He will be here, alone, struggling to survive the aftermath of brutal torture with no one to care for him. And even if – when – he recovers from it, he will still be alone, forced to do horrible things that she knows tear him apart, his life hanging in the balance every moment, and she might never see him alive again, and the thought is unbearable. She loves him. She loves Draco Malfoy in a way she has never loved anyone before – not like the disappointing crush on Ron, or the thrill of Viktor's interest, but a deep pulling tug toward him as though he's driven hooks into her heart, and her escape will wrench them out, leaving holes that won't fill. Hermione tries not to cry. She tries. But the tears start flowing as she stands there at the bedside, and she buries her face in her hands, feeling stupid and sweaty and utterly shaken. Like a blubbering idiot, she can't stop herself from crying.