            Hermione blanched as her eyes roved over the room. Sirius’s bedroom. Her, in it. Wrapped in his Gryffindor bedding, still warm from her body’s heat. No, no, no—how did she get in here? Did anyone see? Hermione wracked her brain, trying to recall her last memories of the night before they went fuzzy. She remembered George, kissing him under the blasted mistletoe. Taking his champagne. Sitting alone in the kitchen, telling those boys to get a room. Then...then...