Commercials are interesting. Their whole aim is to sell a person things they may or may not need. Advertisement is supposed to convince or persuade the customer to take action, usually to make a purchase. How they accomplish that goal is where the attraction lies. Oh, it's very creative and manipulative even.

First, it's their job to know the "ins" and "outs" of the demographic they wish to convince. Once that's known, then it's all about the marketing. Cute gimmicks, jingles, glossy pictures, celebrities, sales or discount codes, and emotional responses come into play. Everything is a game, and nothing is left to chance.

Watching Cora Flint and Piper Goldborne is a bit like watching a commercial. Well, more specifically, one of those "old-timey" advertisements. The ones where the little housewife is wearing a spotless dress and scrubbing the floor or cleaning the toilet because every woman cleans the house in a dress, pearls, and high-heeled shoes. Appealing actresses, pronounced in the bosom area but small in the talent one, playing homemakers unconvincingly and much too nicey-nice to be genuine. In other words, as fake as Piper's eyelashes. They're seriously false.

That's the mark of the pureblooded woman. It would be hilarious, except for the fact Hermione is living it- live. Once grumpy Flea introduced the couple, the Flint matriarch garnered a syrupy smile and greeting. She left her perch on the fine leather sofa to embrace her son. It was very starched, much like everything else in the house. In fact, Hermione thinks the couch has never been used because the leather sofa looks unbroken and uncomfortable. She could see the stiffness travel up Marcus's body in that one hug. His formal, pureblood manners seemed to have found their way back home, along with other things.

The woman gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile directed toward Hermione. Then completely bypassed her in favor of sitting. Instead of resuming her post on the sofa beside Piper, the Flint matriarch took a seat in a gilded armchair. She directed the couple to the couch, where Marcus conveniently sat next to the ultimate Miss Pureblood herself. All the girl is missing is a tiara and sash, then the look would be complete.

It was then Hermione learned that some wars are not fought with wands, words, or destructive weapons. No. The most potent war is the one in the mind. A fight is mental. Psychological warfare is a part of that. These pureblood women have been fighting in that manner for years. They have the upper hand on the younger witch. Never underestimate your enemy, especially ones that have big hair, plastic smiles, and smells of bullshit. So, the Gryffindor summoned her inner confidence and wore a smile of her own, the same as the other women.

The blonde young Slytherin, with high cheekbones, fluttered her eyelashes and crooned with a sugary voice. It was as if she and the lone male had been best friends for ages. It was as if she hadn't ridiculed Marcus and put him down with the other perfect princesses. She's such a liar, a charming little con artist. "So, Marcus, it's great to see you again. I hear you're scoring points with all the quidditch teams in England. Everyone wants you, even the ones that aren't very good. However, will you decide between them all?"

Before he could answer, Cora spoke. "Yes, son. I know you'll make the better choice. Like I've always said, look at your options and then pick the best one. It's that simple. There's nothing wrong with wanting the finer things in life."

Cora Flint is a smile faker. It was then Hermione wondered how much of the Charisma 65 potion the woman had taken. That's the ridiculous botox for witches tonic. Though she's smiling, the rest of her face is stock still, unmovable. With the false kindness and subtle digs, the woman continued to ignore Hermione in favor of her perceived reality. The young witch knew she'd not be gaining Marcus's mother's acceptance that evening. Perhaps never. So, the brunette stated, "You're right, Lady Flint. There's nothing wrong with the good stuff in life. Wanting what's best and having what's best are two different things. As is the right choice is hardly ever the easy one to make."

She leaned over to take a teacup from the serving tray and took delicate sips while her statements ruminated in the elder woman's mind. There are two sides to every story and two sides to every person. One that is revealed to the world and one that is kept hidden. Under the right conditions, sometimes the secret self will make itself known. It takes patience to catch it, and at that moment, Cora Flint's mask dropped just enough to let Hermione see the truth. In a flash, the woman's eyes went from cool to cold and then back to their phony geniality.

"Yes. It's like choosing between caviar and roast beef or red wine and beer. There's no choice. Once you've had caviar and red wine, nothing else will do," Cora declared. Her eyes caught Piper's, and her face brightened into a gloating grin.

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck and noted, "I don't know, Mother. There's nothing wrong with a roast beef sandwich and a good beer. I'd rather eat that any day than caviar. I've always detested the stuff."

Seriously Hermione could not have adored him more than she did right then. He unknowingly defended her to those two she-devils, which made her evening. But since his mother wants to play dirty, the brunette added, "I agree with you, Marcus. A regular sandwich can be pretty irresistible, like lipstick. Lipgloss may be fun, but lipstick has staying power. So, that's a no-brainer."

She turned her head and trained her honey eyes on the blonde Slytherin seated on the other side of her boyfriend. With a knowing look, the witch asserted, "Love your pink lipgloss, Piper. It's nice on you."

Before Cora or the blonde Slytherin could respond, Kitten popped into the room to announce dinner was served. As Marcus's mother and Piper walked together arm-in-arm, Marcus held Hermione's hand. He leaned in close to whisper, "Did I miss something? I could feel the frostiness, and it wasn't from the air."

His witch quietly answered, "I'll explain later. For now, just act normal." He nodded as if he understood, but he'll never understand girl talk. They have an unspoken language all their own.

Striding into the dining room, Hermione scoffed under her breath. The seating arrangement could not have been more obvious. Cora sat at the head of the table with Marcus and Piper sitting beside each other to her right. Hermione had been seated alone to the woman's left. The Flint heir understood the symbolism of this and promptly rearranged the plan to sit beside his girlfriend.

There was no way he was sitting beside that miserable snake. So he began thinking over the previous conversation once he realized the seating arrangements. It dawned on him what his mother was up to, and he made it a point to pay closer attention to her subtlety. When Cora realized what her son had done, she stared at him. But Marcus draped his arm around Hermione's chair and leaned close to his girl. It looked as if he were kissing her cheek. Enough said.

The dinner began with the soup and salad course. Hermione went to take a bite of her Greek salad, but Lady Flint decided to make more small talk. "Hermione, now that the war is over, what do you plan to do with yourself? Will you be doing something muggle, perhaps?"

Putting the fork down, Hermione replied by saying, "I'm not quite sure at the moment. But lately, I've been thinking about sitting my NEWTS early, especially the ones for charms and potions."

The outspoken woman told her, "That's nice. Perhaps you could use Marcus's old NEWT study guide that we paid good money for him to use. It's upstairs collecting dust with the rest of his potential." Piper snickered at the comment but masked it with a disingenuous grin. Only Hermione caught it and tried her hardest not to open her mouth because lots of colorful words would be coming out of it.

Those words made the heir's soup spoon clang on the table. He eyed his mother harshly, not expecting her to be so flat-out rude. But then it's his mother. He should have expected nothing less. As he sat stewing over her comments, the matriarch snidely noted, "That's a lovely dress you're wearing. I thought I saw something like that last season in British Vogue. See, I'm not out of touch with real people."

Hermione wondered what she wanted for that observation, a handshake or a high-five? Big, freaking woo that she reads British Vogue. Anyone can do that, but it takes effort to get to know people. Then Cora added, "Is it muggle? I didn't know muggles could afford nice things like what you're wearing. I thought you all wore cheap clothing. Perhaps you can tell me where you purchased it. I've been curious to add more muggle pieces to my wardrobe."

Hermione took her time chewing because she knew the lady meant it as a derogatory comment. Proud of her muggle heritage, she explained, "Thank you, Lady Flint. I've been waiting all year to feel sparkly and pretty again after wearing nothing but frumpy clothes while on the run. I refuse to be pulled back into the darkness. I rather like this dress despite being one of muggle origins, as you noted. It came from the famous Harrod's department store."

"I think you look beautiful," Marcus told her.

His mother shook her head disapprovingly. "Oh, Marcus, my adorable short-sighted son. You once thought Grandmother Flint's bonnet and ankle-length dress were pretty. Your opinion is lacking," the woman told him.

That was when the heir had enough. He stood up and pointed his finger at his mother. She tried to cut him off by saying in a sharp voice, "Sit down, Son."

But he did not and would not be thwarted. "You and I need to have a private conversation. Now." His voice was as sharp as her red fingernails.

Throwing the napkin onto the table beside the plate, Cora excused herself. She followed Marcus out of the room. No sooner had the two exited than Piper began to slow clap. Wrinkling her pointed nose in disdain, the blonde witch observed, "Good job. You really won over the matriarch, didn't you? Shouldn't you be with the Weasel popping out little rodents?"

Staring at this blonde bimbo sitting across from her, Hermione had a moment of clarity. The world needs more women who will encourage each other and lift each other up. But this is not that time. No. This is the time for the Gryffindor to wear her confidence openly. So, she decided to get real because a snake is still a snake no matter how many times it sheds its skin. And there is no bigger one than the girl sitting across from her. That's why the brunette wondered, "I have a serious question for you. Was the last time you had an interesting thought when you considered drowning yourself with wine and noxious perfume?"

The older girl narrowed her eyes but didn't get a chance to speak because Hermione beat her to it. "Do you have any idea the agony it's been having to be nice to you? You may have money, but you're proof a person can't buy elegance. Since we're not friends, let me talk plainly."

Having held her tongue through many disrespectful comments that evening, she wasn't going to do so anymore. With a sweet, false smile on her face, Hermione made a bold claim. "The truth is, you're not that smart and lack the focus needed to get ahead in the real world. Charm is fine, but grace is better, and knowledge is power. You see, you are just like every other Slytherin pureblood woman. All you care about is fixing the outside while the inside is filth. Concealer doesn't change the fact that you lack wisdom. Eyeliner won't bring you decency and true sophistication. And there's not enough hair styling potion in all of the wizarding world to change that."

She paused for breath before saying, "You, Piper Goldborne are nothing but a two-faced waste of a trust fund. You offer nothing to men or the wizarding world in general. The English language lacks the words to express how much I dislike you. You may try to take Marcus, but he doesn't want you. He has me. So go stalk some other unsuspecting Slytherin. Now be gone before somebody drops a house on you."

"Why, you wicked, dirty mudblood!" the outraged girl shouted.

Meanwhile, mother and son were having a similar conversation in a different room of the house. Marcus paced back and forth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He reprimanded the woman who gave birth to him. "I cannot believe you would be so low as to demean Hermione to her face. Behind her back is bad enough, but this is just plain awful. I realize father disliked her, but I thought you would at least give her a chance since you're more reasonable. Clearly, I was wrong."

Sitting pin-straight in the armchair, Cora criticized, "My goodness Marcus, you sure know how to sweet talk a girl. I'm still your mother, and I have right a mind to send you to your room with no supper for your tone. Let me remind you, you are the Flint estate's lord, meaning you need a suitable woman by your side."

With a huff of annoyance, he remarked, "If this dinner tonight was your idea of a fun time, then I'm in hell. Let me inform you of something, Mother. I already have a suitable woman. I have had Hermione by my side for almost four years, and I intend to keep her there. I will propose to her, and you will not interfere. Do you understand?"

His eyes bore into hers as he waited for a response. Cora scoffed. "My God! The muggleness has rubbed off on you. It's a wonder you don't set fire to the manor while you burn your inheritance to the ground!"

Then the woman said something that set Marcus's blood to boiling. "It's just an engagement, Son. Anything can happen before the wedding."

Coming to get into his mother's space, he could tell he intimidated the woman. His muscular frame alone can be overwhelming, but the look in his eyes did it. It's like he's hiding a dangerous secret. It made his mother's eyes grow large, and they glanced around the room, refusing to meet his. Marcus rested his hands on the arms of the chair, boxing Cora into it. Very plainly, he told her, using a low, harassing voice, "If you even think about doing something to Hermione, think again. If anything happens to her, I'll come looking for you first, and I promise you won't like the outcome. She's going to be your daughter-in-law, so get used to it."

But Cora informed him, "If you think I'll ever be used to a mudblood being my daughter-in-law, then you're just as crazy as the woman who carved the word into your little girlfriend's arm."

His jaws clenched, and he glared at his mother as the anger built up. As much as he'd like to tell her off, Marcus could see through her little act. "You may tear Hermione down and demean her, but I know the truth, Mother. You're actually worried. You see, every time you speak the word muggle, it only gives you away. Sure, you dislike the fact she's a muggleborn, but that's not the real thing you're troubled by, is it? No, it's not."

Marcus moved his hands off the chair and stepped back. He wants to get a good look at her face when he says the next thing. "All this time, you and father thought me stupid and half-witted. While I may not be book-smart, I am intelligent at reading people. And I can read you like Hermione reads her books. You see, the real reason you dislike my girlfriend is that, unlike me, she's smart- brilliant even."

He knew he had hit his mark when his mother started clenching her jaw and recrossing her legs. It might seem like nothing to the casual observer, but years of studying his parents taught Marcus that's one of her dead giveaways. So, he continued dressing her down with his words. There's no pleasure to be had telling off your mother, but sometimes it has to be done, especially when it's for the love of your life. "That's a threat to you because when she figures out all the inner workings of pureblood society and being Lady Flint, it will leave you without power. You will be nothing but an old, washed-up, bitter hag. While your younger, more intelligent, kinder, prettier daughter-in-law takes over all the duties you used to fulfill, plus having ventures outside the family. You will have nothing, and she will have everything. So, it's goodbye, Cora."

Out of the blue, Cora stood up and slapped her son on the cheek. It hurt, but not as bad as knowing your parents disliked you. Marcus can never fully measure up to his older siblings. There is no love between them. She's only the woman who gave him life. So it was no surprise when she said, "If only it had been you who passed away in the war and not Marshall. You are incredibly mistaken if you think I will go quietly into the night."

She moved to stand by the oversized window and gaze at the lawn. Her words stung as much as the slap to his cheek did. "Pureblood society isn't slothful, Lord Flint. It comes with pink champagne, a dress code, close acquaintances, and of course, enemies. Each woman has their place in the order of things. You aren't born at the top. You climb your way up in heels and diamonds. And you retain it by your sticking your claws in and holding on tight. I'm a saint compared to how other women will treat Hermione. I was doing her a favor. Better to hear it from me than one of them."

Turning back around, Cora began walking over to the minibar. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get just drunk enough to make all of this seem interesting." With those words, she began pouring a tumbler of bourbon.

Marcus took his dignity and left the room. He rushed back to the dining room to claim his girl. What he returned to was a colossal mess. Food had smeared every spot, every corner the eye could see, and two incredibly dirty witches were standing in the middle of it. Not caring, he strode over to Hermione and took her hand, then marched them out of the room and to the floo salon.

Once they had cleaned off at home and were seated side-by-side on their comfy couch, Marcus apologized. But Hermione told him, "I don't fault you for your mother's manners or behavior. I've been treated like that my whole life."

His arm went around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. "But you shouldn't have to put up with it, especially from my mothers. And for that, I'm sorry. It's a wonder you'd ever want to marry me," he remarked.

Hermione smiled into his side and stated, "But I do, Marcus. I do want to marry you. It's not her to whom I would be pledging my love and devotion; it's you."

Her words made him want to ask her right then and there. But if there's anything she's taught him, it's the fundamentals of having a plan and executing it. So, he tapped the desire to ask down and waited for the time he had picked. Instead, Marcus kissed Hermione and made her forget the criticism of two dreadful witches. Because kissing transforms even the worst things into better ones.