For Dorrito’s Every Flavour Mood Beans. Belongs with Amused.
*****
Annoyed
“What was that, Potter?”
Hermione clenched her teeth, reaching out to tug at Harry’s arm, knowing it was no use at all. They were going at it more frequently than ever, despite her nightly lectures in which she meticulously laid out reason after reason for avoiding any trouble for Dumbledore this year.
Soon, insults turned to hexes—green skin, a second nose—back and forth they flew, as Hermione struggled to stay quiet, her face growing tight with irritation.
Later, in the hospital wing, she spoke in urgent tones, hating the sound of her own voice as it hit silence.