"If it wasn't Narcissa," Pansy said, "was is that father of his?" Hermione could hear her drag a chair across the floor.  The wooden legs scraped against the old floor and Pansy made a bit of an unhappy huff as she settled onto the stiff leather seat.  Hermione could have warned her the bits of old horsehair stuck out of the tear in the covering and jabbed themselves into you if she'd cared about Pansy's comfort.  She didn't.