Hermione could leave her wand – she didn’t need it except to heal any marks Draco had left on her throat, and she had a turtleneck somewhere to hide them. She could come down and look for it later, once she had cried until her sinuses ached and her eyes were bloodshot. Draco looked at her like he wanted to stop her from leaving as she shuffled over to the pantry door, watching him from the corner of her eye. But with the memory of what they had just done – torn each other apart with unforgivable words – looks weren’t going to be enough to change Hermione’s mind. She couldn’t stay if he didn’t give her a good reason. She couldn’t go through a repeat of what they’d done; all that hate, twisted into something else that disturbed her, made her feel wrong.