A quiet shuffling coming from near the window caught Hermione's attention, steering her thoughts away from embarrassing nights that were better left unremembered. Someone was with her in the room. Assuming it was simply an overly attentive Antonin, she was startled to see the figure seated in his father's favorite reading chair. A smile slowly crept on Hermione's face. She might have been a terrible mother, but she did love her son in her own way. Her maternal instincts were just dormant or recessive or simply non-existent.