Malfoy’s tone isn’t mocking, his words aren’t met with sniggers from the other two. It gives her pause, and she swallows her mouthful of wine. She spares a glance to Theo, who is watching her with a gentle curiosity, his fingers cradled under his chin. Zabini looks much the same, his ankle resting over his knee, with an aristocratic carelessness she can never hope to imitate.