The action had made her feel good.  They  made her feel good. They had left her flooded with something addictive, something like power cast off as meaningless, as an  excess.  Hermione laid back and rolled on the floor of her cage, crawled her way towards the bars and stared out into the air. No one was below her, but Hermione could close her eyes and pinpoint where her Lord was, where her Lady remained hidden. Something in the castle was rolling deep, dredging up a dark resplendence. Hermione could feel the edges of it at her furthest limit of perception, cold and dark like crackling lightning, a tinge of heat that flared every now and again.