Draco rolled onto his back and stared up at the cellar ceiling, trying to wet his cracked lips with a dry, muzzy tongue. He felt like hell, and the feeling only got worse as he remembered everything that had happened yesterday all over again. The argument in the pantry, the way he had been so fucking cruel, so roughly, bitingly horrible to Hermione, and made her love it despite herself. Draco remembered how her body had shaken like a stunned bird's as she had cried for those few moments in his arms afterwards. And now it was over and done with, and Draco suspected he would never have to worry about Hermione bothering him again.