His plate kept sliding away from him as he tried to painstakingly cut through his corned beef, and he swore under his breath. Hermione would have offered to help, but she didn’t think he would appreciate it. In the end he was forced to bring out his mutilated arm, resting the upper part of his forearm on the edge of the plate to hold it still. Two red spots burnt high on his cheeks; humiliation, Hermione guessed. It was a slow process, and Hermione knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t stop her gaze lifting from her hands to his stump.