She bit her lip, worried by just how awful he looked, and wishing there was something she could do to help him; but when he avoided her the way he had, her options were rather limited. Hermione supposed she could scramble onto the table, throw herself across it and tumble Draco and herself to the floor, put her mouth firmly on his and kiss the living daylights out of him. Her nose wrinkled as she imagined the stink of stale alcohol on his breath – not that that would stop her, if kissing him had any chance of snapping him out of his stupor. But she rather suspected it would just embarrass them both enormously, and piss Draco off even more.