"Bloody hell," Hermione groaned. "Would a gun to your head be the opportune moment you had in mind?" She quipped. The other boy's jewel-toned eyes – much more emerald than Astoria's paler shade – flickered down to the revolver in her waistband, and Hermione sighed impatiently. "I'm not going to shoot you. I believe I've proven that particular task of little interest to me, haven't I?"