Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the familiar urge to scream that he was too good and too kind and that girls who killed their parents didn’t deserve good and they didn’t deserve kind. But they’d fought that fight long ago—over and over and over again, until her cheeks were soaked with tears and Draco was on his knees, begging her to just let him help her, just this once—and it isn’t worth rehashing, not today. Not when she would probably lose. Instead, she pressed her lips to the bare skin beneath her face. 