            She nodded and set her jaw, grin fading as she turned back to the Bloody Baron. With her wand, Hermione sent the ghost forward, the golden chain slipping noiselessly across the stone floor and snaking up the dais. Her magic pushed him through the tattered Veil, no time to pause or reconsider or mull over the consequences, should it fail. Hermione had spent weeks doubting the Retinacula ritual, doubting herself, doubting a future where this was all worth it.