If being confined to that bloody bed had been frustrating a minute or so before, it was worse now that Hermione said she should leave. He didn't like it, and it probably showed on his face. Of course, he had no idea what he looked like at that moment.
It was her tone of voice though, he'd heard it before, and it was the same tone he'd heard in his head when he'd read her letters over the summer. The one where she was retreating, from him.
He didn't like it, but there was little he could do about it, which just made him all the more frustrated. He tried to keep that out of his voice though, saying quietly, "Come here, first."
His right arm felt as though it was pinned to the bed, and he thought he'd injured it worse in his attempt to move earlier, but his left arm was fine. He lifted it carefully, reaching out to her, wanting to be able to do something, even if it wasn't much.