"Now you’re getting it. But of course, you still don’t. You’re absolutely right,  I  did. I made you the perfect candidate. The perfect husband. So..." Hermione sucks in a pained breath and spins away, unable to maintain eye contact with him anymore, the agony lancing through her sharp as a blade. She throws her hands out to demonstrate and depict her words in the air for dramatic effect. "Fucking. Perfect. Perfect society princess Astoria Greengrass, future wife of Minister for Magic Draco—no, no, no—King Draco Malfoy."