The start of term feast is supposed to be a joyous occasion. They should be celebrating; they should be enjoying themselves. At the very least, they should be talking.
Andromeda does nothing to make these things happen though. She stares helplessly back and forth between Narcissa, who is pushing lettuce leaves around her plate and seemingly on the verge of tears; and Bellatrix, who is alternatively slashing and stabbing at a piece of meat with her knife as if the food has personally offended her.
All three girls cast occasional glances at the Gryffindor table and their traitorous little cousin.