"Well," Blaise says. "A month or so ago, I would’ve said art history. But—I don’t know." His eyes narrow shrewdly, the way they used to whenever he’d sniff out Draco’s bullshit in school, which had been often. He gestures at Draco with his glass, swirling it around grandly. "Something else is going on. You look... different. From the last time I saw you, you look different. Well-rested, perhaps?"