Malfoy backs away, turning and making for the table, and she stares blindly after him. All she can see are the soft sheaves of his white-blonde hair shining in the moonlight, and flashes of pale shoulders, glimpses of the lean lines of his back. He feels around on the table – that's right, she'd left his wand there - and whispers a charm. The lamps at the walls flare into life, before settling low and bathing the room in a dull orange-gold glow, and she can see him properly then. It's suddenly easier to breathe. He is less threatening in the soft light; so unlike her fear-filled memories of him.