Hermione studied them as they did so. There was George, of course—the tallest of the four. They must have come directly from wherever they’d been previously during their mission—they appeared sleep-deprived but otherwise unscathed. As it wasn’t a formal meeting, they didn’t have their ceremonial robes on and so were dressed in mostly black and plain robes—some in better condition than others. George had a bandaged hand. One of them—the blond one with the brown eyes—had a vertical scar at the edge of his mouth. Another had a prominent nose that reminded her of Snape. None of them looked familiar. The clothes they wore were dark and they looked fit, like each had been an adventurous, rugged youth once. She knew in George’s case at least that had been a certainty. Something about the watchfulness of their eyes reminded her of a hawk seeking prey. Even George had it—she had not noticed it before and couldn’t remember if he he’d had that quality before the war. Her heart beat a little faster.