"Of course," she said without argument, chastised and accepting it rather than argue with her son. Hermione jiggled her knees with nervous energy, wishing she was anywhere but in this big, high-ceilinged old drawing room, with the light pouring in from the windows at the end of the room and dust motes dancing in the air. There was another long silence and Hermione tried to be unnoticeable, fixing her eyes on her jeans-clad legs and gnawing at her lip.