            Something rough and hard slammed into her face. Groaning, Hermione lifted her head an inch, realizing she had landed on her belly. And her face—it was wet and hot and reeking of copper. The pain hit, first in her leg, then her nose. Likely broken. Hermione wiped the blood away from her face and rolled, whimpering, onto her side. She was on the dais, facing the Veil. Cheek against sticky stone. The archway was empty. Cloth fluttering. Whispers back to their usual, luring simmer.