Hermione looked up at Draco from where she was standing, buried in his comforting embrace. What a question to ask at such a moment. Of course she wasn’t all right and would never be all right again. And the pain from the Draught wasn’t to blame this time, it had started to subside. On the other hand, the guilt... but no. If she tried to process it, she would crash. Burn. Disintegrate. It was a miracle some higher power from above hadn’t eviscerated her. The magnitude of the crime they had committed, the sheer evil of it... No, she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t allow herself to think. Forward, ever forward. Turn off your mind.