It took her a while, but at last she got him propped comfortably up on a stack of pillows in the bed, tucked in neatly with the thin bandage across his throat a stark white. She sat in the chair by the bed, a glass of water in hand, giving him sips of it through a straw. Draco watched her intently, talking in between sips in that rough, tortured voice, mostly bits of phrases that sounded like nonsense to her. It could have been boring except that Hermione was happy to nod along with whatever Draco said, content in just soaking in the fact that he hadn't died, and that he'd stopped being a stubborn idiot.