The moment between the last of the countercharms and the one word she said stretched out horribly. Worse, when she groaned, he had to tamp down a swell of hope. It could mean anything. Anything at all. (Or it could mean she didn't retain her memories of the Barge; he had always proved to be an aberration, remembering the Barge when others didn't. It could mean seeing him brought back everything. It could mean there was a Reasonable Explanation.)

He felt rather feckless at that moment, dripping blood, wand down, waiting for sentence to be passed. Holding out hope for something so -

When she reached for him, some twisted part inside of him sneered and hissed that this had all been a prank, that she had deliberately set out to hurt him. He knew it was absurd, that Martha would never do such a thing; he could trust her with his life. All the same, he took an involuntary step back, away from her, cradling his injured arm with the other again and eyeing her warily. A wounded animal shying from aid.