"Not your fault, Granger." She sat perched on the edge of the bed, her two – whole – hands twining in her lap and looked at Malfoy, fumbling with the fork, staring helplessly at the meat. Hermione had the sudden, totally mad, urge to offer to cut up the corned beef for him. She didn’t. Draco Malfoy, unable to even feed himself properly. Should she be happy? Ron would be gleeful. Harry would be quietly, slightly guiltily pleased. Hermione just felt sad.