"Language, Granger," he chided, retreating behind his old and always useful mask of biting sarcasm and cool nastiness. He felt like the world’s biggest prick as Hermione recoiled, wand tip still jabbing into his throat, hand trembling slightly. She looked like she wanted to repeat what she’d done in third year – haul off and hit him. Instead she huffed and scowled at him, a sharp crease between her brows as she furiously hissed at him: