She was silent when he walked into her cell, barely shifting when the door snapped shut. Draco offered a rudimentary greeting, but she just sat with her face pressed into her hands, her hair haloing around her. For a second, she reminded him of an oil painting that Natlee had dragged him to see when they vacationed to Thinvuna nearly fifteen years earlier—a portrait of brown and blue paint that he’d simultaneously struggled to look at while being unable to look away.