Hermione racked her brain, trying to claw up some sort of plan, some kind of solution. But they had no brooms and the cart had whizzed back up the tracks, and the tracks were far too high up anyway, for them all to get to. They were stuck, she realised bleakly. It was Russia all over again. Her hand found Draco's and after a start and a pause, his fingers clamped bone-achingly tight around hers. They didn't look at each other though. And then Hermione's unfocused eyes slid over the blank-faced goblin jiggling the bag of clankers absently in his hand, and it came to her in a flash of what she liked to think was pure genius.