Hermione sat silently for what felt like hours after Pansy left, fingers playing with her necklace. She'd not spoken to anyone about... anything, really, since Cecily had left and she'd read through the horrors in the folder the Elder had left behind. She didn't think, though she couldn't be entirely sure, that the boys weren't planning something. Couldn't be sure that they hadn't figured out what could be done to "save" her. She'd withdrawn, totally and completely. More so than she had even before she'd realized she was dying. She supposed she needed to... set some things straight. Explain everything. Ask for forgiveness where she could get it. She had time, she knew. Not a lot of it, but time enough to make what amends she could. And she needed to be sure that nobody did anything stupidly heroic. With a weary sigh, Hermione lifted her heavy body from the couch, shuffled over to the fireplace and started making calls.