"There's another kind?"  Pansy asked.  Before Hermione could answer she waved her hand at her in a clear command to be quiet.  Hermione simmered but told herself arguing with a sick woman was unkind and, besides, she could vent her outrage to Draco later.  Her parents had been nothing like the Dursleys and the very idea offended her.   Pansy didn't seem that sick anymore, however.  She was still much too thin, and she needed a shower, but her eyes glittered with the plans she was making.  "I could write a book," she said. "Secrets of the Blacks.  Your house has to be filled with all their old things."