"But I wouldn’t have done it." Draco’s hand slithered down her throat, over her collarbone and shoulder, down her arm. "But I did, and I can’t ever get rid of that. I can’t wipe that fucking slate clean. I am the person who took children to brutal, bloody deaths, and then disposed of their bodies afterwards. I will never not be that person. Do you understand?" Draco ground out, fingers clamping down on Hermione’s arm unconsciously, and she nodded, ignoring the pain, not wanting to break the moment.