Recalling the dying man’s scream and how Voldemort had permanently etched that into her memory, Hermione’s blood boiled. Her fists clenched, bloodless knuckles shining in the light and her nails biting into her palms, bright pinpricks of pain that drew blood. She smelled the copper tang of it, and was abruptly brought back to the moment the bat first impacted the man’s skull.