"It definitely has been a long time," Hermione hums her agreement, extending her hand toward him and demanding Draco’s total attention in a flat mockery of pureblood customs as she interrupts Astoria. Allowing his gaze to fall fully onto her for the first time since her arrival, he immediately realizes his error. She’s pinned half of her riotous mass of signature chestnut curls up, tendrils escaping a slew of sparkling diamond pins to twist down and tease the exposed line of her smooth neck and shoulders. A haute couture, deep emerald colored gown clings to her like a second skin—Acromantula silk—if he had to guess, but he’s certain she first assured it was humanely sourced. It showcases every inch of her curvaceous figure and flaunts it to perfection; obviously, she’s using her body like a finely honed weapon, designed for maximum impact and catastrophic consequences. "A hands-on leader, you say?"