"Ronald Weasley, now you listen to me! Stop acting so—“ Hermione gasped as he swung around. His fingers wrapped around her upper arm in a vice-like grip. His nose was barely an inch from hers. His eyes bored angrily into her.

"Children! How could you need me already? You've only had two classes, for Merlin's sake!"
Hermione smiled weakly. "I think you'll be seeing quite a lot of me this year, Madame Pomfrey..." She paused, feeling the older woman's gaze, searching for any tell tale signs of illness. "Can--can we talk in your office?"

The amber liquid shone in the light of the fire, and she stared, mesmerized. Hermione could just remember when she'd begun drinking that fateful night. She could recall how the liquid had burned her throat as it went down, to then settle in a warm heap in the pit of her stomach...

Dark green candles had been charmed into floating above their heads, the only source of light in the entire room. Their silver flames shone brightly, casting dancing shadows on the ceiling. Along the walls were leering jack-o-lanterns, mounted atop stone pillars every few feet. Four magically animated skeletons played their instruments wickedly at the head of the hall, their music echoing eerily.