The two Slytherins left the train with their usual smirks and sneers. Pansy, unlike the rest of their "friends" had waited for Draco after he had told them to leave without him to "attend to his business", and so she alone so far had shared with him the laughter and the hilarity that followed his victory over Potter.
They left the train, now empty, onto the platform, still filled with students, and hushed their laughter and swapped their smiles for smirks. No one but the two of them would see their reality. They strolled briskly (yes, strolling is supposed to be leisurely and slow, but they used that style of movement with speed with the effectiveness that only comes to those who are well practiced) along the platform towards the horseless carriages when suddenly, Pansy stopped.
Draco had gone a good few metres before realising this and, seeing her stood still, gazing at the front of the carriage with a slightly far-away look on her face, he sighed and turned back to her.
"What are you staring at?"
"Draco?" She asked quietly, "What do they look like?"
"The thestrals you mean?" He asked; his voice suddenly quieter, his tone a little more sombre. She nodded; her cold eyes now softer than they usually were in company.
"I don't know." She shook her head and turned to look at him, her face pensive and thoughtful.
"How can you not? You've killed enough." She wasn't saddened by this, merely deep in unusually philosophical thought.
"Yes," he whispered, "But once I've killed them, I never look back."