Harry continued, stumbling in his haste to get the words out. "Sh... she's left. She's gone." He reached for the folded slip of paper on the island and held it out to Draco with trembling hands. Gone was certainly better than dead but it still didn't make any sense. Hermione... gone? Not a chance. She wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t leave any of them. It wasn't who she was. And if she had, which she had not... if she had gone either voluntarily or by force, he would bloody well go after her. They had promised. When Draco didn’t immediately respond or otherwise show any outward reaction to his words, Harry approached him cautiously, as if he were a cornered animal (or, more accurately, a cornered snake), paper held out towards him.