"Morning, Malfoy," Neville greeted him with a nervy kind of grin, and then shuffled his chair an inch or two away from Hermione, as if abandoning her to Malfoy. Hermione couldn't really blame him for wanting to extricate himself from the situation though – she would quite like to do that herself, if it were possible. Unfortunately it wasn't part of the rough plan she had plotted out in her head. A plan that Hermione seemed incapable of implementing. Of course. She sat silently staring at her still-empty plate instead, bar occasional peeks at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye, her palms sweating, so aware of his presence. It was so stupid – she felt like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush.