"Ha," Narcissa scoffed, eyes flickering behind her to where Hermione sat on one armchair beside the hearth and Potter in the other. "You're one to talk, my darling son." At his fixed expression and furrowed brows, she sighed, nudging the man at her feet again. "This is an old friend of mine. If you can call him that after what he did. Perhaps, it would be more accurate to say he was a friend of your father's."