He prayed to every god he'd ever heard of that one of the three potions he carried would work. If not, hope was not lost, but he was impatient to have Hermione back as she should be. The waiting was torture, even for someone with his degree of patience.
Hogsmeade certainly looked different from the way he remembered it. It was nothing more than a ghost town now. It had been mostly destroyed right after Hogwarts castle fell, and the few survivors had dispersed across the rest of Britain; a few even found their way to Nuestro Aliso, where he and Hermione had been so happy for their short time.
He looked down at her, trotting along beside him, and knew in his heart that they would be happy again, even holed up in what was left of the Slytherin dungeon, no matter what his friends, or even hers, might think about it.
It was just a matter of finding the right potion. Draco had worked tirelessly on the three variations Hermione was most confident would work. That was probably the reason he'd got careless with the last cauldron of potion he was brewing, Blaise told himself. Lack of restful sleep did tend to make one careless. At least he hadn't had an accident with one of the transformation potions. That would have been all they needed, to have both of the best Potions makers giving instructions to the ones brewing reversal potions by pushing blocks around the floor with their noses.