Hermione’s Disillusionment charm had melted away, leaving her exposed in front of Dumbledore’s tomb, but she didn’t care. It hardly mattered. She felt lightheaded, drunk, giddy. This,  this  was magic. There could be no doubting that she wasn’t magical, that she wasn’t a witch. It didn’t matter that she was a mudblood or a muggleborn or bred from inferior stock, she had  this . 