            "No, I would not have thrown any of my father’s good porcelain." Hermione thought his admission would make her feel better, but the hurt just swirled harder, darker. If she stared long enough at the floor, one of the tiles might crack. Would it feel better? To break things?  Fingers drew towards her before she could find out, capturing her knee. Hermione’s breathing hitched as Lucius’s voice smoothed out, "You did not ask me why I would not have been upset."