Her brain flashed back to what Draco had said to her earlier in the day. Good luck, Hermione, with his hand on her wrist as they stood at the bottom of the stairs that now bisected Hermione’s life into the Draco-part and the Order-part. And then because he was Draco Malfoy, he’d added, and for fuck’s sake, none of this "noble Gryffindor’ shit. Use spells that are going to hurt. You know the Death Eaters will. Don’t fucking die because you won’t do what needs to be done, you hear me?