Draco had seen him grow into quite the opposite. He had leaned out, grown some muscle, lost the baby fat around his face that made him look younger than his years. Grown into his looks. Gained confidence, too, judging by the way he was staring daggers at him now. Draco had to give him some credit—he’d led a rebellion for this long—however meager—after Potter’s demise. It had been doomed from the start, to be sure, but he’d given Draco plenty of trouble along the way. By now his little group of followers would have heard the news of his death. They would surely lose hope and disband. Draco wondered if any of the remaining would be stubborn enough to keep fighting—but without their precious leader, it was doubtful. Longbottom had the experience and knowledge of the case, without it they would crumble. If they chose to continue their fight, well...they would be easy to track down and dispose of.