Hermione smiled to herself at the earnestness in Draco's voice, and snuggled a little closer back against him, the little spoon to his angular, bony one. He was still too thin after all that time spent skipping meals and replacing them with alcohol. Maybe it was time to start him on something other than broth now, but the damage to his throat really had been extensive; more than he realised, she thought. And even though it was nearly healed, Sylvan thought it was best to be cautious. So broth it had been, much to Draco's chagrin. She blinked and cleared her sleepy head, realising that Draco was waiting quietly for her to respond, breathing slow and warm into her hair. His arm had grown stiff around her, and Hermione wondered at how he could be insecure after everything that had happened. He should know that she loved him.