"I know that," Hermione says tartly, annoyance creeping up absurdly. She shuts her eyes for a second and breathes, struggling for control, her heart a wild drumbeat and her breathing ragged and gulping, panic still hot in her veins and making her dizzy. She's had a panic attack; she lost time, Hermione tells herself, trying to take stock. They took Malfoy. She needs him back. She stares at Ron and Harry, wondering why she isn't happier to see them. But mostly all she feels is a weird, numbed awkwardness, and the need to get to Malfoy.