The breakfast meal appeared, a magnificent spread that weighed down the table to creaking as always, and Hermione sighed. She really wasn't hungry right now. She put a dry bit of toast in the very centre of her plate, and shot a sneaky glance at Malfoy. By a stroke of bad – or was it good? – luck, he was looking at her, and they stared at each other for a frozen moment. Then a smile curved his mouth into a lopsided, wistful shape, and Hermione returned a weak echo of it. God, Malfoy was too bloody gorgeous when he smiled like that, and in a strange way it was a relief to be able to admit that to herself instead of steeping in denial.