"Granger," Dolohov contemplated in-between bites of food, "I've never heard of your family."
Hermione did not know how to get around saying, "My parents are muggles."
The temperature around her dropped instantly, chilling her to the bone. The change took her companions from boys to Death Eaters in the space of a single sentence. Avery physically shuddered, as if her admission were akin to spotting a roach.
"Dentists," Tom spoke suddenly. "Muggle dentists."
Hesitantly, one of the Black family asked, "What are dentists?"
"That's... specific," a sandy-haired boy who looked like a descendant of Goyle offered. He wasn't talking to her, but to Tom, giving him a look of hopefulness; he had no idea if this was the right or wrong thing to be said.
Everyone seemed paralyzed, all aware that Tom had brought her to their midst and unsure of what that meant.
There was painful silence for several seconds before Tom finally murmured, "Great talent often comes from unexpected places."
Hermione wanted to argue that her parents were lovely and intelligent people who had passed those traits down to her and might have, in fact, if she and Tom had been alone. Unfortunately, having that argument in such an intimate setting, one where Tom was the unmistakable leader, was a move she was too wise to make.
She gritted her teeth and swallowed her pride, feeling resentment brew and the feeling of friendship that had grown like a stubborn weed buckle under the weight of it. Sitting on the hard bench at the Slytherin table, Hermione remembered who the boy she'd grown fond of truly was.
Her fist was clenched in her lap, hidden from view, but a soft brush of warmth distracted her from her fury.
She looked down.
Toms much larger hand enclosed her fist and squeezed.
She looked up, trying and failing to hide a smile.
"They fix teeth," Hermione clarified evenly and clearly, the bristle of defense tainting her words.