            Footsteps approached, but she ignored them, even when a robed figure crouched beside her. A voice began murmuring low in her ear—a vaguely familiar voice, but not the one she wanted to hear. He asked her what happened, was she hurt, could she speak, could she stand. But a numbness had already set into her body, stuffing her ears like cotton wool, turning her limbs and lips to lead. There was only the sea, spread out like an oil painting she could not take her eyes off of. She was supposed to be looking for someone. She was supposed to be sad, sobbing, grieving. Hermione forced up one arm, lifting her hand to her cheek.