She had been pinned to the Manor floor like an insect, with Draco watching it all. Everything. She had begged for him to help and he hadn’t. Hermione shut her eyes, her hand stretching out toward the ornate cut marks on his abdomen, as though touching his wounds would heal them. She had begged for him to help her, to kill her to make it stop, and although she hadn’t thought so at the time – and for a good long time afterwards – he had done what he could, without getting himself killed.