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Dolores was on the verge of asking a question. Of raising an objection... Of something, as she awkwardly stood at the table. Angry, frustrated words died in her throat. She sat back down mumbling an insincere apology to Madam Pince.
Looking around, she was struck by a sense of wrongness. But as she tugged at her school jumper nothing came to mind. She dismissed the thought, wishing she were allowed to wear her favourite colour more openly. Just the hint of her pink frilly underwear was a treat she was planning on keeping should she get a date with dreamy Draco Malfoy... She'd strengthen her blood ties one way or another. She sat up straighter, shoulders back, bust thrust forward.
As Hermione walked past, she muttered into her parchment. Jealousy at how easily studying came to that filthy mud-blood. Oh, how she wished she could openly use that language so right, and so righteous, if only that weakling Dumbledore wasn't in charge, with his wishy-washy coddling ways.
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