She picked up the dried flower and crushed it in her hand.  The heat of her palm made the fragile petal crumbs burst into a flame that quickly burnt itself out.  She let the ashes fall, dirty snow in the white room, suddenly too tired to wonder how that had happened.  One more horrible Veela trait, she supposed.  "I'll be at Harry's," she said as if he deserved the courtesy of knowing where she'd be.  "I'll have Kreacher fetch my things.  Or Ron."