Hermione remembered the moment he was talking about. It was a few days after Ron’s poisoning. When she’d gone in to check on him, he was asleep, so had left him to rest, and was sitting in a corner of the hallway outside the hospital wing. Draco had just left the wing, looking positively ill. He clearly had thought the hallway was empty, and he’d dropped onto a bench, and buried his face in his hands. Hermione remembered how miserable he’d looked, how hopeless. He’d glanced up with watery blue eyes and saw her, sitting in the corner. Hermione had grabbed her wand. She thought he’d curse her, call her a mudblood,  something.  Instead, she wouldn’t forget the panicked fear in his eyes at her presence, the way he’d stood up abruptly, stalking away, shaking his head and wiping his eyes. 