Harry and Hermione are destined for each...
But dear little Snowy, I *am* doing what I do , which is pointing out what a delusional crackwhore you are.
"Snowy, meet reality. Reality, meet Snowy."
"I don't know you at all," said Snowy.
"That's okay," said reality, "you're clearly batshit insane and I want nothing to do with you."
"Oh, by the bye," chirped Snowy, "do you know J.K. Rowling? I wanted to talk to her."
"Yes, yes I do," replied reality, "and she told me to kick you in the cunt."
And reality reared back his leg and did just that, burying his boot between Snowy's legs like he was kicking the extra point to win the Super Bowl (which was ironic, since reality is British and thinks that American football is the embarrassing stepchild of Rugby and is played by whiny nancy-boys who shoot their girlfriends and hide in car trunks, but still need body armor.)
And with reality's boot lodged snugly in her pelvis...