"Are you all right?" Hermione leaned over and whispered up into Draco's ear and he shrugged, one spare, brief movement. Cold and distant; not the Draco he was in private, but the public mask – blank and dispassionate, the only sign of his affection the way he kept his fingers curled around hers. His defiance in snogging the living daylights out of her before in front of Ron and Harry had vanished during his exchange with Ron, and Hermione half wished he'd go back to laying claim on her like some kind of possessive caveman; it was nicer than this distance between them. But his fingertips on hers were real, and there, and it would have to be enough for her.