Neville's snores, Dean and Seamus's exchanged whispers, Harry's nonsensical mumbles – all combined with the queasy feeling weighing down my stomach, I know it's going to be a long night.
Closing my eyes to block out the vivid scarlets and crimsons of my bed curtains, I squirm. No matter how much I struggle, the memory of the tearstains down her cheeks remains painted under my eyelids. I wouldn't feel guilty, normally, having grown up with my explosive brothers and sister, but the thing is - everything I said about her is still just as true as ever. Accurate.
She knows it.