Hermione huffed crossly as she weighed them all up and tried to process each image rationally. Standing there, she made a firm decision. Screw the war, screw Riddle and Ron and every Death Eater fucker out there. She was going to heal Harry of this as a matter of urgency. That was her priority now, and the rest of the world could just kiss her pert little arse if they had a problem with it. But they were only half way through this jaunt through Harry’s own personal purgatory, and Hermione had more anchors to lay before her foundation was complete.