Hermione sank down in front of the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy and leant forwards, her elbows on her knees as she came to terms with the electric feeling in her muscles. She could chalk it down to unruly magic, but something told her the feeling settling in her core was distinctly un-magical, in it’s own magical way. The portrait in front of her was saying something, but she didn’t pay attention to it. "Girl! Are you alright?" She looks up at the portrait of a knight in full armour, his face concealed by the helmet.