He cocks his head to the side in such a typical Malfoy way that there is  no  possibility in this, or any other,  world that this is not him. White curls fall onto his forehead, spilling on his face like snow. "Technically, I am dead." A wink. He’s mocking her—  always  mocking her, one way or another. "That’s what your books say about demons, don’t they? That we are the Devil’s army of the dead."