"It doesn't matter." He drops his hand from his mouth and backs away with marionette-awkward steps, sitting down at the table and gesturing for her to take the other chair. She edges closer. The food – piled on two large platters in the middle of the table – smells delicious, and Malfoy takes generous helpings of everything for his own plate. It tempts her gnawing belly, but she's focused on why the man keeping her alive is noticeably and rather horribly battered.