"Oh fuck you, Malfoy," Harry spat through the door indignantly, but a moment later there was silence. He had achieved what Hermione presumed he had wanted to do though; Harry’s voice had brought reality crashing back in. Harry had wrenched Hermione back into the real world. And she realised she was stark naked, lolling over Draco, and the scars on her chest and abdomen were pressed against his bare skin, one of the ones on her arm clearly visible. And the memories intruded, sour and stale and even worse when contrasted with how Hermione had just been feeling. So good, and Harry, damn him, had ripped that away too soon. She scrambled off Draco without a word, hunting madly for his shirt, snatching it up and wrapping it around her, falling back against the wall and meeting Draco’s confused eyes.