"I know. I understand," Hermione said softly, and leaned forward to kiss Draco's cheek gently, not knowing what else to do or say in the wake of his confession. It was only meant to be a comforting, meagre gesture; all she knew to do, except Draco's eyes flashed open all molten silver and pain, and his hand ripped from hers and grabbed her hair, twined in the mass. He pulled her mouth to his, all hard, edges and desperation, mouths meeting, and he tasted like hints of chicken broth and the bitterness of his last dose of pain potion, and he moaned not with pleasure but pain as he pushed up into the kiss.