Nott was seated in one of the many unoccupied rooms, perfectly still, perfectly silent. He stared at Hermione, waiting for her order, breathing shallowly. His pupils were huge. He was still flushed and his hair askew from how Hermione had gripped it during her feeding. His thigh was still warm from where she had sat on it. On his throat, two punctures slowly healed themselves. The trails of blood that had stained his skin and clothes were still wet and glistening.