They screamed along the tracks in the cart at a breakneck pace, and Hermione bit her lip and held onto the edge of the seat so hard her fingers cramped, barely breathing, hating the speed. It was worse than flying because she didn't even have the slightest control – the Imperiused goblin was operating the cart, and Hermione hoped to god that Draco had really done a good job of imperioing the goblin. He was squashed up against her, lean and thin and all sharp angles, his hand locked around her wrist a comfort, and Ron was on her other side. She was crushed between the two of them so much so that she could barely breathe – six of them hanging onto the cart that was only meant to hold four, and her heart was in her throat.