"My master might expect us to..." Malfoy pauses and his mouth works without a sound coming out, his features strained and cheeks flushing faintly. He stops, and looks out the window again, squinting into the sunlight that streaks his face. Hermione's hands ball up into fists as she expects with a sense of dread what will come next. "Use it," he finishes coldly but with a slight unsteadiness to the words, unable to look at her as he says them. "At – at another revel, or something similar, perhaps. He...likes his entertainment."