And then Draco shoved her hand away with his, the bottle clunking sharply against her knuckles, the liquid inside sloshing weakly. Hermione jerked her hand back, cradling it in her other, her knuckles throbbing as she tried to process the hurt of his rejection. It was what she should have expected, but somehow it still hurt just as much as if it had been a surprise. Draco stood as she stared at him stupidly, and his arm – held defensively across his body – bumped into her breasts. She took a stumbling step back, and his voice pierced her ears, the terse words – get out – ringing in her head. It took Hermione a moment to comprehend them, and impatient, Draco repeated them, more forcefully this time.