Crookshanks simply stood, pointed his bottle-brush tail into the air in resigned defeat, and stomped away out of the room. Hermione looked to the ceiling for guidance. None was forthcoming. So she returned to her book, flicking to the back pages again. She finally touched her wand-tip to the corner of one, setting it gently alight. She wept as the page curled and separated under the controlled, bluebell flame, and Harry watched his own facsimile turn to ash ... as the already burned pictorial Hermione's arms flung around his neck one last time ...