The knife is a last-ditch effort. It’s hopeless, and she knows it, but a part of her revels in it. When she lies awake at night, she imagines Hermione dying in a muggle way – how poetic. How satisfying. She expects the curses, expects the pain, the blood. Revels in the expectation, almost, knowing what is to come, knowing the evil that shares every meal with her. But still, Hermione surprises her.