Draco’s humor, in school, had been cruel and childish. But right then, it was anything but that. Instead it cut her deep, the cold realization that someone very close to Draco was being put into that black bag hitting Hermione like a ton of bricks. Or rather, like another person’s body- because a moment later Draco was embracing her, and Hermione was quickly catching on. She hid her face in his chest, and began to shake her shoulders just enough to be noticed, all the while watching around them through a veil of her bushy hair. It was uncomfortable to be held by Draco, and it wasn’t because it was a physical issue. It was because the other man was suddenly so much realer- not just an idea of torment or purism. He was flesh and blood.