Draco had always had a unique look, memorable if not handsome. But those features, arrogant and attractive in youth, had sharpened, and it was difficult to characterize him as anything but distinctive now. Thirty years of Azkaban would weather anyone. The deep lines at the creases of his eyes and the angles of his mouth spoke of elemental exposure, and chronic malnourishment had made his lean face skeletal. His chin, jaw, and cheekbones jutted below wan skin, accentuated by hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. His eyes were still that unusual silver-grey and sat like matte stones beneath the shadow of his brow. None of their former light remained, and Hermione’s heart sent out one, powerful beat when she realized it.