"Indeed," he says, before changing his tone as he addresses her. "Pet," he says, and she knows she can lift her eyes to look at him. Like always, his gaze is mischievous, controlled, conspiratorial. Without her permission, her eyes dart sideways to see Neville’s face. His chair is angled sideways, long legs stretched out beside Draco’s seat. He’s sipping his drink, expression unreadable as he watches her, eyes flicking from her breasts to her face and back. She yanks her gaze back to Draco, who raises an eyebrow at her in warning, but doesn’t comment.