            Hermione ignored the flutter of guilt as she entered the Ministry’s cafeteria, just off the atrium. False windows spanned the tall, white-plaster walls, depicting views of the drizzling Scottish countryside. Rain even pattered at the windows, the sound just a smidge too hollow to sound like it was tapping against real glass. Last week, some poor intern had accidently charmed the windows to show the waiting room at St. Mungo’s. Harry and Ron had been miserable all through lunch with the view of pus-spewing boils and a rather unfortunately hexed man with a horn for a tongue.