And she scowled angrily. That piece of cheap, ugly ... probably fake ... gold that Ron had forced on her was sitting in its place. Bland and dirty, biting into her skin just below the knuckle, Hermione hated it with every nuance of her being. She glared at it, cursed and railed at it. She turned her hand and thought all things negative at once ... about the ring, about the one who had jammed it on her finger so hard it had torn her flesh, and about all the abuses it had allowed him to visit upon her under the guise of warped law. Hermione felt her fury building and building, it was like a gathering storm inside. She didn't want to let it out, in case it scared little Celesca, but she could feel the potency of it in the way the air around her was rapidly heating up. She wasn't sure she could rein it in much longer. And then ...