"Yes it does." She sounds reedy and thin in her fear, as though she can't seem to draw a proper breath. That would be because she can't, and she wonders vaguely if she's having a panic attack. Malfoy's mouth tightens and he looks down at his plate, picking up his knife and fork and sawing too-vigorously at a slice of beef. His knife squeals on the china, cool grey eyes flicking up to meet hers for a second, and his tone is firm and final as he looks back at his dinner plate.