Malfoy had procured him breakfast from Merlin knew where, and he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t even looked Harry in the eye. Instead, he sat beside him —in his usual spot— and picked thoughtlessly at his own breakfast, knee bouncing rapidly. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say Malfoy was nervous. Which was strange. Because he was always shoving stuff down Harry’s throat anyway. Why should this be any different?