The boats began to slow gradually until the floated to a halt at the docks. Hermione was interested to see that a few boats ahead was another transfer, a boy. He was probably a year or two younger than her. He was thin, tall, and his skin seemed akin to paper. He looked sickly. But then, mortals always seemed slightly sickly, didn’t they? Their lives were so short and pitiful. Their lives were over in the blink of an eye. Aunt Lindsay had lost count of her age after she had reached a thousand years old, and that had been centuries ago. Witches only died when they were done serving the Dark Lord, and when they were good and ready.