Still silence from Draco, and Hermione knew he was desperately trying to formulate a plan – she knew him. She could picture what he looked like, crouched against the end of the counter there, his forehead furrowed and face cold. Determined and calculating. And then she heard him snarl Avada Kedavra so fast it was a slur of sound and a wizard near her collapsed and the Death Eaters snarled and shuffled uneasily. Hermione moaned and bit her tongue – she had seen him briefly – a flash of him – as he'd spun out of cover to cast the Unforgivable, and he hadn't looked cold and calculating – the lines of his white, bloodied face had been stark and desperate. He'd lost it – lost that ruthless control that had kept him alive for so long, and that scared Hermione, a chill that seeped into her very bones.