“You don't want me to,” he said after studying her for a second longer, his mouth twisting in the corner. “Don't try to force yourself into something because you feel obliged in some way.”
He turned on his heel and headed towards the door.
“No,” she said, standing up, her voice sharp. “Don't go.”
He froze.
She swallowed, throat tightening. “I want you to stay. I do. It's just — sometimes — sometimes—” She tripped over the words as she tried to explain. “My memories are out of order — I can't always remember—” She swallowed. “Stay. I want you to. I don't want to be alone.”
She stepped carefully towards him. “Will you?”
Her fingers were trembling as they brushed against the back of his hand. She was half-braced that he might jerk back or shove her away. She swallowed and edged closer, studying his face. His expression was a mask.
She looked down and slipped her fingers into his hand. She was hardly breathing, and her hand started shaking visibly.
This would be fine. Just breathe and it would be fine.
She closed her eyes and drew a short, quick breath. The sound filled her ears.
“Hermione,” Draco's voice made her eyes snap open as she looked up. He was staring down at her with a closed expression. “Don't do this.”
He carefully took hold of her wrist and pulled his hand free of hers, fingers tightening for a moment. “I'll come see you tomorrow.”
“No.” She grasped his hand again. “No. Don't go. I don't want you to go. I just — I just—” her jaw trembled so much she struggled to speak. “I don't—” she swallowed and looked up at him. “I only want to hold your hand. I don't want to — I can't say no if you — because of the—”
Draco's eyes flickered, and his hand in hers twitched away.
She stared down at their hands, her hold tightening. “Just stay,” she said, inhaling sharply. “I want to know you're not — somewhere else.”
Hermione's heart racing until the blood roared in her ears, but she squared her shoulders and forced herself to walk towards her bed.
It crossed her mind that maybe she should have agreed to a different room. Then it wouldn't be the same bed.
She steeled herself, pushing the thought away. It would still be a bed. She'd still be lying on it and trusting him not to hurt her.
She trusted him. She knew she trusted him. Always.
She laid down on the far side of the bed and curled on her side, staring at him. He sat down slowly on the other side and looked so uncomfortable he seemed on the verge of apparating straight out of the room. She reached towards him.
His fingers twitched before he extended his hand and entwined their fingers.
He leaned against the headboard. He didn't appear to have any intention of sleeping. She studied him, tracing her eyes over his face, trying to memorise him again.
The more clearly she remembered him, the more overtly she could see the ways he'd changed. He looked spent, visibly ground down to the point that it showed in his features.
His fingers twitched in her hand.
He had tremors that didn't feel like typical cruciatus muscle damage. They felt psychosomatic; the long-term consequence of cruciatus. Torture had been so overused on him that the effects had become permanent.
Voldemort had punished him repeatedly for his failure in catching the last Order member; the person responsible for destroying the locket Umbridge had worn.
Hermione's throat closed and she gripped his hand tighter. “You—” her voice caught. “You destroyed the horcrux the way you did because you hoped it would force Voldemort to still recall Severus in February. Didn't you?”
He stared at her and then glanced away, moving his chin slightly in acknowledgment.
There was a hollow sensation in her chest as she thought back on all the occasions she'd noticed he'd been tortured. All those times she told herself not to care, that he deserved it.
Daily, for over a month.
“I am so sorry, Draco,” she said.
He stiffened as though the words had struck him and nearly jerked his hand away from her.
“Don't apologise to me. You don't have anything to apologise for.” He snapped the words out as though he were on the verge of snarling.
Hermione stared at him in silence until he looked away from her.
“You're angry at me, aren't you?” she finally asked.
Draco stared across the room, his expression unreadable. “That doesn't mean you have any reason to apologise to me.”
Hermione studied him. “Why not?”
“Because—“ he blinked, “—I have to apologise first, and I—” he looked up at the canopy over the bed. “and I—”
“Draco...”
“Christ, Granger,” his voice was ragged, and he ran a hand through his hair. “You have no idea how much I'd hoped you'd never remember anything once you came here. What I wouldn't do to go back and get it right. If I hadn't told you I'd blown my cover — if I'd lied and not tried to say goodbye, none of this would have happened to you.”