Harry's voice was like honey to Hermione's ears, an elixir to that fleeting worry over his absence. She looked up and found him, strung out languidly on the window ledge with one leg crooked at the knee to brace him in place, lit by the dazzling morning sunlight as though it were his own personal hue, his dressing gown ... his open dressing down ... fluttering against a light breeze from outside.