They struggled to sit up, all tangled together, Hermione clinging to Draco and not making it any easier. He hefted her over to the side of the bed, swinging his legs over the edge and she ended up in his lap and burying her face against his chest, her hands sliding lightly up and down his sides under his shirt and his hand coming up to cup the back of her head. His maimed arm was around her waist and she could feel the lack of a hand where one should be, and that space on her back where there should be a splay of long fingers felt so empty. Her heart panged and twinged for him, and more selfishly for herself and for them when they were like this.