Malfoy was talking to Harry still – answering questions it looked like, but Hermione couldn’t make out what he was saying. The couch he was sitting on afforded her a not-quite profile view of him, mostly seeing the back of his head, the corner of his mouth moving as he spoke, the end of his sharp nose, his left hand gesticulating apathetically ever so often. Hate and fear trickled through Hermione’s veins in equal quantities. But she didn’t panic again.