Remembers how, when they’d all filed into the room, Hermione had shed her hood with a tilt of her head. How her curls had sprung up around her, and how her eyes had roven across them. Remembers trying to catch them, trying to find Hermione in there – remembers how she had reached, attempted to grasp something, something in all of this that made sense. And then Hermione’s eyes had slid past her, had not even seen her, and the world had tilted on its axis.