"Thanks," she told him numbly, automatically, and released her incarcerous and Draco nodded, white and strained and sickened, and she wondered if he was remembering Madame Rosemerta and suddenly thought how awful that year must have been for him. She straightened and scanned the room; almost everyone was going down as the gas hissed out – swaying and toppling, goblins littering the floor like the sprinkles on Draco's birthday cake yesterday.