Hermione's hand flew wingless into the air.
"That was a rhetorical question Miss Granger," he snapped. His dark reflection-less eyes locked with hers. A different kind of shiver trickled down her spine; everything changes. Hesitantly, her hand fell to the table as a cool blush rose in her ears. She shifted stiffly in her seat, biting her so-tortured lower lip; she still felt raw.
The potions master nodded just perceptibly; his dark hair shaded his face, but Hermione caught the barest softening around his mouth. "Well Miss Granger," he drawled, as dispassionately cruel as ever, "Do you have an answer?"