            "And you wish for that truth, Hermione?" He lowered his cup, his gaze steadying on her. He stood up, pushing aside his chair as he began to pace through the library’s tables. "You have spent months in the home of a Death Eater. Discussing magic in his study, allowing him to carry you home minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve. Every other witch or wizard in this country would find your choices either devastatingly naïve, or incredibly desperate." She flushed furiously at his words, but kept her eyes trained on him as he stilled. "The truth is that it does not matter to you what I want, or who I am. As long as you get your Sirius Black back from the dead."