Hermione kept thinking about what Draco had told her, and every time she thought about it a nauseous, heart-wrenching sympathy intruded unwelcome on her aching, consuming desire. Draco had only just found out about his father, and he was hurting and drunk and looking to forget – she knew him, knew that that was what he wanted even if he wouldn't admit it – and Hermione was drunk and her judgement was bloody well shot, and oh Merlin, this was a recipe for disaster.