Hermione entered Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions behind Ron and Harry. At first glance, the little shop appeared empty, but as Hagrid swung the door shut behind them, the low murmur of voices drifted from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.
"… not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."
Hermione's ears perked up. She recognised that haughty voice instantly — Draco Malfoy.
There was a clucking noise, and Madam Malkin said, "Now, dear, your mother's quite right. None of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore. It's nothing to do with being a child —"
"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you?!"
Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes as Malfoy appeared from around the rack of robes, draped in dark green dress robes bristling with pins. She turned her attention to the nearest rack, running a fold of fabric between her fingers so as not to stare.
Malfoy stepped onto the fitting platform in front of the mirror and examined the cut of his robe before finally noticing the three Gryffindors behind him.
"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in." His voice drawled, and the fabric slipped from Hermione's hand as she looked into the mirror and met his grey eyes.
Madam Malkin scurried out with her wand and tape measure, scolding Malfoy sharply for his language.
Hermione stepped forward at once, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. "No — don't. Honestly, it's not worth it." She hissed at both boys to put their wands away.
Malfoy's gaze flicked toward her, his smirk widening. "Like you'd actually dare do magic outside of school." Then his eyes slid to the bruise beneath her eye, and his voice turned mockingly sweet. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers."
"That is quite enough!" Madam Malkin's voice wavered as she glanced over her shoulder. "Madam — please —"
Narcissa Malfoy hummed softly to herself as she emerged from behind the clothing rack with the same languid grace she always carried. Her gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on her son before settling on Harry and Ron.
"Put those away," she said simply, her tone unconcerned, as though the very notion of disciplining them was beneath her.
She took a measured step forward. "If you attack my son again —" She let the silence do the rest of the work, her pale eyes steady. "I shall ensure it is the last thing you boys ever do."
Hermione's gaze moved between Harry and Narcissa as the tension in the room thickened. She barely registered Malfoy's eyes lingering on her — there was nothing warm in his expression, only the usual contempt.
"Really?" Harry stepped forward, undeterred, his glare fixed on Narcissa. "Going to get a few Death Eater friends to do us in, are you?"
Hermione's pulse quickened as Madam Malkin scolded him. Now was not the time for this.
"I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a rather false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."
Harry looked mockingly all around the shop.
"Wow… look at that… he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"
Malfoy made a sudden lunge toward Harry, but his robes — far too long at the hem — caught under his feet and he stumbled, barely catching himself. Hermione jumped back to avoid the collision.
Ron let out a bark of a laugh, and Hermione scowled.
'Not helping, Ron,' she wanted to say.
Malfoy's face twisted with anger. He shoved the hair that had fallen across his face away and ignored the redness creeping into his cheeks.
"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter," he hissed.
"It's all right, Draco," Narcissa said calmly — Harry's threat had not so much as rippled her composure. Her thin, pale fingers rested delicately on her son's shoulder, holding him back. "I expect Potter will be reunited with my disgrace of a cousin long before I am reunited with my husband."
Harry raised his wand higher.
"Harry, no!" Hermione groaned, finally dropping her hand from Ron's shoulder. She pushed between her two friends and grabbed Harry's arm. "Think, Harry! You mustn't — you'll be in such trouble."
With her hand wrapped around his arm and her eyes fixed on him, she dared a glance at Mrs. Malfoy. Her expression hadn't shifted so much as a fraction. Hermione then looked to Draco, half-expecting him to have his wand drawn. Instead, she found him staring at Harry and her, his face dark with anger — and just for a moment, she caught his gaze slip down to where her hand rested on Harry's arm before it snapped back to their faces.
"I think this left sleeve could come up a little more, dear — let me just —" Madam Malkin's voice cut through the scene as she pressed on cheerfully, as though nothing at all was happening.
"Ouch!" Draco yanked his arm away as if she had burned him. "Watch where you're sticking your pins, woman!"
His pale face flushed darker. He rounded on his mother. "I don't want these anymore."
He dragged the robe over his head and tossed it to the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.
Hermione watched the crumpled fabric hit the ground, irritation prickling in her chest at the display.
"You're right, Draco," Narcissa said coldly, casting a disdainful look toward Hermione. "Now that I know the calibre of clientele this shop attracts — we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."
Hermione stiffened, heat rising in her face. She said nothing; there was no point in giving them any more satisfaction.
Mother and son crossed toward the door. Malfoy made sure to knock into Ron as he passed, and then held the door open for his mother with practised, arrogant ease.
Just before stepping through, he paused and cast one last look over his shoulder. His eyes locked on Hermione, and a glint of something unreadable flashed behind the usual sneer. "You really do have those two wrapped around your finger, don't you, Granger?"
Her heart skipped. The remark caught her completely off guard, and her lips parted as if to respond — but the words caught in her throat. Was it an insult? A twisted sort of compliment? She couldn't tell.
Before she could form anything to say, the door swung shut behind him. The little bell above it jingled lightly, and Hermione stood there with Harry and Ron beside her, the shop feeling suddenly smaller and quieter in his absence.
Ron glanced over at her, his gaze dropping briefly to where her hand still rested on Harry's arm. Hermione caught the flicker of confusion — or something else — in his expression and quickly let go, her face warming.
She straightened her robes and tried to act as though nothing had happened, but the awkwardness hung in the air.
Harry, oblivious to all of it, still had his wand raised, his attention fixed entirely on the door through which Draco and Narcissa had just disappeared.
She couldn't quite shake the unsettled feeling — not just from what Malfoy had said, but from the odd way Ron was now looking at her. There was a tension she didn't know what to do with. She chose, for the moment, to leave it alone.
"What d'you think Malfoy meant by that?" Ron asked.
Hermione hesitated, glancing between them. "He's just trying to get under our skin," she said, her voice steady even as her thoughts scattered. She didn't want to admit how much his parting words had lodged themselves in her head. "It's what he always does." She added it as an afterthought, moving toward a small settee and dropping into it. "Go and try on your robes."
Madam Malkin was visibly distracted throughout the rest of the fitting, and as they walked out, Hermione could have sworn she seemed relieved to see them go.
"Got ev'rything?" asked Hagrid brightly when they reappeared at his side.
"Just about," said Harry. "Did you see the Malfoys?"
"Yeah," said Hagrid, unconcerned. "But they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry abou' them."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged uneasy glances. Each of them was clearly thinking the same thing: Malfoy was capable of stirring up trouble anywhere, especially with his mother at his back. Before they could say as much to Hagrid, however, Mr and Mrs Weasley appeared at the far end of the street, Ginny close behind them, all three clutching heavy packages of books.
"Everyone all right?" Mrs Weasley asked at once, her eyes scanning the group. "Got your robes? Right then — we can pop into the apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's. Stick close, now…"
They made their way along Diagon Alley, collecting the rest of their school supplies as they went.
"We really haven't got too long," Mrs Weasley said. "So we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be getting close — that's number ninety-two… ninety-four…"
"Whoa," said Ron, stopping dead in his tracks.
Hermione looked over at him and followed his gaze to a shop front blazing with noise and colour.
She sighed as Ron and Harry bolted inside. She followed them in, squeezing her way through the bustling shop and feeling the energy in the air as customers crowded around displays of all kinds.
Navigating through the crowd, she spotted a large display near the counter: a box featuring a garish illustration of a swooning young woman and a rather handsome young man. Intrigued, she leaned in to read the description on the back.
"'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable. Side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling. Not for sale to under-sixteens,'" she read aloud, her voice barely audible above the noise of the shop.
Her eyes sparkled, and she let out a delighted laugh, looking up at Harry. "This really is extraordinary magic, you know."
"Just for that," said Fred from behind them, resplendent in a set of magenta robes, "you can have one for free, Hermione." He gave Harry a grin. "How are ya? Blimey —" His frown landed on Hermione. "What happened to your eye?"
"Your Punching Telescope," Hermione huffed.
"Ah." Fred sighed and produced a small tub from his pocket, holding it out to her. "Dab this on. It'll be gone within the hour, I promise."
Hermione looked at the paste with uncertainty. "It is safe, isn't it?"
"Course it is," Fred replied bracingly. "Come on, Harry — I'll give you the grand tour."
Harry laughed. "Have fun, will you, Hermione?" he teased, and followed Fred into the depths of the shop.
Hermione shook her head with a laugh, watching as everyone around her marvelled at the twins' creations.
"So…" Ginny appeared at her side, leaning against the counter with a grin. "Have you talked to him yet?"
Hermione turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Talked to who, Gin?"
Ginny's grin faded into exasperation. "You know who. My idiot brother."
"You have several idiot brothers. You'll have to be more specific."
"Don't play dumb." Ginny crossed her arms, shifting her expression to something between teasing and concerned. "Come on, Hermione. You've been at the Burrow for weeks. I've been watching you. Something's different this year."
"We act like friends, Ginny. That's all."
"Please!" Ginny scoffed. "Honestly, if you think I'm going to be upset about it, you've got another thing coming. It's gross, but I'm not mad."
Hermione shook her head and tried to keep her expression neutral. "It's complicated. He can be infuriating, and I —"
"And you are just as hot-headed, if not more so," Ginny whispered. "What's stopping you? You can't deny you like him."
Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks. "It's not that simple," she insisted, though even as she said it, she wasn't entirely sure it was true. Something always seemed to get in the way whenever her mind drifted in that direction.
"I've seen the way he looks at you. Like you're the most complicated puzzle in the world." Ginny pulled a face. "It's genuinely sickening."
Hermione glanced away to hide her smile. "He looks at everyone that way, Ginny."
"Right," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes. "Except he doesn't. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room."
Hermione bit her lip. She had noticed Ron's lingering glances, the way his smile seemed to come easier when she walked in — but she'd always written it off as friendship. Still, something fluttered in her chest at the thought.
"Besides," Ginny continued, nudging her, "you give him those looks right back. Like you're just waiting for him to say something brilliant." She paused meaningfully. "I hate to disappoint you, but I don't think that's coming."
Hermione's gaze drifted across the shop. Harry was laughing with Fred somewhere near the back, and Ron stood nearby, relaxed and grinning easily. A flutter went through her at the thought of something more.
"Maybe…" she started — then stopped as Ron glanced their way, caught her eye, and waved. The grin that broke across his face was warm and uncomplicated.
"See?" Ginny nudged her again, eyes dancing. "Look at him. He's practically glowing."
"Stop!" Hermione laughed, turning to face her. "It's not like that — and even if it were, I couldn't possibly — what about Harry?!"
"What about Harry?" Ginny asked. "It's not as if you fancy him."
Hermione was quiet for a moment.
Ginny's eyebrows knitted together, and she repeated herself, more slowly this time. "It's not as if you fancy him." She said it as though giving Hermione the chance to agree — as she clearly should have the first time.
"I…" Hermione faltered, trying to gather her thoughts. It was all such a muddle. "I feel the same way about Harry as I do about Ron," she finally said. It wasn't a lie. They were her friends.
Ginny stepped back, eyes wide. "Oh… my… Godric. You fancy them both."
"I do not fancy them both!" Hermione exclaimed, rather too loudly for a busy shop.
She wanted to explain what she'd actually meant — but Fred and Harry had reappeared, both looking vastly entertained.
"Who are we not fancying?" Fred asked, leaning against the counter with an exaggerated grin.
Hermione shot Ginny a look. Ginny merely shrugged and tried to smother her laughter. "Oh, nothing important," Hermione said briskly.
Fred rolled his eyes. "Haven't you ladies found our WonderWitch range yet? Follow me…"
Near the window, a cluster of excited girls giggled around an array of violently pink products. Hermione and Ginny hung back, exchanging a glance.
"There you go," Fred said proudly. "Best selection of love potions you'll find anywhere."
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Do they actually work?"
"Certainly they do! For up to twenty-four hours at a time, depending on the weight of the boy in question —"
"— and the attractiveness of the girl," George interjected, materialising at their side with a mischievous grin. He turned at once to Ginny with a mock-stern look. "But we're not selling them to our sister." He folded his arms. "Not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've heard."
"Whatever Ron's told you is a complete lie," Ginny replied calmly, reaching forward to pluck a small pink pot from the shelf.
Hermione sighed, browsing the display as Ginny and her brothers bickered over the precise number of her alleged suitors.
Harry drifted over to Hermione's side. "So — what were you and Ginny on about?" he asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Absolutely nothing, Harry. She's mental." She turned to look out the window, studiously avoiding both him and Ron, who had wandered over once Mrs Weasley had finished telling him off for something.
She frowned. Through the glass, she watched Malfoy hurrying along the street — alone.
"Hermione?" Ron asked, noticing she'd gone quiet. The two boys followed her gaze to the window just in time to see Draco disappear from view.
"Wonder where his mother's got to?" Harry mused, frowning.
"Looks like he's given her the slip," Ron added, with a note of mockery.
"But why?" Hermione asked, her frown deepening. Something about the way Malfoy moved — hurried, solitary — nagged at her.
Harry was silent for a moment, clearly deliberating. Then he reached into his bag and produced his Invisibility Cloak. "Get under here — quick."
"Oh, Harry, I don't know." Hermione glanced toward Mrs Weasley.
"Come on!" Ron hissed.
After a brief hesitation, Hermione ducked under the Cloak with Harry and Ron. Nobody seemed to notice them slip away — everyone was too absorbed in Fred and George's wares. They squeezed out of the shop and onto the street, but by the time they emerged, Malfoy had vanished just as thoroughly as they had.
"He went that way," Harry murmured, keeping his voice low. "C'mon."
They hurried along, peering through shop windows and doorways. Hermione's pulse quickened as she pointed ahead. "That's him, isn't it? Turning left?"
"Big surprise," Ron muttered dryly.
Malfoy had cast a quick glance over his shoulder before slipping into Knockturn Alley.
"Quickly, or we'll lose him," Harry urged.
"Our feet will be seen!" Hermione protested as the Cloak flapped around their ankles. Concealing three people under it was becoming increasingly difficult.
"Doesn't matter," Harry said impatiently. "Just hurry!"
Knockturn Alley stretched before them, dark and apparently deserted. They peered into shop windows as they passed, but nothing stirred. In these dangerous times, buying Dark artefacts was a risk few would take openly, especially if they feared being observed.
Hermione chewed her lip, anxious to be done with this as quickly as possible. Her eyes widened as she caught a flash of white-blond hair through the grimy windows of Borgin and Burkes, and she pinched Harry's arm to make him stop. "He's in there."
Through the glass, Malfoy appeared to be speaking to the shopkeeper with barely concealed impatience.
"If only we could hear them," Hermione whispered.
Ron nearly leaped. "We can! Hang on —" He cursed under his breath as he dropped a small box, fumbling to catch it before pulling out one of the Extendable Ears from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
"Ron, you're brilliant!" Hermione breathed. "I hope the door isn't Imperturbable —"
"Listen!" Ron cut her off.
Pressing their heads together, they listened.
"…you know how to fix it?" Malfoy was saying, his voice a thread of impatience and barely concealed desperation.
"Possibly," said Borgin, his tone carefully noncommittal. "I'd need to see it. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"
"I can't. It's got to stay where it is. I just need you to tell me how to do it."
"Without seeing it, I must confess it would be a very difficult job. Perhaps impossible." Borgin's tongue passed briefly over his lips. "No guarantees."
"No?" said Malfoy. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."
He stepped toward Borgin and was obscured from view by a large cabinet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin — looking, by now, very frightened indeed.
"Tell anyone and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make certain you're giving this your full attention."
"There will be no need for —"
"I'll be the judge of that," said Malfoy. "I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe — I'll be needing it."
"Perhaps you'd like to take it with you now?"
"No, of course not, you stupid little man. How would I look carrying that through the street? Just don't sell it."
"Of course not… sir."
Borgin bowed as deeply as the bow Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.
"Not a word to anyone, Borgin — and that includes my mother. Understand?"
"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.
The next moment, the bell above the door rang sharply as Malfoy stalked out of the shop looking extremely pleased with himself. He passed so close that they felt the Cloak flutter around their knees. Inside, Borgin stood motionless; his unctuous smile had vanished, replaced by a look of distinct worry.
As Malfoy emerged, Harry, Ron, and Hermione pressed back against the wall to avoid detection. The air around them felt charged. They exchanged glances, hearts hammering.
Then Malfoy stopped. He turned toward the wall — toward them — and tilted his head slightly, stepping closer.
Hermione inhaled sharply and forced herself to breathe slowly, praying he would dismiss whatever instinct had drawn his attention.
His brow furrowed as he scrutinised the space in front of him. Ron's shoulder had gone rigid against hers. Harry's eyes darted left and right, waiting.
He was close. Close enough that all he'd have to do was reach out, and he'd find them. He'd know they'd been watching. That they'd heard everything.
Hermione barely breathed. She could make out the fine details of his face at this distance — the sharp angle of his jaw, the way his platinum hair caught the dim light filtering down into Knockturn Alley. She even caught the faint scent of him: parchment and something earthy, like mahogany or damp stone. It was an oddly grounding thing to notice amidst the terror of the moment.
"Come on, Malfoy," Ron breathed through clenched teeth. "Just move on."
"Shh," Harry hissed, eyes locked on Malfoy, who seemed lost in thought, still studying the wall.
After what felt like an age, Malfoy stepped back. "How odd," he murmured to himself, before turning and walking away.
All three of them exhaled at once and sagged against the wall.
Ron reeled in the Extendable Ear. "What in bloody hell was that about?"
"Don't know," Harry murmured. "Could you make out what he was pointing at?"
But Hermione was already ducking out from under the Cloak. "Stay here," she whispered. She checked her reflection in the shop window, composed herself, and pushed the door open.
"Horrible morning, isn't it?" she said pleasantly as she strolled in, smiling at the shopkeeper. She paused beside a glass-fronted display case. "Is this necklace for sale?"
Borgin scowled. "If you've got one and a half thousand Galleons."
Hermione tutted. "That won't do. What about this skull?"
"Sixteen Galleons."
"So it is for sale? Not being held for anyone?" She feigned innocence as Borgin squinted at her.
"I assure you, it's not the sort of thing you'd want to buy, young lady. Quite a sinister object, in truth."
Hermione sighed and stepped closer to the counter, placing a hand delicately on the glass. She hated to admit it, but their brief encounter with Mrs Malfoy earlier was proving useful — she found herself borrowing something of the woman's cool composure.
"The thing is, sir," she began, "the boy who was just in here — Draco Malfoy?" She watched Borgin's face carefully.
Not even a flicker.
"He's a… well. A friend of mine."
"Friend?" Borgin repeated.
Hermione kept her expression even. "A close friend. If you take my meaning."
"I can't say that I do, miss."
"If you must know," she said, "he's my — my boyfriend." She could scarcely believe the words coming out of her mouth.
Borgin raised an eyebrow, his expression openly sceptical. "A boyfriend, is he? I wouldn't have expected that."
"Well, perhaps 'boyfriend' is too informal. He is my betrothed."
"Miss —"
"Parkinson. Pansy. Pansy Parkinson," she cut him off.
Borgin's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered this. "Pansy Parkinson, you say? That does put a rather different complexion on things."
Hermione kept her smile in place. "I assumed it would. I trust you're familiar with my family's standing?"
"Quite well, Miss Parkinson. Your mother is a very valued client of mine. I'm expecting her shortly, in fact." He pulled out a large, dust-coated ledger, flipping it open. "Ah — yes, she should be here any moment."
A rush of cold moved through her, but Hermione kept her face utterly still, pushing the sound of Harry and Ron anxiously whispering outside far from her mind.
"Good," she said steadily. "I wouldn't want to keep you from business. But before she arrives, I was hoping you might help me with a small matter of Draco's. He mentioned something that needed attending to — something important. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"
Borgin opened his mouth — and then the bell above the door rang.
'No,' Hermione thought.
A short, slender woman swept into the shop with an air of brisk impatience. "Borgin, I do apologise — it's dreadfully difficult getting here these days." She set her bag down on the glass counter with a thud.
Hermione looked at her. The resemblance was striking: short black hair cut pin-straight, sharp features, quick dark eyes.
"Ah, Mrs Parkinson," Borgin greeted. "I was just speaking with your daughter here." He nodded toward Hermione.
Hermione's heart leapt into her throat as Mrs Parkinson turned to look at her.
The woman took her in from head to toe — the wild, curly hair, the chewed lip, the tension written across every inch of her face.
Hermione's hand twitched toward where she kept her wand, braced to run. To her complete astonishment, it seemed that wouldn't be necessary.
"Pansy, dear — I didn't realise you'd be here." Mrs Parkinson smiled, then turned back to Borgin with a faint reproach. "And Borgin, I've told you before — it's Cassandra."
Hermione stared at the woman.
What just happened?
Mrs Parkinson — Cassandra — had accepted her without a second thought. It made no sense whatsoever. She hadn't even taken Polyjuice Potion to look like Pansy.
"What exactly brings you here, Pansy?" Cassandra asked curiously.
Hermione fumbled. "Draco — I mean — Draco was just in. I wanted to help."
Cassandra nodded, her expression mildly indulgent. "Whatever Draco was attending to here, I'm quite sure it was personal. I think it's best you head home, darling."
"Of course, Mother," Hermione replied, doing her best to sound natural.
Cassandra's sharp eyes softened just slightly. "Draco's affairs aren't your concern," she said, with a finality that left no room for argument.
Hermione nodded, knowing better than to press.
Borgin's eyes narrowed. "I had heard your daughter took after you, Cassandra."
Cassandra glanced at him with mild amusement. "No, no — you're thinking of Astoria. Pansy takes after her father."
Something shifted in Borgin's expression, and he gave a quick, deferential nod. "Yes, of course. My apologies."
"He passed some years ago, Borgin. No need for that." Cassandra placed a hand on Hermione's back and guided her toward the door, not removing it until they were several paces down the street.
Hermione turned to face her. "Mrs Parkinson, I'm so sorry —"
"Miss Granger." Her voice held no malice, only a crisp authority.
Hermione's breath stopped. "You — you know who I am?"
"And you are clearly more bold than I gave you credit for, coming in here unmasked."
Hermione stared, her mouth slightly open, a thousand questions crowding at once. "I don't understand," she managed. "Why didn't you —"
"Expose you?" Cassandra finished, a small, wry smile passing over her face. "For one thing, it's rather refreshing to see someone with genuine initiative and nerve. And besides —" she lowered her voice, her gaze flicking briefly back to the shadowed windows of Borgin and Burkes — "I have little affection for the sort of secrecy my husband's old associates seem so fond of cultivating lately."
Hermione nodded slowly, choosing her next words with care. "Thank you. But — I —"
"Don't misunderstand me, Miss Granger." Cassandra's tone remained measured. "I admire your determination, and I'll admit you fooled Borgin admirably. But I am not here to assist you." A slight pause. "My daughter dislikes being impersonated. I imagine you've seen firsthand how she responds when she feels her dignity has been taken liberties with."
Hermione recalled Pansy's usual manner at school. "Yes, Mrs Parkinson. I can imagine she wouldn't be pleased." She glanced back toward the shop window.
Cassandra gave a small, approving nod. "Wise girl. I suggest you take what you've learnt here and leave quietly." Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked back into Borgin and Burkes.
Ron threw the Cloak back over Hermione the moment she stepped clear of the doorway. "What happened? We couldn't hear a thing — the Ear stopped working."
"You dropped it," Harry said flatly.
Hermione hesitated. "I told him I was Malfoy's… friend. Didn't work. Then Mrs Parkinson came in."
"You? A friend of Malfoy's?" Ron scoffed.
"Yes, Ronald — it's not as if Borgin could tell I wasn't a pureblood!"
"I'm just saying you don't exactly look like one of his lot."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you know how they are!" Ron pressed. "Parkinson's like — and Greengrass is —"
Harry stared at his two friends. There was no way Ron was implying what he thought he was.
"Ron, you can't be serious," Harry interjected, raising an eyebrow. "Just because Hermione doesn't fit their particular mould doesn't mean she isn't credible. She handled herself brilliantly in there."
Hermione felt a swell of gratitude toward Harry, but Ron's words had burrowed in. "What do you mean, exactly, Ron?" she pressed, frustration rising. "Are you saying I don't belong in the same room as Draco Malfoy simply because I'm not like Pansy Parkinson or Daphne Greengrass?"
Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "I just meant — they have a certain look, a certain attitude. You're… you're you. You don't fit into their clique."
Hermione crossed her arms. "And what precisely is their 'look,' Ron? Just because I'm not draped in designer robes and swanning around like the queen of Slytherin doesn't mean I can't hold my own."
"It's not about holding your own," Ron argued. "They just have a different look."
"You keep saying that without explaining it! What look? What's so different about me compared to them?!"
Ron shifted uncomfortably, his face reddening. "I mean — Pansy and Daphne, they're just… polished. Their hair's always perfect. The robes, the way they carry themselves. And Pansy — she knows how to work a room. She's got that sort of — flirtatious charm —"
"Flirtatious charm?" Hermione cut him off, disbelief colouring her voice. "Is that what you admire in a person?"
Ron waved his hands. "Not admire! I'm just saying she knows how to play the game. And Daphne — she's striking. People notice her. You walk in, and you're just — you know. More studious. You don't make a show of yourself. You wear those jumpers and your hair is always so — it's not styled."
Harry winced and tried to cut in. "Ron, maybe —"
"You'd rather have your nose in a book than stand in front of a mirror, is what I mean," Ron finished, apparently convinced this clarified everything. "It's like — it's like you're a candle. You keep the room warm and steady. But they're fireworks. Bright and flashy."
Hermione stared at him. "So. I'm not pretty enough to even theoretically pass as one of Malfoy's friends."
Harry stepped firmly on Ron's foot.
"We're nearly back. Shut up," Harry hissed.