At mealtimes, Hermione sits in the middle of the head table like a queen on a throne. She wears black and holds herself ramrod straight. She never seems perturbed, never bothered. As Ginny can barely hold her spoon still enough to transfer her food to her mouth, Hermione delicately cuts into her potatoes as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. The only emotion Ginny ever sees her display is a kind of detached amusement, as if she is laughing about a joke only she knows. Then, the thing crawling down Ginny’s spine wakes up and stirs all the more, wrapping around her shoulders in a cold grip and whispering in her ear.