            Hermione let out a cry of frustration, spinning around so she didn’t have to look at either one of them. They were treating her like a child. Like they had—had conspired up to this moment. The idea was laughable. She did laugh—a short, bitter bark with no humor. "You told me you were going to die, Sirius. You kept telling me and telling me that!" Anger slithered into her belly as the realization sunk in, and she rounded on the wizards. "You decided this without me, didn’t you? At the bar. I knew, I knew something happened that day."