            Hermione whipped back to Lucius. He was smiling, smiling down at her with so much pride she wanted to cry. She wanted to kiss him, too. But even as her feet inched forward, and her hand came up to close over his own, she resisted The ritual wasn’t finished, but this—the way he touched her, the way he made her feel—had to be. Sirius was almost back. The winter would fade, and so would her feelings towards the dark wizard before her.