"A man called Corvus Rowle - he was in his late fifties and kept trying to tell me we were related and that his great Grandmother was a Black or something," Draco sneered slightly, "His wife had died a month earlier, and he," his voice broke, "he just kept going on about how he was still young, and how he was ready to get out there and "sow his wild oats’ and find himself a new wife," Draco shook his head, "he was a chauvinistic pig, and he made me feel sick," he said flatly.  