Pansy gave her an appraising look and then sipped at her mug, draining the last of whatever it was – although from the shudder to Pansy's shoulders as she gulped and the slur in her voice, Hermione was guessing alcohol dependency was a Slytherin tradition – and idly pushing her cup around the table in little circles and figures of eight. Hermione watched the girl in her peripheral vision as she waited for the kettle to boil, the silence deafening and horridly, crushingly awkward.