Merlin, Nymphadora was right. Draco did wish he could take everything back, or make it all right. The knowledge that he'd made a terrible mistake had been growing in him for days now, gnawing on his insides, and even copious amounts of alcohol did little to dull it. Nymphadora's indignant, scolding lecture had only solidified Draco's regret into something he couldn't ignore any longer. He had been a stupid fucking coward, trying to steep himself in denial, and run from the possibility – the near certainty – of being hurt. But he hadn't saved himself or Hermione from any pain; he'd just brought it on them sooner. Draco couldn't run away from how he felt, just like he couldn't run from the trial looming in his future, if they won.