"Stop crying," he ordered, trying to be brisk and matter-of-fact, and hopefully snap her out of this. "Stop crying, Hermione. I'm not bloody dead, I'm perfectly fine – despite that completely unpalatable shit you call broth that you and the damned Healer are determined to poison me with. Or drown me in." Hermione snorted a half-laugh, half-sob into Draco's chest, and he wrinkled his nose in mild disgust as he felt slimy dampness on his skin where her face was buried. "And I am not a handkerchief."