"Mm," is all he says in answer, as the hedging closes around them, everything dusted white like icing sugar atop a cake, and Hermione wonders despite herself what it is that weighs so heavy on him, tonight. She can't help wondering what he saw, at the revel. What he did. Has he ever...done to someone else what he did to her? She can't ask him those questions though. She can never ask him those questions. Instead she tries to blot them out, to think of anything but that. She lifts her eyes to watch him as they wander deeper into the maze – his face in profile. Malfoy has a woollen hat on that covers his ears and a thick scarf, the tip of his nose and his cheeks ruddy with cold, his features clear and calm with grave composure, and then his tongue darts out over his full lips, and warmth trickles through her at the sight and suddenly it is not so hard to think of good things.