Malfoy’s eyes flickered from Harry’s definitely slightly green face to the desserts on spread. "Here," he said, voice still high with that haughty accent of his, but he’d delivered the plate gently. "Poached pears sit well on an upset stomach; the ginger should help too." And then, as though Malfoy hadn’t just been unnervingly kind, the sneer returned. "Can’t have you being sick on my robes. Or at all for that matter. Ruin the entire House reputation. Poor Potter, his rich famous stomach can’t handle Hogwarts food," he muttered, turning to return to whatever conversation he was having with Crabbe and Goyle. 