She saw herself through Lavender’s eyes, so powerful that it might have been a vision, or Lavender’s thoughts were so loud that she could see them without Occluding. Hermione looked like some kind of rabid beast, her hair wild, body shaking, eyes bottomless with fury, standing over a naked, unconscious, bloody Slytherin. She looked nothing like the kind-eyed witch who busied around the school with her arms full of books, the harmless know-it-all who always had an answer in class. She looked nothing like the sleepy, giggly teen who had gotten drunk with Lavender, where the two of them had laid on the floor and had, in that moment, become friends. 