Draco looked at Hermione, trying to make his features still and emotionless, but he felt desperate and hollow. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t want to do this. He dreamed about that day sometimes; he didn’t want to hear Hermione relive it in that quiet, brittle voice that trembled with anger at the edges. He woke up in a cold sweat when he had those dreams; gasping, his guilt sharp as a blade in his gut.