"What do you want?" Draco half-moaned, fist clenching the sheet so hard that the muscles trembled, staring at Hermione with his head canted to one side, waiting for her to come up with a good fucking answer. Why was she doing this? His guilt was killing him, and she was twisting the knife. She drew the blanket up higher around her, and shrugged, mouth a pained twist and eyes looking not at him, but past him.