"It’s... Hermione." Draco’s entire body froze, muscles locking into place, as the implication of Harry's statement sunk in. Draco had asked who had died... Harry had said Hermione. And that wasn't possible. Draco had seen her that morning - he had stopped off in her room before going to the Ministry. She had still been asleep and hadn't woken when he'd run a hand down her tousled hair and kissed her forehead, the same thing he had done every morning for the last several weeks. She didn't often venture out of her room until midday, if she did at all. She hadn't been outside since coming with Harry and Ron to stay with him a couple of weeks after the Battle. She hadn't even ventured out onto the terrace or near the wall of windows on the main floor since taking up residency here. He knew, they all knew, that she was struggling with the War, with what had happened at the Manor and during the Battle, but her behavior hadn't been concerning enough for any of them to suspect she was suicidal. She had been quiet, yes. She had been isolating herself, but she never missed dinner with the three men, and was a part of the conversations and debates that often raged across the dining table or in the library over one too many drinks. Certainly nobody had broken into Green House to cause her harm. Not only was it impossible but, if by some small chance someone managed to break the wards without alerting him, she was more than capable of defending herself. She couldn't be... dead. Surely, he would know, would have felt it, right? Yes, he would definitely know.