In contrast, Draco was smirking. As Hermione’s gaze collided – almost unwillingly – with his, his grin grew wider, wickeder, as though he knew precisely what she was thinking. Specifically, she was thinking that he looked like a fallen angel: his lips were red and lashes long without cosmetic aid, his face so perfect she clenched her fist behind her back to make sure she had not unwittingly reached out to touch it. The amusement in his eyes made her blood heat. Blaise was handsome, yes, but Draco – for whatever reason – took her breath away.