He was terrified and sickened, his ferret-pointed features paler than usual. His grey eyes never met Hermione’s gazing, instead reluctantly lingering on the mutilation his aunt was inflicting, expression nauseated. And that made her hate him more than anyone else in the room. He knew this was wrong – and he still didn’t help her. The others, they were just utterly evil, depraved – and you couldn’t despise conscienceless monsters in the same way you could hate ordinary people that did monstrous things. Or allowed them to take place without trying to stop them. He was ordinary and she hated him.