Hermione vomited and vomited until there was nothing left, until she was dry heaving acrid bile into the toilet. Her mouth felt as though she had swallowed a lit match. Her eyes, swollen and puffy from tears, seared into her skull as though she had been the one burned. The noise of her heaving into the bowl echoed around the cold tile bathroom, reminding her of a barking dog. No matter how much she tried to empty her stomach, the greedy, bloodthirsty thing in her chest did not move. It stayed stuck in her throat, immovable and hot. 