"Granger, Granger, I didn't...it was you," he says cautious and bewildered from the bed, nearly apologetic, and Hermione huffs a tearful breath because he's right damn him, and she feels like an idiot. "But I won't," he goes on, lying on his side in trousers and bandaging, pushing himself back up with an elbow and a stifled whimper, his eyes fixed to her as he speaks. The steady care in those grey eyes makes Hermione feel warm and safe despite herself, and that makes her feel sick to her stomach. He picks his words carefully, only sounding faintly drunk. "I won't ever touch you like that without your permission when we're alone. I swear, Granger. Do you understand? You're in control in here, when it's just us, not me, okay? You know that, don't you?"