Zabini looked at Hermione and she bristled under the inspection. His eyes ran over her hair, and the stretched-out jumper she had pulled on that morning, and she had never felt quite as inadequate. "More of a sparrow, I'd say," he said.   He flung himself down into a chair and stretched his feet out. His shoes gleamed with workmanship that made even Malfoy's look cheap and Hermione itched to knock what was left of her cold coffee onto them.  "So, spill it," he said. "What's going on?" 