Draco never turned so fast in his life, his eyes drinking Hermione in while he had a chance. He expected her to march to the far end of the table, eat her own dinner, then leave—the way she’d been doing for the past few days—but she didn’t. Instead, she marched straight over to them, holding tightly onto a book, determination in her features and not a hint of surprise upon noticing them talking to each other. She must have noticed, though, for her eyes bounced from Potter to Draco before she slammed the book on the table. Draco immediately recognised it—