"He's – the blood – god, how can he – he be all right? He –" She broke off with a horrible terror racing through her, cold and despairing, thinking of Draco dead. Draco dead, and that dreadful, hollow despair swallowed her up. She couldn't stand it if he died. If Draco died, she didn't want to have to grieve him and then go on with life. Keep going. Keep fighting. Get over him. Heal. Move on. She didn't want to. And yet Hermione knew that she would if he died, and it seemed like it would be some sort of horrible betrayal that right now she couldn't stand.