It hadn't been sex because he had just simply wanted her; it had been all tangled up in what he had just laid bare to her, all inextricably entwined with the horror of his father cutting off Draco's hand while Draco begged him to stop, and Hermione still felt sick about it. It had been like he was desperately trying to... Hermione didn't quite know what. To sink all his pain and hurt and remembered humiliation into her, and exorcise it from himself? Take it out on her? That was what it had felt like. She swallowed hard, still searching for the right thing to say, while he flicked worried grey eyes at her face every few seconds, his lips flattened with nervous tension. The thought of what had prompted Draco to, well, jump her like that was more than a little unsettling.