"I'd rather Draco wasn't going tomorrow," Hermione admitted, a confession for a confession, an equal exchange. "It's frightening, to think...god, Diagon Alley, where there will be so many Death Eaters and their sympathisers, and not knowing how well the gas will work, or if we can imperio a goblin to get into the vault, or how we'll get back out..." She heaved a breath and stared at her fizzing flute of champagne. "I'm terrified. I'm only going because Draco volunteered, and I won't let him go without me."