"Granger?" He squeezes gently and she stares into his eyes. She can see the pain in the crinkles at his eyes and the lines carved around his mouth, the infinitesimal strain in his voice. "Granger. Be brave. Okay?" His smile wavers but lifts her spirits a fraction anyway. "You're a Gryffindor. It should come easily to you," he says then, and she actually huffs the shadow of a laugh. Two of his fingers tap her knee in an odd little pat, and then he is straightening to his feet, pushing his fringe off his forehead and breathing deeply and slowly. She can see the subtle transformation take place, his eyes becoming cold and flat, his features turning to stones, his whole demeanour altering, from scared and fumbling to ruthless and indisputably deadly.