Their eyes lock. He waits, as she searches with dry lips for the right thing to say. The thing that...that is right. An odd, detached hysteria flails in the back of her head as she stares into the eyes of the man who was forced to violate her, forced to murder, forced to torture, all in the name of the Light. And how does he not hate them? How does he not hate himself? How does he not go mad? She stares at him with her mouth hovering open on the verge of words she cannot find, because all she can think about is how doing the right thing has damned him just as surely as doing the wrong thing would have. The person he has tortured or killed just now is no less dead, or hurt, because Malfoy was doing it for the Order, for the greater good.