"It's nice to be appreciated," Sylvan said in that happy, ridiculously serene tone he seemed to always use – no matter how much Draco had sworn at him when he was still delirious – and Draco lost patience. He shoved himself off from the wall and stalked outside, ignoring Hermione's clutch at his shirtsleeve as he brushed past her. Draco suddenly didn't want to fucking well go back to Godric's and the fucking war. He didn't want to. He walked faster. Get it over with. It was the waiting that was the worst. The insufferable bloody limbo. It grated on him, rubbing him raw. He hadn't expected that.