"Oh my god—I’ll never forget it." She puffed her chest out, thickening her voice with a mock Estuary accent, "What did you expect, "Mione? You lie down with Dragons, you wake up with pox.’ Like—what? Who talks like that? And who—even in the ripe old year of 1998, blames a person for being claimed against their will and forced into a mating bond without their permission? The one time he could have rightfully hated Draco Malfoy, and he chose to rub my nose in it instead." She finished her fish, and, after giving Crookshanks her last bite, licked her fingers and wiped them on a paper napkin. "I don’t want to talk about him. Tell me what’s going on with that little Veela incident I heard about in Wiltshire yesterday?" Loathe as she was to admit it, Hermione was feeling much better with some food in her system. 