"...and you blew up the kitchen?"

The wizard glanced up from his book, his gaze on the herd of teenagers sitting in front of the hearth, and frowned. He looked over at Rastaban, his twin's eyes dancing with laughter, before Rodolphus turned his gaze on his wife. She was sprawled out on the couch next to him, head in his lap and her hand tucked under her cheek. It was times like this that he adored the woman, when all her guards were down and she was content to entrust her safety to him. It didn't happen often. He ran a hand down her neck, intrigued by the curve of her shoulder and the subtle rise of her breas-

"Uncle Rodolphus?" He blinked, and his gaze lifted to his smirking nephew. He pointedly ignored the sniggering teenagers, and the girls rolling their eyes, as he replied, "Yes, Draco?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, get a room." It came from Parkinson, and he heard Rabastan choke on his drink behind him. Then, much to everyone's surprise, Potter cut into the conversation, "I'd much rather Greyback go to a bathroom before they get a bedroom. Merlin. Of all the things I thought I'd see in a muggle town, it was not a werewolf with his pants dropped to the ground."

The young wizard shuddered afterward. Rodolphus didn't blame him. He'd walked into the showers one time too many, with the intent to wash away the day's grim, only to find the mentioned werewolf standing in the middle of the room, stark ass naked, more than he'd ever care to admit. And it was always his personal bathroom, to make things worse. Wolves. Did they have no decency? And to think Lord Marvolo was cursing the wolf at this very moment for improper exposure when there was a herd of teenagers in the Manor.

He mentally wondered why it mattered when most of them already knew what the Dark Lord planned for the hero.

It was enough to make even Bellatrix loose a night of sleep and keep her up giggling like mad.

He would never understand fangirls.

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"I'm going to be upfront about this," Hadrian sighed, his gaze shifting to Parkinson and her sharp gaze cutting into Hermione. The curly-haired witch blinked, turning to face the other girl, as the Slytherin girl commented, rather bluntly, "I don't care what everyone else says, but you, Granger, are a total bitch."

Hermione frowned, eyes narrowing. "I'm a bitch? Coming from the girl whose known to castrate people?"

What? Hadrian snapped his head to the side, gaze settling on the two girls, and stared, uncertain if he was hearing what he was hearing, as Parkinson snapped, "And each of them deserved it! You, on the other hand, are a ranting, enraged cow who happens to like bossing people around a little too much!"

Oh, Merlin, they're going to start a fight right in the Malfoy's living room. Hadrian tossed a beseeching look towards Zabini, and the stepped back, hands coming up, and mouthed 'No Way In Hell' right back at him. Hadrian scowled. Zabini was afraid of the girl he was crushing on? Seriously? Across from them, Hermione stamped her foot on the ground, eyes narrowed as she retorted, "Then I take it you haven't spent an hour in Ron's company without insulting him. Sometimes I have to be bossy because that's the only way he will do his homework. Or read the books we're assigned!"

"And what's your excuse with Potter?" Hermione paused, gaze shifting towards Nott, and Hadrian groaned. They were ganging up on her. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. A cornered Hermione was one even he didn't ever want to confront. And they were cornering her. The witch hugged herself, honey-brown eyes hard, her mouth opening, then closing, and Hadrian, voice light, finally said, "Go upstairs, Hermione."

She didn't need an escape route exposed twice. She vanished out of the room, and he turned on the Slytherins in front of him, voice low, as he snapped, "Yes, she is a bossy teenager. She can get mean, when the situation calls for it, but do you honestly think ganging up on her is going to do her any good?"

"She walks over people, Potter. Yourself included!" Parkinson hissed, and Hadrian rolled his eyes.

"No, she doesn't walk all over me. I know where she's coming from when she does that." He held up a hand as their mouths opened, and narrowed his gaze until they closed. Draco was sitting, frowning, while the others shifted in their spots. Once he was certain he had their attention, and ignoring the red-eyed man coming up behind him, he continued, "Or have your forgotten she was raised in a muggle world, is borderline genius, and never had a friend in her life before coming to Hogwarts? That she was raised with children who would either want to use her because she's smarter than them, or were afraid of her because odd things happened when she was involved?"

Did they honestly think the bossiness was intentional? That she did it because she was mean, or spiteful?

He scowled. "She bosses people around because she was bossed around by people who said they were her friends. She's not nearly as bad as she was in first year, when she was judged and disliked because she came from a muggle household. So, before you start judging people, and the things they do, get the actual damn facts behind their behavior. Otherwise, you might push someone off the deep end without even realizing it."

He turned, and brushed past Riddle. He felt the man's gaze on his back as he shouldered his way out of the room, and made his way upstairs. Behind him, he heard the beginnings of a faint conversation, in which Riddle was leading, and trooped up the stairs to his bedroom. He paused outside the door, listening to the soft sniffles coming from the other side of the door, and closed his eyes. Great. She was crying. Damn snakes and their sharp tongues. After a moment, he eased the door, and stepped into the room.

Hermione was cuddled up against the headboard of his bed, arms wrapped around her knees, and she refused to look at him as he closed the door. He crossed the room, sat next to her, and kept his silence. Yes, she bossed people around. She had a tendency to rant. Sometimes she jumped forward without knowing everything, but he knew she never did it with the intent to hurt. To humiliate. If she did, why would she have fled the room. Why would she be crying? As he leaned against the headboard, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, he only held her, content to let her mull through her thoughts, until long after the sun finally set.