Hermione waits for her logic to reboot, for a voice to list out the hundred and fourteen reasons why this is a terrible idea. Caution comes so easily to her, and it has served her so well in the past. But it’s like her thoughts have glitched, and all she feels is here. The phantom of Malfoy’s arms around her linger still—the heat of his body against her back, his breath on her neck. There’s no running monologue, no memory flooding her senses. All she can feel is the presence of her three assailants around the room, and the heavy weight of their attention.