Hermione wanted to pee. She always wanted to pee when they were creeping up outside a Death Eater residence, with her heart in her throat and wand tight in her clammy hand. Even if she'd just gone. It was like magic, she thought, and snorted to herself. The house they were approaching was secluded down a long, treed driveway, and they were approaching down the side. Draco was behind her, Pansy Parkinson with him. She grimaced. Parkinson. The girl had always been absolutely horrible to her, but she couldn't hold a grudge. Not now; seeing her enemy battered and diminished was just sad. Hermione still didn't like Pansy, but Merlin, she felt sorry for her. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to be turned into a werewolf, and to know that you had no control over your body whenever the full moon was up – unless you took potions to prevent it, and even then... God, it must be awful, Hermione thought, and shivered.