaced, trying not to let her words settle into him, trying to throw them off and not think about it; because his father raped Pansy, his father cut off Draco's hand, and how could you love someone who did those things? How could you still love them and not be some sort of twisted monster yourself? Hermione had planted seeds in his head, and now Draco couldn't stop thinking about what he tried so hard to repress for so long.