The bowl of soup sat untouched, it should have been congealed and cold, but it looked as if Narcissa had put a stasis charm on it, still steaming and warm. It took everything in Hermione to not beg Malfoy to let her eat it.
It was obvious he had refused to eat it, his silent rebellion against Narcissa, some unspoken protest or bitter defiance. All night, he'd been seated against the wall, staring blankly into nothingness. But now, he crawled towards the soup, dragging it back to his corner as if it was some lifeline. The gesture was so unlike the boy she'd known at Hogwarts—the arrogant aristocrat who strutted with his chin high, a sharp word always ready on his lips. This Malfoy was different. He slumped to the floor, defeated, his head hanging low, and for the first time, he seemed to lack even a voice.
Slowly, mechanically, he began to spoon the soup into his mouth. He ate half, each bite heavy with hesitation, before pausing and glancing at Hermione. His eyes, distant and clouded with thoughts she couldn't read, stayed on her a moment too long. Then, without a word, he shuffled closer, offering her the half-empty bowl.
Hermione hesitated, her pride knotting inside her, but the hunger gnawed deeper. She reached out, her fingers grazing him in the process. The accidental touch made her pull back for a second, her pulse quickening for reasons she couldn't explain. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He shifted back, his eyes returning to the floor. "You're... welcome," he muttered, retreating to his side of the room
