"I like her," Ron said appreciatively of Angelina, managing a twitchy sort of grin in her direction. Harry said something joking back to Ron, clapping him on the shoulder, and Hermione's attention drifted with the sounds of the charmed harp playing softly in the background, and her gaze turned to the very outside chair at the back row. Draco sat there looking like he wished he was anywhere else but there, in a charcoal grey silk shirt and black dress trousers, clean-shaven and his hair flopping pale over his eyes. Hermione stared at him and couldn't stop thinking how handsome he looked, how heartbreakingly perfect with those wide-set grey eyes and expressive mouth, and those sharp, angular features. She kept hoping he was going to look up at her, but his eyes were downcast as if he was trying to avoid catching her gaze.