And she lets go of his hand, wrapping an arm around him and resting her cheek against his chest, heart in her throat as she waits for him do something. Anything. She waits. Malfoy is still as a statue, not even seeming to draw breath. The seconds tick by and Hermione's heart is slowly sinking, leaden – and then suddenly his arms close hard around her as his breath shudders out like a spell broken, his head dropping so that his lips press hard and brief against the crown of her head in a desperate kiss. And then the world twists and spins sickeningly around them, as he disapparates with her, held in the circle of his arms.