Draco’s hand gripped around Hermione’s shoulders and under Hermione’s arm while her head lolled on his forearm, and he hooked his maimed arm around her waist; forearm pushed into her back to keep her from flopping backward. His stump ached at the pressure as he tried to lift her up and back onto the bed. She was not bloody light. In order to get his maimed arm to reach around Hermione and hold her properly Draco had to lean down and across her, and his face somehow ended up right in front of her left breast, the tip of his nose brushing it through the stretchy fabric of her tank top. Warm and soft, and Draco could have turned his head to the side to avoid her breast but he didn’t. He was weak, and he nuzzled it accidentally-on-purpose as he struggled carefully with her limp body.