"We made it," he agrees, sounding numbed and uncertain, the words nearly lost under the alarm. He'd planned to die; it was what he thought he deserved. It was little wonder he was in shock, now. Hermione doesn't particularly care right now, if she's honest. A wholly selfish, wild joy has spun over her. All that matters is that they are both out, and they're together. Somewhere. Clearly somewhere magically alarmed, presumably belonging to the Order. She lifts her face from Malfoy's chest, lips parting to ask, "Where are we?" when the alarms suddenly stop.