She sliced his chest again with a spell. He flinched and hissed at the pain. Blood was already pooling on the kitchen tile at his feet. It gave Hermione a perverse pleasure to desecrate Mrs. Flinch's pristine kitchen. As one who took a great deal of pride in keeping her home neat and tidy, finding her husband's dead body and blood everywhere might send her into an obsessive panic. Would her first scream be because her beloved husband was dead or because the false sense of perfection she always tried to strive for would be besmirched? Would she frantically scrub up the blood before calling for help lest others know she had a home that was less than perfect? Mrs. Flint had an image she cared more about than most people. Perhaps Hermione was at least somewhat responsible for her manic need to project a flawless face. The thought only made Hermione laugh. Even after so many years she was still pathetic.