Hathor had an excellent head for liquor. After she had polished off all the newly brewed wine from the estate, Pomona even brought out the aged wine she had taken from the bunker last time. Only then did Hathor begin to look slightly tipsy.
"Eugene is a beautiful child, isn't he?" Hathor mumbled, sprawled across the cushions. "He's already taller than Bonaparte at seventeen."
"Indeed." Pomona poured Hathor another glass of wine.
"That slut... hic." Hathor belched. "She really thinks she's irresistible. After becoming Bonaparte's mistress, she kept smiling foolishly at Eugene, thinking she could conquer both father and son."
"You really hate that little Cleopatra?" Pomona asked softly.
"She is on my territory," Hathor said, barely coherent. "Seducing my men."
Pomona wanted to say that neither Eugene nor Napoleon belonged to this Egyptian goddess of love, but she merely gave a false smile and agreed. "You're right. She really doesn't know her place."
"I heard you people in Britain were making a fuss about equality?"
"That is already in the past, my goddess."
"Do you believe in it?" Hathor looked at Pomona through drunken eyes.
"No." Pomona went along with her.
"Don't try to fool me." Hathor seemed somewhat more lucid. "You're only saying that to please me?"
"I believe pure-bloods should marry outstanding Muggles and Muggle-borns. The closer the blood relation, the greater the chances of producing deformed or intellectually impaired children." Pomona met Hathor's eyes. "Like your Napoleon marrying a princess of the Habsburg dynasty."
"He does not love that princess," Hathor said coldly. "She is neither beautiful nor intelligent. Other than her noble bloodline, she has nothing."
Pomona did not know what to say.
"She is as clumsy as a cow." Hathor took another drink. "But at least she is a living woman."
"What did you