"I don't know. I might – I might still...I might still be able to pull this off. I don't know." Malfoy stammers when he speaks, holding Hermione close to him, his heart thundering and the slightest tremble to his body. He shifts his grip on her, scrubbing his hand angrily through his fine, pale hair, his brow furrowed with crawling thoughts. "My master – he's going to be furious that I hid your presence from him, but...we might not be dead yet, Granger. We might have a chance." He nibbles at his lip, eyes far away and filled with desperate, chaotic grasping for a way out, before he focuses them sharp and nearly-manic on her, and begins casting healing charms again. "...Maybe."