"You were talking in your sleep," Malfoy says in a tight, strained voice as he yanks the tee shirt on over his head. Hermione remembers; snippets and drifts. His eyes flick over to her, wary, guilt written in the way he holds his mouth and ducks his face a little. Please, Malfoy, don't. Please. Yes, she remembers. He swallows hard, staring at the floor, his hair an unruly mess and his hands fidgeting at his sides. "Do you want me to go?"