"Well, these are very interesting," he mused in a strangled, breathless voice and Hermione's face contorted into an involuntary expression of revulsion as she stared at him. He'd gone into that cold, ruthless headspace again, that place he seemed to go when he thought he needed to kill, and as always it left her feeling like she didn't know him at all. Like he was Malfoy the Death Eater, only fighting on her side. But he wasn't Draco, not her Draco, not at all. Except he was. She clamped a hand over her stomach as it threatened to start revolting on her again; whether thanks to the carnage or the poison she'd inhaled, she didn't know and didn't really care. And then Draco was looking at her, his gaze boring into her.