"You're in a good mood," Malfoy said at last in a sleep-soaked, drawly sort of voice, and mortifyingly Hermione's breath caught and stomach flipped at the husky, sleepy sound of him – before she looked over and reminded herself that ew, it was Malfoy. Leaning back in his seat with his impossibly long legs stretched out beneath the table and his teacup cradled between both hands, hair mussed in a way that made him look younger than he was, his grey eyes tired but friendly. Perhaps she should take Ginny up on her offer of setting Hermione up on a blind date. It had been far, far too long if Malfoy's morning voice was even vaguely appealing. Even if it had been...she shook herself briskly.