"Aguamenti." Oh god, it's so good. Hermione is greedy and shaking, gulping it down without thought to how desperate and vulnerable she must seem, her fingers clutching hard at his warm, strong ones as she fills her mouth to overflowing with the liquid. It tastes faintly sweet compared to the stagnant, filthy fare she's gotten over the past six days. It spills down over her chin and wets her clothing and she relishes that, feeling gloriously decadent. And then all too soon Malfoy ends the charm, and she moans in protest. "You can have some more soon," he says uncomfortably as she presses in closer to him, mumbling "more, more" and things that she isn't even cognizant of, slurring pleas incoherently. "You can, Granger. Just – just you should have some food, too."