"Why do I care?" she echoes, filled with hurt and disgust, and then echoes him again – angrier this time and just as hurt. "What is it to me?" The tears prick behind her eyes like needles, and she wants to throw something at him in fury, because he should know that he means something to her, and she's sure he does. "You know, you bastard. You know what you – you know what you mean to me. You know that I –" Hermione snaps her mouth shut then, slamming a hand over it, cheeks blazing suddenly hot because he doesn't know that. Not that. At least, he didn't – but she sees the flicker of something in Malfoy eyes as she stops herself – the slight drop of his jaw, and the spasmodic clenching of his fist, the horror of suspicion taking subtle shape on his face.