Hermione found the splintered disagreement painful to listen to, couldn't outright agree with either side, and she wasn't inclined to play mediator along with a haggard Lupin, and so her eyes drifted back to Draco. Her fingers traced lazy, absent patterns on the scarred wooden table top as she eyed him carefully, her muscles wound tight as springs despite her efforts to look casual. He was too pale and his skin looked unhealthily translucent, his usually sharp grey eyes dulled and cast in bruises, the line of his cheekbone and jaw too harsh, skin looking stretched paper thin over his bones. Hermione could tell he had lost weight – and a rather large amount in such a short period of time. Perhaps he hadn't been coming upstairs for food, but just yet more alcohol.