It was too much, all too fucking much, and then the bottle of firewhiskey impacted the wall – an explosion of dark amber and bright shards and Draco hadn't even decided to hurl it he just had, and in the same second was up on his feet, pacing, pacing. He was a coil of tension and rage and hate, all the epithets he'd ever heard spewing low and vehement from between bloodless lips, breath coming in little jerky rasps as his fingers dragged at his hair. He tried to wrap his mind around the facts but they were sharp and hurtful and dug into him, tearing at him as he tried to process the truth.