"Granger?" Malfoy shuts the door behind him, and looks for Hermione in her usual spot as he pries off his boots, holding a bag in one hand. He looks bone tired – dead on his feet – and the blood splashed over his ashen skin and white shirt don't help him look any better. Worry fills his face and pushes out the weary, numb strain when he doesn't spot her straight away, perched down in her comfortable spot, hidden by the table that sits between them. He tosses the bag onto his desk with a light thump, and she wonders what's inside, but doesn't ask. Sometimes it's better not to know. "Granger?"