Tears ran down Draco’s cheeks and he didn’t bother trying to hide them, or the ragged sobs that hitched from his throat – he didn’t give a fuck if Weasley noticed. Draco was coming to pieces; in pain, exhausted, and he really didn’t give a shit anymore. Except about Hermione. There was nothing that could hurt him anymore, he thought, except for losing Hermione. She was in worse shape than him and Draco didn’t know how she managed to keep pushing herself onward, except that she was a fierce fucking Gryffindor and they never gave up. It was only a little bit further; he repeated Hermione’s words back to himself. They would make it. They had to make it.