There was a ring on his finger, gold with a large black stone. She had seen him wearing it before, something he said was from his wizarding family—how jealous she had been, after years of thinking that they were both outsiders to the wizarding world—that she had that, too, in common with him, in addition to being top of the class. Hermione expected the ring to be cold, but it wasn’t. It was warm—and something else. Something off.