"Yes, m’lady," Wormtail squeaked, and Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste as he passed her, followed by a whiff of body odor.  She glanced at Lucius, but she could not read his face, no longer looking at Narcissa, though she could feel Mrs. Malfoy staring daggers into her back.  She’s a Black who married a Malfoy, Hermione reminded herself.  Better imagined daggers than real ones.