She’s at the Gryffindor table with Neville and Luna when the morning owls swoop down from the rafters. Hermione automatically pins the pages of her book still with a finger, as the wind from a hundred wings swishes across the table. Her Daily Prophet owl lands neatly beside her plate, and she exchanges a sickle for the paper. It gives her a hoot, and takes off—sending a napkin flying in its wake.