Hermione buried her face in her hands and started crying in earnest now. About everything. Everyone who had died. Her parents in Australia. Her torture at the Malfoys'. The nightmares that made sleeping a repeat of the torture. She was so tired these days, always so tired. She cried about Malfoy's fingers, torn off because he did what little he dared to help her. And it still hadn't been enough for her. She still hated him and she thought she had every damn right to. But his hand.