Draco wanted to do it again, and do it right this time. To give Hermione what she should have had this afternoon. He'd ruined it for her; her first time and he'd ruined it, and he couldn't change that, but maybe he could make up for it. And Draco thought of long nights drowning in Hermione's body, hand on her bare, hot skin, mouth on her nipples, and her pussy, making her come, making her moan and wriggle and beg for more. And he told himself that he couldn't do that, that he'd fucked up his only chance, and fuck, that hurt. It was enough to make him question his decision to end things. Today had been like getting a taste of something so fucking delicious, and then taking it away from himself. It seemed so bloody stupid, when he looked at that way.