"Right," he says to her the next day, once he's returned from his day's duties and washed, and changed into pyjama trousers and a tee-shirt. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione can see that his bony feet are bare, and his hair is golden damp and keeps falling over his eyes. Malfoy looks like any 20-year-old man, if one who likes picking fights, the last of his bruising still just barely visible. He sits down on the edge of the bed, and she can feel his gaze boring into her as she huddles on the armchair and pretends to ignore him. "Right. You need to eat, Granger," he tells her calmly. "It's not optional, anymore."