Hermione Granger took a deep breath and prepared for death, staring determinedly into its amber eyes. "Oh, all right then, let's do it," she said in the most dignified voice she could manage, and Ginny cheered.
"Firewhisky?" Neville looked nervous. "Ginny, don't you think that's a bit – well…"
"We need a bit of fire!" Ginny crowed, pounding a fist on their old dining table so hard that the succulents rattled. Neville looked positively scandalized at the endangerment of his plants.
"We," Ginny decreed, "are going to this stupid Ministry Christmas event, where stupid Harry and his stupid face and all his stupid friends will be, and we need to be ready!"
"Ginny, we're his stupid friends," Neville said emphatically.
"And don't think we didn't notice that Ron is now "Harry's stupid friend" instead of your stupid brother," Hermione said dryly, still warily eyeing the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. From her lap, Crookshanks peered at the liquor with an equal amount of suspicion.
"Let's do shots!" Ginny yelled, jumping to her feet so exuberantly that her chair fell to the floor.
"Oh, are we drinking to deal with the pain of existence?" Luna asked happily as a way of greeting, standing in the doorway of their flat with her keys in her hand. Neville hopped to his feet, grabbing his girlfriend's shopping bags and giving her a quick kiss hello. Hermione's hands inadvertently tightened in Crookshanks' fur. Chivalry. Imagine.
"Yes!" Ginny cried. "Accio shot glasses!"
"No," Hermione moaned, already regretting her choice as Ginny scrambled to grab the glasses that were now flying towards the table.
This was a bad idea.
But it would also be a very un-Hermione-ish idea, which, quite frankly, seemed very appealing right now. For all her smarts, it felt like every choice she had made of late had been the wrong one.
Though perhaps not every choice, she thought as Ginny filled the shot glasses and Luna sat on Neville's lap, looking as dazed and as wonderfully dotty as ever. Moving into a three-bedroom London flat with these three had certainly been a good choice; Hermione had been pleased to learn that she could actually be quite fun when she wasn't constantly bickering with Ron or taking care of two grown men.
The thought of Ron made her stomach drop. It had been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts, seven years since she had kissed Ron in a moment that seemed like it was going to be their last, and the slimy son of a Flobberworm still couldn't make up his mind.
Whenever they had dated, he felt trapped and needed space. Whenever they were just friends, he was lonely and wanted more. If he was dating someone else, she had no right to be upset about it because "blimey, 'Mione, it's not like we're an item anymore," but Merlin forbid she flirted with anyone without a certain Weasley throwing her sulky looks and making snide comments.
Ginny had had it much easier with Harry. They'd had a year of being the brightest spot in each other's world, until one day, Harry had been horrified to find that Ginny, like a normal person, cried.
"He literally did not know what to do," Ginny had confided in delightfully tipsy Hermione one night in the Three Broomsticks. "It was as if I had turned into a Pygmy Puff. He just stared at me with this blank horror and I thought… this? This defeated Voldemort?"
Hermione, who had been in mid-sip, had laughed so hard that Butterbeer had oh-so-attractively erupted from her nose.
"Wrackspurts got you, Hermione?" Luna asked loftily, bringing Hermione back to the present.
"No, she just broke up with Ron for, what, the twelfth time?" Ginny coughed, her face twisting to combat the taste of the Firewhisky.
"Oi!" Neville said angrily, gesturing to the three full shot glasses. "Wait for the rest of us!"
"Yes, thank you for your concern, Neville," Hermione said dryly as Ginny giggled.
"Sorry, Hermione. But, to be quite frank with you, he's never been good enough for you anyway, and I hope you're well shot of him," Neville said loyally, raising his glass as Ginny hastily poured herself another shot.
"Hear, hear," Luna said dreamily.
Embarrassed but touched, Hermione lifted her Firewhisky ever so slightly before tipping the burning liquid down her throat. She felt it settle with the shame that was doing its best to tie her stomach into a knot.
Ginny was wrong; while it certainly wasn't the first time she and Ron had broken up (and hopefully it was their last), it was the first time that she had ended things, and not Ron. It appeared that Ron had taken this rather hard and, from what Hermione could tell, was no longer speaking to her. She had been hurt (but not entirely surprised) to find that Harry had taken Ron's side in thinking that Hermione had been particularly cruel, and was also giving her the silent treatment.
Merlin's pants, was this what she had been reduced to? Hermione Granger, brightest witch in her year, someone who could do anything she put her mind to, and here she had been, dancing around Ron's feelings, desperate to keep the peace and not break up the Golden Trio. No more, Hermione vowed to herself. She was going to make a list, or a vision board, maybe go on a yoga retreat (or maybe not), do something spectacular and – and eat more vegetables!
She cleared her throat, glad no one else could hear her mental dialogue. Maybe she could be a little more exciting than eating her vegetables… but everything would be coming up Hermione from now on.
Ginny cupped her hands around Hermione's face, squeezing her cheeks and staring at her with a particularly blazing look.
"Please don't, I hate it when you do this –"
"Hermione Granger, we are going to put on our best robes and we are going to kick arse at your office party. Luna, wear your Butterbeer corks! Neville, bring that cactus, we can shove it up Ron's –"
"Dumbledore's socks, I need another shot," Hermione announced, grabbing for the Firewhisky. To a new chapter of un-Hermione-ish decisions, she toasted mentally.
—
The first incident occurred at the Ministry Yuletide party. Ginny and Hermione were hovering by the pumpkin juice, which was placed in just the right spot if you
a) saw Ron and wanted to hide in the toilets,
b) saw Ron and wanted to hide out on the enchanted balcony, or
c) saw Ron and wanted to hide under the drinks table.
Hermione, who by now was feeling the effects of the Firewhisky wearing off, was taking pains to keep all her options open. She grabbed a goblet of mulled wine off a floating tray, trying to calm her nerves.
"He's not going to be here, Hermione," Ginny said levelly.
"He's an Auror, Ginny, it's his Christmas party too! And Harry's meant to be coming – like they'd ever miss an opportunity to be told how great they are –"
"He's not going to be here because I told him I'd hex him if he came," Ginny said flatly. "And I'll hex anyone who asks you about your break-up."
"Apart from you three, I don't think I even told anyone we got back together the last time," Hermione muttered. "God, what was I thinking?"
"Relax, take a deep breath," Ginny instructed. "Ron won't be here. Distract yourself. Look, it seems like Luna's drawing quite a crowd."
She wasn't wrong; Hermione looked over at the blonde witch in her sparkly turquoise robes, talking animatedly with the Minister himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, no doubt about her father's latest magazine or the newest creation at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It had turned out that Luna had quite the knack for invention, and while she didn't quite have the humour the late Fred Weasley had brought to the table, she certainly was a partner that George valued. Neville, towering behind Luna, had his arms wrapped around her waist. He was gazing at her in a way that might have made Hermione's heart melt, had she not been so utterly furious.
She looked down at her favourite pair of ankle boots, willing herself to draw power from them. They were black velvet with little silver stars on them, and made her feel Cool and Fun.
They also pinched her toes.
"Ugh, the Malfoys are here," Ginny said. "Although… not a bad-looking lot, are they?"
Hermione followed Ginny's gaze, and quietly, if somewhat begrudgingly agreed. In the seven years that had passed since Voldemort's demise, the Malfoys had managed to stay surprisingly popular. Throughout the Survivors Trials that had occurred after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had publicly defended the Malfoys with surprising ferocity, citing that Draco had been just as much a victim as "the rest of us" (Hermione had stayed up half the night helping him with that speech), and that without Narcissa's help, Voldemort may have been victorious. What with this endorsement, and Lucius Malfoy's eagerness to assist the Aurors and the Magical Law Enforcement department in locking up Death Eaters (probably, Hermione thought snidely, in an effort to avoid Azkaban rather than an actual change of heart), Kingsley Shacklebolt did not have to go too far out of his way to make sure that the Malfoys were exonerated.
Draco certainly looked far more handsome when he wasn't strutting about like he owned the place, and his smile seemed genuine instead of smug. As for Lucius; well, Hermione thought as she looked him over, poisonous toadstools don't change their spots… no matter how well conditioned their hair was…
"Where's the wife?" Ginny queried.
"Erm. Dead," Hermione said, wondering how to respectfully answer such a question.
"Well, grief certainly agrees with the Malfoys," Ginny muttered.
"She's been dead for nearly four years," Hermione tittered, as Draco broke away from his father, who had been approached by a pompous looking wizard with a glorious moustache. "It was all over the Daily Prophet – she bought herself one of those rare Anti-Aging necklaces, or at least she so she thought, and it turned her to stone. Irreversible – it was all Ron would talk about for weeks, saying that she'd got what she deserved, but really, I mean, that's quite harsh –"
"Didn't she torture you?" Ginny frowned.
"No, that was dear Bellatrix."
"Cow," Ginny cursed quietly as they watched Draco Malfoy approach Luna and Neville. To Hermione's surprise, Luna was quite happy to see him, and gave him a rather large hug.
"Well," said Ginny after a moment. "This is something we'll be talking about with Luna later on."
"And look, Neville's not shocked at all," Hermione gasped, completely floored. In fact, they were shaking hands.
Marveling at when on earth this could have happened, Hermione caught a glimpse of red hair in the crowd and instinctively ducked behind Ginny. Upon seeing that it was a stranger and not her ex, she relaxed.
"Merlin, I swear Harry was obsessed with Draco in our sixth year," Hermione sighed, moving her weight from heel to heel to appease her aching feet. "And Ron – ugh, Ron would turn into this – this filthy little ball of attitude and go red, or break whatever was closest. I should have realised what I was getting myself into –"
"Voldemort's nose, Hermione," Ginny said, her eyes wide. "That's how we should stick it to Ron and Harry. We should just bag the Malfoys."
Hermione snorted until she saw the fervor in her flat mate's eyes. Her eyebrows rose.
"Right," she said scornfully, "well, which one do you want? The one who was a racist git of a Death Eater that bullied us all throughout Hogwarts, or the one who was a racist git of a Death Eater that used you to open the Chamber of Secrets with the help of a piece of Voldemort's soul?"
Ginny nodded, thinking. "Fair point. I'll take Draco. You can have Daddy," she said innocently.
Hermione snorted. "Ginny, that's disgusting –"
"Oh please, you've been dealing with my absolute prat of a brother on and off again for the last seven years, how bad can an ex-Death Eater be?"
"We are talking about a different kind of – God, he was a prat though, wasn't he –?"
"So," Ginny wiggled her eyebrows emphatically, "go on. Imagine what he'd get up to with that cane."
"You're sick," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Ooh, Daddy Malfoy," Ginny moaned, fluttering her eyelashes and fanning herself, "tell me what a bad little Muggle-born I've been – oh my, what a huge wand you have –"
"Ginny, enough! This is my workplace!" Hermione hissed, desperately trying not to laugh. If she laughed, Ginny would only be further encouraged. "These are my peers, and we're not going to be inappropriate. Please behave." Then, after a moment, and purely because she couldn't help herself, Hermione added, "and honestly, if anyone's going to have a 'huge wand', I can guarantee that it won't be Lucius Malfoy. That cane is compensating for something," she smirked, taking a sip of her mulled wine.
"Do you think so, Miss Granger?" said a silky voice from behind them and Hermione choked on her wine. "Merlin knows how you've confirmed such a thing, but nonetheless, I find myself quite intrigued. By all means, go on."
Ginny smiled unabashedly up at Lucius Malfoy while Hermione attempted to collect herself. Ginny Weasley, Hermione reflected, had no shame, and apparently had learned how to not blush. Maybe there was a spell, Hermione thought, or perhaps a potion one could take. It would certainly come in use right now, with her cheeks burning hot enough that the sheer heat of them could cause a dragon egg to hatch.
"Mister Malfoy, you're looking well," Ginny said blithely. "Hermione certainly thinks so."
Hermione had recently been toying with the idea of looking anywhere but the floor. Upon hearing Ginny's comment, she decided firmly against it and continued to stare at her gorgeous and utterly painful shoes. How much of their conversation had Mr Malfoy heard?
"Thank you, Ginevra, and well done for attempting to change the subject. Is your delightful father here tonight?"
"Not tonight, unfortunately. I suppose you'll have to look for other forms of entertainment."
"I'm sure that won't be too hard," Mr Malfoy said lazily. "Are you all right, Miss Granger? You're being awfully quiet, and it seemed you had so much to say earlier."
Hermione was spared by the sudden arrival of Luna and Neville. She thought she might cry tears of joy, and thanked the stars that they had saved her.
"Hello, Mister Malfoy, how have you been?" Luna asked. "Is your lovely wife joining us tonight?"
Hermione stared at Luna in horror. Go back from whence you came!
"I can't say that she will be," Mr Malfoy said after a slight pause.
"Oh really? Why not?" Luna asked as Neville opened and closed his mouth with something like resignation written across his face.
Mr Malfoy's eyebrows rose ever so slightly. Hermione thought he couldn't quite tell whether or not Luna was joking. "It might have something to do with the fact that she died, quite horrifically, four years ago."
"Oh that's right. My condolences," Luna said. When no one said anything, she piped up, "I was kept in your house for a while, do you remember? But Draco said he was sorry, and that you were sorry too, so no hard feelings."
Hermione had covered her mouth with her hand. She didn't know whether to laugh or to hide under the table. Merlin's beard, her toes were going to drop off soon.
"This is fun, isn't it?" Ginny said brightly. She turned to Hermione. "And you thought we were going to make things weird."
Hermione opened her mouth, not entirely sure of what she might say but desperately needing to say something, anything, to end this torture. She was spared, surprisingly, by the arrival of Draco Malfoy.
"Ginny! Hermione!" He leaned in and kissed their cheeks, one after the other. "It's been too long, how have you been?"
Hermione, who'd had no idea that she was on a first-name basis with Draco Malfoy, and who, by this point, was too frazzled to be quick on the uptake, merely nodded dazedly.
"All right, thank you," Ginny said with a charming smile. She was practically glowing. "Ministry treating you well?"
"You'd be surprised," Draco said darkly. "The hoops I've had to jump through - but that's not important – how are the Harpies? I saw the last match, you really took the Tornados for all they had!"
Ginny's next smile suddenly looked much more relaxed as she tucked a fiery lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you – it was an arse of a match, what with all the rain –"
"You walloped them," Draco said earnestly. Hermione couldn't believe her ears; when the hell had Draco Malfoy become such a pleasant human being (especially considering his father was still a complete and utter twat)? She was definitely going to get as much information out of Luna and Neville as she could.
As Ginny and Draco lapsed into a conversation about Quidditch, Hermione silently counted to seven as she took a breath in. Just don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't do it.
She glanced at Lucius Malfoy, and came to the stomach-churning realisation that he had been patiently waiting for her to do just that. He cocked a brow at her, his cold grey eyes positively gleaming, and her stomach twisted. She immediately looked back to the floor, feeling a fresh wave of humiliation rush through her.
Shit, she lamented.
"Everyone's so quiet," Draco cleared his throat, looking round at all of them. "I hope I'm not taking over the conversation. What were we talking about before I got here?"
"Harry and Ron," Hermione blurted before Mr Malfoy could say anything.
"We were just talking about what utter prats they are," Ginny said smoothly.
"Yes, I was telling Draco earlier about how Ron and Hermione broke –" Luna began but Neville cleared his throat, glancing apologetically at Hermione.
"Ah, where was this attitude at Hogwarts?" Draco laughed, and Hermione felt a sudden surge of gratitude. "We could've been great friends."
"Oh sure," Hermione said. "If only we hadn't been blood traitors and Mudbloods. I'm sure we would have got on like a house on fire."
She was sure that she had meant for it to sound funny, but it had come across quite scathing. Her face flushed as five heads swiveled in her direction, and she cleared her throat.
"Excuse me," Hermione said in what she hoped was a dignified voice, turning on her heel and storming in the direction of the bathrooms.
—
At least her face wasn't red anymore, Hermione gathered from the ornate bathroom mirror, although her cheeks were still quite hot when she pressed her wet hands to them. Running the tap, she splashed some more cold water on her face, wishing the knot in her stomach would go away.
The look on Draco's face seemed to swim before her eyes; he had looked mortified. Maybe if she had just apologised instead of running away –
Then she remembered the smirk on Mr Malfoy's face and lo and behold, that quelled any desire to apologise.
This had been a mistake, and as far as she could see, there were two options on how to proceed: one, she could Apparate out of here right now, or two, she could grab Ginny, Luna and Neville, and they could Apparate out of here right now.
Or maybe she could find a Time Turner, and stop herself from ever saying anything about any part of Lucius Malfoy's anatomy… Merlin's beard, if she found a Time Turner, she would go back to when they had defeated Voldemort and punch Ron in the face.
She could, of course, apologise to Lucius Malfoy; however, the knot in her stomach felt that this was a very bad idea. Or, option five: she could go grab herself another wine and hide on the balcony.
Which idea sounds the least Hermione-ish? she thought mischievously, and smiled half-heartedly at her reflection. Alcohol it was then.
She gave her wand a complicated little wave and the sudden gush of hot air it emitted dried her face. Her hair looked fine – she had tried for an elegant chignon, but it had very quickly devolved into a messy bun that she hoped looked chic rather than hopeless – and the bottle of Tooth-Proof WonderWitch Lipstick that Luna had given her for her twenty-fourth birthday was doing its job.
"Hermione!" hissed a boy's voice from outside the witches' toilets. Hermione poked her head out to see Neville, looking sympathetic.
"You okay? You've been gone ages, Ginny thought you'd Apparated –"
"I considered it," Hermione said seriously, shaking her head.
"Really? But things are going so well," Neville said with a straight face and she bit her lip to hold in a laugh. Any laugh that came out now would be hysterical bordering on insane. She settled for making a face at her flat-mate while he grinned. "Come on, Hermione, you have to laugh about these things."
"You don't even know the worst of it," Hermione promised. "Oh God, Neville, I –"
"Worse than Luna forgetting Narcissa Malfoy had died?" Neville countered.
Hermione covered her mouth with her hands; that hysterical laugh was trying to fight its way out. Her eyes watered.
"Come on," Neville pushed, "back on the horse."
"Have they gone?" Hermione demanded. "The Malfoys?"
"Oh, come on, Hermione, Draco's all right – and Lucius is, well, Lucius, but at least he's got bigger fish to fry –"
"It's not that, it's – can't you just tell them that I've already left?" Hermione fretted, starting to feel warm again.
Neville gave her a level stare. "Hermione Granger, out of everything you've been through, I'm sure you can manage this. Come on."
"Oh, I… all right," Hermione conceded, "all right. I'll just – I'll just grab a drink first – I'm so tense, and my feet –"
"Okay, grab a drink, I think our lot have found a table by now. Susan should have arrived by now, so –"
Perfect, Hermione reasoned. If there was anyone who would mollify the situation, it was her Magical Law Enforcement co-worker, Susan Bones. Susan had a very pleasant speaking voice and a filthy sense of humour; she certainly wouldn't judge Hermione for being an absolute knob.
"Fantastic, you're a peach, Neville," Hermione said earnestly, slipping out into the crowd of Ministry workers. A few recognised her and exchanged pleasantries, some even shaking her hand and asking where Ron and Harry were.
"Oh, I'm not sure, but they should be here soon," Hermione laughed in what she hoped was a carefree way, "they wouldn't miss it!" The bar was within her sights… she could do this… she could get her drink, sit down, and then half of her problems would be solved…
"Granger!"
Hermione felt as though she'd swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro. She forced a smile onto her face and did her best to look pleased to see Zacharias Smith.
"You look well, Granger!" Zacharias said, although his expression seemed to say otherwise. "Where's Weasley, the git? He must be close by – or are you two having one of your little breaks? Not uncommon, are they?"
Hermione cleared her throat, ready to answer coolly and calmly. She opened her mouth, ready to put Smith in his slimy little place, and explain to him that she was sick of loud-mouthed wankers who didn't understand that, really, everyone should see a therapist, and who thought that their sole purpose in life was to be waited on hand and foot, and that, in fact, that demographic seemed to include Smith himself, so he could bugger off –
But instead, her gumption seemed to shrivel and shrink down to the soles of her shoes. Because that was what everyone would think: Ron and Hermione, always bickering, always taking breaks, broken up now, back together tomorrow, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Her rage flickered and died; she was quite suddenly on the verge of tears.
"Erm. Granger?" said Smith, looking a tad unnerved. Perhaps he thought Hermione was about to hex him because he hastily added, "It was only a joke."
Hermione nodded helplessly, trying to smile but mangling it quite spectacularly. Smith cleared his throat. "You need to not be so sensitive about these things," he muttered and moved on.
Merlin, she had a lump in her throat the size of a Quaffle. Pathetic. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, and decided that, once and for all, she was going home. She'd find the others, let them know that she wasn't feeling well, and then she'd go home and finish that bottle of Firewhisky.
"Drink?" said a voice by her right ear, and Hermione jumped, shocked to see Mr Malfoy holding a goblet of something that smelled delicious for her to take.
Hermione couldn't help but smile in relief that someone was giving her alcohol, only for her delight to disappear immediately upon being reminded of her current situation; here she was, alone with Lucius Malfoy. She opened her mouth, not sure whether she was going to thank him, apologise for earlier, or maybe tell him to sod off, when he offered her the goblet again. She stared at it suspiciously.
"With the night you're having," he said, "I think you may need this more than I do."
"Thank you," Hermione said, making sure to sound as sarcastic as she possibly could. "And did you poison this yourself?"
He rolled his shining grey eyes and brought the silver goblet to his lips, taking a sip. He made a face. "A bit sweet, but I believe that comes with the territory. Here," he handed it to her.
"Thanks," she said with all the coldness she could muster. The mulled wine smelled absolutely delicious but she didn't necessarily want to drink more alcohol in the presence of Lucius Malfoy. "And my night has been fine, thank you," she added fiercely, perhaps a tad too late. It rattled her to have him thinking that she was as pathetic as… well, as she was.
"Of course," Lucius said breezily, taking a goblet of something emitting a sweet smoke off a passer-by floating tray. "However, might I recommend hexing Smith another night? As you told Miss Weasley, you're not here to be inappropriate."
She felt the ghost of a smirk on her face. "You think I should have hexed him?" she asked, taking a sip of wine.
"Certainly. Even if Weasley is, ah, 'a git' –"
"He is," Hermione said firmly.
He gave her a strange look, as if he wasn't quite sure what she had said. After a moment, he raised his goblet ever so slightly. "All right then. Git."
Hermione stopped her smile in the nick of time. She cleared her throat, and clinked her goblet against his. "Git," she said crisply, and they drank. It was strange, she thought, to actually agree with a Malfoy.
Hermione pursed her lips as he took another sip of his new drink. "Mister Malfoy," she began, steeling herself, "about… what I said. Er – before."
"When?"
Hermione swallowed. "When?" she repeated nervously.
"Yes, when you were so zealously discussing wands with Miss Weasley, or when you criticized my son?"
Hermione bristled. "Excuse me, but your son had that one coming – he was an absolute arse at school and I, for one –"
"Merlin's beard, Miss Granger, are you about grace me with one of your insightful opinions? I'm thrilled – you know how much I enjoy them."
Hermione almost stamped her foot in indignation – she might have, if she wasn't sure that she might faint from the pain. "Excuse me? How can you possibly think you have any right to call me out on criticizing your son? I thought you wrote the book on that – Parenting with Lucius Malfoy: A Guide to Bullying Your Child and Raising a Foul-Mouthed Little Death Eater."
Fuck off, that was probably too far. She held her breath, slightly terrified but also quite pleased with her childish insult (not being able to verbally abuse Smith had irked her) but Mr Malfoy remained expressionless, merely blinking in surprise.
She had done it! She had utterly decimated him, rendered him speechless, cut him with her words; she couldn't wait to tell Ginny about –
"Surely no less foul-mouthed than you and Miss Weasley were not twenty minutes ago?" Mr Malfoy queried blithely and Hermione's stomach shriveled up like a bezoar. Face burning, she opened her mouth to say something, anything, and what came out was, "I'm so sorry but I need to sit down before my feet fall off."
Mr Malfoy's head tilted slightly. She took this as having completely caught him off guard.
"You can join me, if you're so desperate to watch me make an arse of myself as I try to apologise," Hermione said resignedly. "Although, we might – fuck," she exclaimed as her eyes found Ron's lanky form only fifteen feet away, talking to a witch with a long dark plait, and Mr Malfoy appeared to choke on his smoking drink.
"Oh," Hermione said, her eyes darting between Malfoy's stricken face and the back of Ron's head, "oh, no, I didn't mean –" She laughed a little too loudly. "Oh, there's no chance –"
Mr Malfoy arched an eyebrow, and she could tell that had been very much the wrong thing to say.
Mortified, Hermione tried to think of something to say that might improve the situation. "Don't be ridiculous," she said defensively. "I just mean – it's you, you're pureblood, so –"
"My fault again, is it? Let's add that to the ever-growing list, let's see, we have: pureblood, bad parent, and, my personal favourite, –"
"Pompous prat?" Hermione offered spitefully and a puzzled voice from behind a now glowering Mr Malfoy said, "Mione?"
She faltered; Ron had seen her. He stared reproachfully at her for a few moments, as if there were no one crueler, and Hermione thought she had time to make one more un-Hermione-ish decision.
She stretched up on her tiptoes, her feet protesting mightily, and brushed her lips against Lucius Malfoy's cheek. Thankfully, he froze; she figured he must have been too shocked to jerk away. She leaned in to whisper something in his ear; to anyone else, and especially to Ron, it may have looked flirtatious and heated, but all that Hermione said was, "Your son was an arse, and it's not exactly a mystery as to who taught him."