He is smiling in the dark, she knows it, and he is crying and she knows that too because she can feel the tremor of his fingers around hers, and when she reaches out she can feel that wetness of tears on his cheeks over top of the dried blood. And every time she stops in her halting, fairy-tale narrative of how their lives will unfold, to take a breath, or lick her cracked lips with a thick, swollen tongue, Draco whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hermione," through his tears, like his heart is broken and he hates himself. She wishes he would stop because she doesn't have any regrets, and she wishes he understood that.