"You have to eat something," he says in half-angry frustration, standing there before her in dark grey oxford shirt, vest, and dress trousers, waiting with anxious eyes and tense shoulders. Hermione huddles smaller on the corner armchair she has been in since she woke screaming at four am, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She ducks her head to stare at the floor just to the right of Malfoy, and shakes it, hair falling forward like a veil. The soup and toast he brought up on a silver tray sits sadly untouched on the breakfast table across the room, along with a large pot of tea. She isn't hungry. She has spent the past three days not being hungry, nothing passing her lips except water and cups of tea that Malfoy brought up for her, and now, on the fourth day, he is...something more than just worried.