"Draco..." Hermione sighed his name. So that was what was wrong – a toxic stew of rejection, anger, and guilt, all bubbling over. She pushed him back until the back of his legs hit the bed, and he sat down abruptly with an oof of surprise, and pulled his hand away from hers, drove it through his hair angrily. His head was bowed and his shoulders slumped; the picture of defeat, and Hermione wrung her hands together, feeling helpless. "It doesn’t matter," she said in a small voice, wanting him to believe it and knowing even as she said the words that he wouldn’t. But she didn’t expect what he did do.