"Would you rather we did it in front of you, Potter?" Draco made himself relax, made his voice easy and contemptuous; forced back all the fear and impotent anger and weariness, and raised an eyebrow at Potter, smirking faintly. Potter’s left eye twitched, and his face went taut as a death mask, skin stretched thin as parchment and pale as the same. His hand clenched around his wand and he looked like he wanted to Avada Draco on the spot. Draco felt a thrill of satisfaction, quashed when Hermione flashed him a teary, furious stay out of it glare. She obviously wanted to play nice.