Someone had Conjured sheets to throw over the corpses. Could they even be called corpses? There was so little of them left. Sprout was already there, her grey hair in curlers, worriedly shooing students back to their bedrooms, but it was too late—the roar of noise materialised into  THEY’RE DEAD, THEY’RE DEAD, THEY’RE GONE, THEY’RE DEAD, and Hermione held her hands over her ears, the elder wand pressing hard against her cheek. 