Hazel grimaced and did the same, not surprised by the awful taste that filled her mouth. What else could Hate Potion taste like but mouldy socks?
She looked at Ambrose, and felt no more or less repelled by him, though given Hazel hadn't been feeling particularly generous regarding his character, this came as no surprise to her. He was a scheming, heartless Slytherin, but he'd been that before she'd wet her lips with the vile brew.
She thought there might have been something else, though. He looked less confident than he had a moment ago, unsure of himself, as insecure as he was like to make a younger Hufflepuff feel.