"Black? Really? What an unoriginal name for a demon," Hermione says drily, but they both know her snark is only a cover. She's forgotten her earlier aversion to looking at him; now she's devouring him with her stare. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks flushed with the rush of excitement she always gets when new knowledge opens itself up to her, like a present unwrapping itself. She's even leaning forward in her chair with anticipation. With her bushy dark brown hair, unremarkable skin, and brown eyes, she is not a beautiful girl, or even a passably pretty girl. Yet right now her face is suffused with so much pleasure that it almost overcomes her plainness.