Hermione was shaking uncontrollably now, and Draco’s hand on her wrist felt like a manacle, trapping her. She cried; not sobbing, but a silent rush of tears that bathed her face as she stared at Draco, horror-struck. The hand that held her wrist, that touched her skin, had...cleaned up... God. She wanted to block her ears, wanted to run away, wanted to not have heard that.