In the morning, Hermione got up extra early to pretend she was owling her parents just so she would have to come into the Great Hall from the doors closest to Slytherin. Trying to be surreptitious she couldn’t help but frown as Parkinson cut a slice of apple into smaller pieces while Malfoy appeared to be nibbling on toast and jam. “I really don’t think ferrets eat toast,” she started but the big boy that always followed Malfoy around (Goyle or Crabbe? Hermione realised she never spent the time to figure out which was which) said, “That’s what Malfoy eats for breakfast.” “But he’s currently a ferret,” said Hermione, wishing immediately she’d phrased it another way. Predictably his friends were up in arms. “Get lost!” “Shut up!” “How dare you, who do you think you are?” “That’s rich, you’re a bitch!” “Oi!” Hermione spun around and saw Ron getting up so she hurried over to the Gryffindor tables to prevent Harry and Ron coming over and making a scene. “What was that about?” asked