Hermione’s brow furrowed as she glared at her boss, crossing her arms across her chest, lips pursed. Clicking her tongue, she lightened her expression, if only slightly, “You’re telling me, that Parkinson died,” Rita nodded, “that Malfoy is single,” another nod, “and that you want me to interview him?” Skeeter offered another nod. Hermione rose so quickly from her seat, that the chair beneath her toppled onto it’s back.

Hermione jumped from her seat, glaring daggers at Malfoy before she rounded the counter, her wand jabbed into his throat. “I have absolutely no feelings for you Malfoy, except for complete and utter loathing. If I had wanted to kill Parkinson, I would have done you in shortly afterward. Not only that, but I would have been wise enough to turn myself in. Unlike you, I am not a coward.” Malfoy had a similar expression on his face as to the one he wore in their third year, when Hermione had him in much the same position.