"Malfoy," Hermione hissed with every bit of acidic bile she could muster. "You should be careful what you wish for, you know, because I have no intention of dying by your hand today. Or any day, actually. Imagine the shame! How could I look Harry in the face, knowing I had been bested by a man who couldn't lay a single spell on him, when he had eight cronies to help him out!? The shame, I tell you."