Now that he spoke so close to her face, she could smell the Firewhisky on his breath. He smelled of heat and cinnamon, and she found that she didn’t mind the scent. But, of course, she would never admit that. Instead, she stuck to her old routine from her previous five years of interacting with Draco Malfoy: "Your breath smells rancid. Try a mint, perhaps?" She smiled, satisfied that her voice sounded clear and level. The opposite of what she was feeling inside: uneasy and unsure.