"Okay, Hermione. Okay. We're not going to hurt him," Cho says, as if Hermione's a particularly dim child. Maybe she sounds like one. Her limbs feel trembly and she can't get a breath, and Malfoy is standing there staring at her, pain etched on his features and worry for her filling his eyes, his mouth a hard, thin line. Cho mutters an aside to a nearby wizard that sounds like, "Get Harry and Ron here, now."