“Careful,” her own temper spiking as she faced him. “My mudblood might be catching though I’ve heard rumours its not quite as infectious as it used to be. Wouldn’t want it tainting your precious clothes now, would we?” Penny knew she wasn’t the same woman who’d been thrown into Azkaban after spending so long on the run. She was an independent witch who had to fight the urge to forego her wand and throw a punch for the sake of a revenge which should have died down inside of her years ago. Still, she tilted her chin and never flickered at the sneer. Some things never changed.
“I don’t recall offering you my name, Potions Master Malfoy.” Penny longed to push further at the button she’d flicked, see how far that particular rabbit hole went but they were in public and she had an inkling that the consequences would be all encompassing. Not something she wanted for Diagon Alley when she’d pulled a double shift hunched over flakey Germanic scrolls all night. “Fascinating,” she drawled as her arms found her hips and stared down at him. “How quickly you jump to the conclusion that the questions I’d ask would endanger your previous job, it was barely even thirty seconds of your time I asked for when you were standing like the slack-jawed village idiot staring in this window.”
Tilting her head, Penny regarded him like a specimen under a microscope. “Do you always jump to unfounded conclusions or am I just the lucky one?”