It creaks faintly when it opens at seven past five, and Malfoy limps in, a box under one arm and a look of disgust on his face. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees there is no blood on him, no obvious fresh injury, or sign that he has caused harm. The box is large and flat, scarlet-coloured and tied up with shining silver ribbon, and Hermione is curious peeking over the top of her book. Malfoy shoves the door shut behind him with a careless kick back with one foot, and a wave of his wand resets the wards. He glances at Hermione and his look of disgust blanks away; erased utterly in a second. His eyes go as soft as she ever sees them, which still isn't very, and his mouth shapes into a pressed-together, faint half-smile. There is some kind of deep relief and neediness in his face that she doesn't understand.