Hermione cried out in confusion, as she caught a sight of tousled jet black hair, from behind Rita Skeeter as Umbridge beckoned for Dennis to bring forward the other prisoner. Hermione couldn’t rationalise what she was seeing, Harry was dead, she had cried for him when he died, she had accepted condolences from all their friends and allies. She had prayed to him to deliver her from this awful situation on the snatcher’s cross-country march. She couldn’t understand how Harry could be present here, the lightening bolt scar mocking her. She knew that Polyjuice could not last this long, even if the "Harry’ in front of her had the magical mastery and had taken a recent dose of the potion. She knew it was impossible, the imposter would need some fresh hairs, not something readily available. A pained thought flashed in Hermione’s mind as she thought of Harry’s hairbrush which she kept amongst her most treasured possessions, her Hogwart’s Acceptance letter and a photo of her parent’s wedding, as the last resistance fighter these treasures would be lost forever.