She had walked down the stairs tonight and there had been a sharp hot pain in his chest. Happiness and anger and desire, all twined together inextricably. Draco suspected that he had started caring more about Hermione than was safe, so it was very fortunate that he didn’t give a fuck about safe anymore. There was nothing safe or right or good anymore – it had all crumbled to dust and ashes in his hands long ago. Draco couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it had begun, but he considered taking the Mark the tipping point. And now he had lost his father, his home, his neatly mapped out future; and even though he still had his mother, something was broken between them and he didn’t think it could be fixed.