He stopped, maybe because she was staring at him.  His grey eyes tried to look steadily back, but the nerves filling them made it hard.  "I can still think," she said.  It was hard.  It was so, so hard.  The majority of her mind just prattled on that he was wonderful, so wonderful, and she was so lucky he was right here, in her bed.  The urge to sniff him crept along her thoughts, but through all of that she had a small tunnel of rationality.  He'd attacked someone today for her.  He'd been suddenly, intensely violent on her behalf and that made no sense at all.  Living with her to keep her alive might be the behavior of any decent person, even one who didn't like her personally.  This continued contact made pragmatic sense.  No one wanted her to go off into a drugged, Veela trance in public.  But getting violent to defend her honor didn't fit into any of that.  It wasn't something Draco Malfoy would do.  "Draco," she said.  "Something's wrong."