"Cecily," Draco kept his voice smooth, low, and as calm as he could in the face of that rather off putting smile. She gave off an unmistakable air of violence, of danger. It was notable in the way she stood, in the way she moved, in the handles of at least three daggers that Draco could see peeking out behind her back, off one thigh, and across her chest. Her wand was nowhere in sight. Draco had to assume she didn't need it to turn them all into puddles. There was something about her that made Draco uneasy, and not just because she was an assassin who was likely fully capable of disemboweling him without breaking a sweat. It was almost like madness. Something that erred a little too closely to Bellatrix's particular brand of insanity. It made the hairs on Draco's arms stand on end, made the back of his neck break out in a cold sweat. He wondered if the others felt it too, though he opted not to look around and check.