"The food's better earlier," Herman offered, looking at Meaghan's plate and wrinkling his nose. Maybe it was because she'd been pushing them around too long, but her eggs did look singularly unappetizing. The commotion at the Hufflepuff table distracted him for a moment.
It suddenly occurred to Herman that with every mention of He-who-must-not-be-named in the Prophet, it became that much more likely that Meaghan would leave, and he might never see her again. Suddenly overcome by the sense that opportunity was slipping by never to return, he said impulsively, "Meaghan, do you--"
He stopped. If she'd wanted to notice that he liked her, she'd had plenty of opportunities. And in any case, this was clearly a bad time, and it would be much better to leave it lie than to risk...but he couldn't think of any other way to finish the sentence, and he had to say something, so he plunged ahead anyway. "Do you like me, at all?" he asked, lifting his chin and practically glaring at her. If he was going to do this, he wasn't going to do it like a beggar.