"Blaise!" Draco roared his friend’s name again and Hermione’s eyes flicked to him; listing on his feet like he was about to faint, with his maimed arm hanging oddly and the right side of his armour drenched with blood, tiny bits of Amycus’ flesh stuck to his armour. Hermione swallowed down vomit. His hair was more red than platinum and all matted, and his face was painted in black soot and crimson blood, dried and new – and his eyes stared out of that gory mask, wrecked and pleading. "No. Blaise...don’t."