"What do you need?" Malfoy breaks the silence at last, straightening and pushing away from the door. Her handprints still stand livid on his cheek. His eyes are dreadfully, horribly ashamed. "What do you want?" Hermione stares blindly at his bare, pale chest as she turns the questions around and around in her head. He gave her a choice. She has a choice. It feels nearly alien after having been given none this past week or more, but also so, so good. She loves him for giving it to her, instead of just assuming.