Their robes themselves were nothing to write home about. Elegant, yes, expensive, of course, but the same refined black-and-white combination would be worn by almost every male tonight. It was the way they wore them: arrogantly, confidently, with a dash of careless rakishness (Hermione retained enough self-awareness to be horrified at what was undoubtedly the inanest thought she had ever had in her life) which somehow attracted the eye like a magnet. Blaise frankly oozed sensuality. The cheekbones of his unsmiling face could have cut glass; an aura of menace clung to every line of his muscled body, the kind of menace which would have quickened Hermione’s heartbeat – had she not laid eyes on Draco.