"You're awake." Malfoy's voice is hoarse but welcome to Hermione's ears, and her eyes follow the sound of his voice and fall on him. He sits at his desk looking over his shoulder at her. Shirtless in the streaks of morning light coming through the gaps in the curtains, the bandages that wind around his torso blooming dark brownish-red and pale yellow in places where the blood and weeping fluids have seeped right through the layers of gauze. There are dark bruised hollows under Malfoy's eyes, and his complexion is ashen; he looks dreadful, his state highlighted by the beam of morning sun cutting over him.