Hermione can’t help but look over the stands again. The Carrows are prowling through the rows, yanking students’ heads up whenever someone dares to try and look away. Her eyes meet McGonagall’s for a second. She holds her breath and counts down from five until she allows herself to look away. Her eyes find Snape instead. His face is blank, impassive, but something about his form, about how she remembers it feeling next to her, always one step behind, gives her strength.