And she was not going to cower in front of Voldemort like she had planned. She was not going to grovel at the feet of a disfigured supremacist and pray she was manipulative enough to escape unscathed. All at once, she made up her mind—she wasn’t going to sit and wait for Voldemort to come to her, waiting like a pig in a slaughter pen, hopelessly inching closer to her hurtling doom. 