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Summary
“Why does that look like a mangled, green cock?”
Hermione frowned. Theo wasn’t wrong. She looked up at the two current banes of her existence, one staring at her with amusement, the other with an unreadable expression.
“It’s—it’s supposed to be a pickle,” she started to explain, trying not to show how flustered she was. “It’s, well, it’s a Muggle tradition. You hide the pickle and—“
“Oh, Draco would love to play hide the pickle with you, Granger. Wouldn’t you, darling?”
He tweaked Malfoy’s chin, who looked like he might bite Theo’s finger off. His nostrils were flared in what she assumed was annoyance, his jaw tightly clenched, and his eyes spat fire at his best friend.
“I must say,” said Theo, “I’m shocked.” He clutched his chest. “I really thought Granger would excel at blowing pickles.”