"Talking to yourself now, Granger?" Malfoy’s voice cut through the air and Hermione shrieked breathily before she could stop herself, jumping half out of her skin. She stared around the room, gasping and shaking and furious with him for frightening her. And then she saw him. Malfoy was slumped in one corner of the long, low cellar on the packed dirt floor, knees up and his left arm wrapped around them, the other, maimed, arm tucked between his knees and his body. Malfoy’s coat was round his shoulders and yet he looked cold, face paler than usual and still too thin, the arm that hugged his knees trembling a little. Whether his shaking was from the cold or something else, Hermione couldn’t tell. His clothes were still filthy – no one had even bothered to cast an evanesco, it seemed, let alone let him use the bathroom.