Oh, that was right; Hermione didn't know. "Pansy defected in part because she was pregnant, and wanted to get rid of the baby, Hermione. It was my father. Work it out," Draco grated and turned on his heel, shoving the porch door open and assuming his customary position at the railing, leaning over it and staring at the grey sky as he sipped from the bottle and tried to calm his racing pulse. Something warm brushed against his elbow and then Hermione's left arm – whole and smooth, with strong, slim fingers and a little white scar on the back of one knuckle – settled beside his maimed arm. The comparison was painful. Hermione leant over the railing beside him and Draco glanced down at her, to see her face was furrowed in thought.