Draco didn’t know exactly what it was that set him off. Was it her tone? Was it her continued presence, here, in   his   space? Was it the way she held him in her eyes, the way she never wavered? Her hand,   still   on his arm, warm through his sleeve? Or was it simply that he, Draco Malfoy, was a complete and irrevocable arsehole, determined to ruin everything that could ever matter to him?