            But as her eyelids slid back open, the reality of that presence came crashing back, like ice water had been injected into her veins. All at once, Hermione was too aware of the heaving chest behind her back, the blinding of the wand at the foot of the stairs, the wizard standing to her right, a look of anguish and joy melded into his handsome features. She wanted to run to Sirius, to Harry, to stay right where she was, pressed into Lucius’s protective warmth.