Fuck. It made him think of choices, and of Hermione and their own star-bloody-crossed situation. Everything fucking made him think of Hermione – he came out into the serenity of the night to clear his head of thoughts of her, and she was all he had thought of. It was verging on pathetic. No, it was pathetic. Draco sighed and shivered as a chill breeze whipped through his thin shirt – freezing his flesh even more than it already was. He should be in a coat, but he didn’t want to; forcing himself to let the cold beat into him until he felt numbed inside and out. Like some sort of punishment.