When Professor Albus Dumbledore himself arrived, mere minutes later, he spent a moment or so considering the young girl outside the gates. She wore a Muggle t-shirt soaked through with blood, and with its right shoulder torn away. Her hair, too, was matted with the stuff. If he was under the impression that she just chose to present herself this way, the pool slowly growing beneath her would have corrected him. Hermione, for her part, had no way of knowing what he was thinking. She wasn’t even aware of his presence, and didn’t move when Dumbledore cleared his throat.