He wrenched his rant to a stop as Hermione turned her head toward him, tucking her loose bits of hair behind her ears, and Draco saw the tears wet on her cheeks. She wiped them away with the end of her sleeve, and nodded dumbly, wounded eyes flicking to his, nodding again. Draco stood there with his bottle in hand, feeling dizzy and hot and like he had just wrung a kitten's neck, feeling like a fool and a git and a total, unredeemable arsehole. Except it was true, everything he'd snarled at her in his blinding, gasping anger. He couldn't do it.