            Her head felt like an overripe pumpkin from Hagrid’s patch. She let her elbows dig into her thighs, let that weight fall into the cradle of her fingers. Hermione wanted to laugh and cry and sleep and smash something, all at once. Was there nothing she could do right? Was there anyone she  couldn’t save from being sucked into this catastrophe she now called her life? Even if Harry accepted that Sirius was back, he would surely hate her forever once he learned of her methods. Once he realized that Sirius would die again.