"Oh..." she said very small and an aching sympathy erased her frown, and then she was clambering off the bed hurriedly and he shoved off from the door frame and yanked the door shut, trying very hard not to fall down. They met in the middle of her tiny room, and her mouth was tilting up to his and her hands on his back, skin against skin, and his hand twined in her loose hair, his maimed arm wrapped tightly around her waist. He swayed into her weak and wobbly, and they both nearly overbalanced, and she laughed against his lips and kissed him hard. Pulled back a little and they helped each other to the bed – or rather, she helped him to be honest – and he sank onto it, Hermione pressed against his side, her hands all over him, like she was making sure he was real.