Polyjuice Potion and the Infiltration Plan (9)

"Pansy." His voice suddenly became very soft, very gentle, as if he were calling someone close to him. "What perfume did you use today? It smells different."

Hermione's mind went blank with a buzz.

What perfume did Pansy use? She did not know. She had never paid attention to Pansy's scent. But Malfoy had asked, and he was waiting for an answer. How would a normal Pansy respond? Maybe she would coyly swat him and say, "So you finally noticed"; maybe she would roll her eyes and say, "What's it to you?"; or perhaps she would proudly lift her chin and say, "It's a new French fragrance. You wouldn't understand."

But she was not Pansy. She did not know.

"Your nose is sharp, I'll give you that." She imitated Pansy's haughty tone with its slight nasal twang, pulling her lips into a critical curve. "But, Draco, since when did you start caring what perfume girls use? Don't tell me—"

She deliberately drew out the last syllable and threw the question back at him. This was a trick Hermione Granger often used—when she did not know the answer, she would question the other person instead and make them carry the conversation on themselves.

Malfoy smiled. It was not the awkward smile of someone being questioned, but the knowing look of someone thinking, Just as I thought. He turned his head and glanced at Zabini. Zabini raised an eyebrow slightly, and the amused curve at the corner of his mouth deepened.

"And... Pansy, why did you show up with those two? Haven't you always complained that these two idiots have no brains?" He gave "Pansy" a fake smile, entirely devoid of warmth.

Blaise Zabini lounged against the mantelpiece with his arms folded, a faintly amused smile on his lips. Theodore Nott stood