Draco’s fingers dug involuntarily into Hermione’s back, his teeth grinding together. The fucker. Draco wanted to lay the bastard out, barely restraining himself from trying. He thought maybe it hurt so much to hear Potter say that because it was true. Fuck, it was true. Draco tried not to think about the past these days – tried, but didn’t always succeed. And sometimes what he had done, who he had been just hit him. Like now, thanks to Potter’s handy reminder. Draco began to sink into self-loathing, but was dragged out by Hermione’s voice sliding up several octaves, piercing and angry.