Draco helped her over to the bed without asking twice. He wasn't going to worry about clothes if she wasn't, although he knew how awful it could feel to be wearing clothes that he had killed in - or worse, tortured in. Torturing tended to be... messier.
He wasn't even going to compare her experience to his own, unless she asked him directly. The situations were entirely different, for one thing; he'd had time to come to terms (as much as he could have done, anyway - it had been very little preparation, in hindsight) with the fact that he needed to take a life in order to survive, in order to keep his family alive. He'd planned it, it hadn't taken him by surprise. He hadn't endured the fear of being attacked by someone else that wanted to kill him, and been forced to defend himself. Whether that made it better or worse, he didn't know. Either way, they both had their justifications that would (theoretically) make it easier to sleep at night, to bear up under the weight of it.
The truth was, though, that even with all his planning and preparation, it had still shaken him to the core. He'd been shocked and horrified that he had managed it, more than a little bit relieved, and utterly sick to his stomach. He hadn't been entirely alone afterward; once he'd gotten away from the castle, his mother had been there, she'd taken care of him. As much as he'd let her take care of him, anyway, which wasn't much, not after the initial shock had passed.
He lay down beside her, watching her, wondering if she was thinking about their past, too. "Yes?" he asked, fingertips brushing the hair over her ear.