The school had not calmed down since Mudblood Thomas' escape and there were twice as many Dementors in the corridors than usual. Hermione, however, successfully scared them away with her Patronus and reached the Room of Requirement without any extra adventures. Taking into account the current situation, the students had been sent to their common rooms immediately after dinner, but no one cared. When Hermione entered the Room, the entire DA was assembled there, and the girl was cheerfully welcomed. This time the guys were sitting by a fire under a supposedly open ceiling that was imitating a starry sky – the black rain, pouring outside for the third month, had buggered everyone. The walls of the Room of Requirement were not visible either, and underfoot there was thick summer grass, almost real – except it did not crunch when one walked and there was no aroma of it in the air. The Room smelled the same: a bit of dust, oil paint and chill from the old stone walls. This was the smell of Hogwarts, and there was nothing better than that.

Ron and Harry immediately moved, making room for Hermione between them, and Luna, grabbing the jar of flobberworms from her hands, ran to feed Spooky, who was grunting in the corner. Hermione found herself in the middle of a heated and polyphonic discussion of the latest events. The final year eagerly retold the sixth and the fifth, along with Harry and Dean, the unforgettable lesson of Advanced Potions. Hermione did not really wish to recall the 'Avada Kedavra', but, fortunately, Ronald promptly shoved into her hands a piece of apple pie and a glass of chilled pumpkin juice – the compassionate house-elves had been doing the best they could to provide the emaciated pupils with a bit of extra food. While she was chewing, it was decided by the general meeting that Dean was a hero and Malfoy was a reckless moron. The vast majority agreed that there was a silver lining – after such an incident Draco would not show up in Hogwarts anytime soon.

Dean Thomas, at first confused and shy, slowly came to his senses, and in the end he even began to smile in response to jokes. For him, studying at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was over. While Potions had been underway and the headmaster had had no time to deal with Dean's fate and the Slytherins had had no opportunity to report to Carrow, – the threat of all Mudbloods, – Dean had safely reached the Room of Requirement and Harry had brought his stuff from Gryffindor Tower. Since Mr Longbottom had not been given any specific instructions regarding the escort of Mudblood Thomas to Madame Pomfrey, Neville, after Dean's sudden disappearance, only shrugged and swore that he had left his classmate next to the Hospital Wing doors. At this point in the story, Harry sighed with inexplicable relief, understandable only to Ron and Hermione. The amount of the Truth Serum produced by the final year today was enough to learn not only about Dean, but also about numerous more interesting things. To prevent this from happening, Harry had had to spend the last two drops of Felix Felicis, and now he was looking at his rescued friend with relief. Dean had already taken off his school uniform, changed into jeans and jacket and, judging by his pale face and burning eyes, was quite eager to go with Remus Lupin to the Order of the Phoenix. No more grey robes, dull lessons, and humiliation by the Carrows and Snape. The boy slowly began to realise his luck, and everyone envied him a little.

Now, late in the evening, hidden in the Room of Requirement, the guys cheered up and grew bolder. Life no longer seemed as gloomy as in the morning over porridge, the strict school rules and the headmaster's threats faded a little. Far from Snape's overwhelming aura, they could remember with laughter the wands piled up in the cupboard, the broken Muggle matches in the hands of their evil professor and his chalk-strewn black robes. Ron solemnly handed the stolen wand to Seamus, who announced that this was just the beginning and passed the wand around. As though none of them had ever seen a wand before! Hermione wondered why she suddenly felt uncomfortable for it seemed to her that she had already got accustomed to this senseless theft. Besides, the guys did not do anything reprehensible – some of them twirled the wand in their hands, others whispered with a neighbour, wondering what its core was – a dragon's vein or a unicorn's hair? Since the wand was made of black birch, most likely the core was dragon's vein. Someone tried a couple of simple spells, the wand obeyed perfectly – but what choice did it have?

"Take it if you want," Harry whispered gloomily, skipping his turn. He had personally seen that this wand was able to cast 'Avada Kedavra' as well as any other spell, so he did not have the slightest desire to touch it.

Hermione reluctantly took the wand, because it would be uncomfortable to pass the wand skipping two people in the row. She twisted it in her hands and did not feel anything special. It was just a wand that had been made by Mr Ollivander. Twelve inches, smooth, strong, flexible. Very thin ornate lettering, no thicker than a hair, was carved along the wand's length. It looked like some kind of runes, but they were unknown to Hermione. This was, most likely, done by the Half-Blood Prince. Another rare and abstruse abomination of dark magic. Perhaps, for enhancing the power of spells. Hermione had never seen other wizards writing on their wands. Except for Ronald, who had once tried to write a Potions cheat-sheet onto his, to the great displeasure of Professor Snape. Hermione realised that she was thinking about the wrong thing. This wand had killed Professor Dumbledore… The girl felt very ashamed as, yet again, she could not grasp the sacred meaning of this impromptu ritual. She still thought that stealing the wand was pointless and dishonest, though, of course, she'd prefer not to mention it to the DA as she had doubts that some among them would understand such a point of view. Ron was already pulling the wand out of her hand, and she let it slip through her fingers without looking at him as Harry nudged her for attention:

"I don't like this story with Snape's wand. How about you?"

Hermione felt immensely relieved.

"Nor do I," she whispered. "It seems… childish and vile, I think."

"I agree, but don't tell Ron. I don't think Professor Dumbledore would say that the best way to fight a war is to steal each other's wands. Should we just throw them away and fight like Muggles?"

"That would be better than what Dean's done today," Hermione said even quieter. "Everyone despises Snape but sometimes behaves worse than him. Don't tell Dean."

Harry hesitated to answer – the wand was ending its circler journey.

"I've already told him," for a moment Neville's grey eyes looked at Hermione with a very Potter-like expression, "that we'll soon have total Slytherin all over the place. Or rather a total mess to You-Know-Who's great joy. I think Dean understood what I meant."

Hermione looked at her friend in surprise:

"Now you are speaking just like –"

"Okay. Everybody, listen up!" the wand returned to Seamus and he raised his voice. "To conclude the first part of today's meeting, I suggest the wand that killed Headmaster Dumbledore be broken and burned. Who's in favour?"

Hands began to rise quite actively.

Hermione exchanged glances with Harry and jumped to her feet as briskly as in class:

"Stop! Are you crazy? To break a good working wand?!"

"C'mon, Hermione," Ron tugged at her grey robes sleeve. "What is it with you and that wand?"

"It's not about that wand specifically," the girl brushed him off. "Do some of us know how to make a new magic wand? Ollivander's is closed. Half of the first years came with their grandparents' wands. What if something happens to one of ours? Where are we going to get a new one?"

"But Professor Dumbledore was killed with this one…" a new girl from Hufflepuff remarked cautiously.

It seemed that this fact made everyone nervous. Hermione stamped her foot, not understanding such obstinacy.

"If the Death Eaters start attacking us, I think any wand will come in handy. Professor Dumbledore would agree to that."

"She's right, Seamus," the usually shy and tongue-tied Neville said supporting her. "An extra wand never hurts! You managed to steal it – well done. But why break it? Let's keep it as a souvenir."

The DA members started arguing, and Seamus twisted the wand in his fingers uncertainly.

"Maybe you're right, Hermione. A wand will always come in handy for a good cause," he dubiously scratched the mysterious pattern on the trophy with his nail. "Okay, I'll put it in the chest of drawers by the entrance, the one that's always in its place. If any of us are going to need it, it'll be there. Just be careful and don't let Snape see it, okay?"

Thus, the first part of the meeting ended blurred and remained without the intended climax. Hermione felt that many were disappointed, and Ron sulked at her.

"All right, guys, I should probably go," she uttered awkwardly. "I need to keep an eye on the cauldrons…"

"No, Hermione, it's okay," Harry grabbed her hand. "Stay and see Lupin, when else –"

"Say hello to him from me. Neville, sorry, but I really should be going, no offense. If Snape comes back and I'm absent, he'll start questioning…"

Terry Boot, sitting on the other side of the scowling Ron, looked at her sympathetically:

"Hermione, really… something should be done about it! He hasn't put the Mark on you yet?"

"Thanks, the new robes are quite enough," Hermione did not even smile. "Besides, my detentions are to our advantage: I find out when they have their meetings. And bring the flobberworms. And correct the tests, when I can."

"Let me, at least, walk you," a frustrated Neville said.

"No need…" Hermione put down her empty juice glass, glanced with regret at the fire – it was so cosy next to it, besides Lupin was about to arrive… She had no desire to return to the dungeons. "Well, if only to the door," she told Harry.

They began to leave the circle, the guys looked at Hermione with admiration and great sympathy.

"Bye then…"

"Be careful out there…"

"Call us, if anything happens…"

"Thanks for the worms…"

"At least Snape is without his wand today…"

"Hang in there, our Gryffindor in Slytherin lair…"

Only Ronald said nothing. Ugh, they had quarrelled yet again! And over such nonsense – Snape's wand!

Slowing down by the door the girl pointed at Ronald's slouched back:

"Look, convince him not to pout, okay? I just don't have the strength for any of that! Besides, I'll have news later. About the Pensieve."

"Really?" Potter beamed.

"Keep your joy at bay, we are still far from reaching it. Just wait till I'm back from detention, I'll tell you in detail. Of course, if Mr Weasley would wish to listen and go beyond petty theft."

"Hermione, I promise I'll talk to him, but you know Ron," Harry sighed.

"I do," the girl suddenly grinned. "But I won't let him destroy a perfectly working wand. Okay, see you."

She waved at him and left the Room of Requirement.

The grey robes, puffed sleepy eyes, bluish pale skin – she looked like the Horror of the Dungeons herself. Harry sighed, rubbing his invisible scar; his guilt concerning Hermione arose more and more clearly. It was necessary to finish with the Pensieve as soon as possible and save Hermione from Snape… And Ron behaving like that… Deciding to have a serious talk with his friend after the DA meeting, Harry went back to the fire.

Hermione returned to the heavy vaults of the dungeons. The headmaster was still not back. On one hand, she was relieved – how lucky she was to have time to visit her friends without him noticing it! On the other, she was surprised – he had been gone for so long. The protective charms that she had cast onto the door were untouched, therefore, no one had entered the laboratory during her absence. She checked the cauldrons. The Skele-Gro was successfully maturing on its own, but the base for the Swelling Solution required her attention. Well, considering she had ruined it the first time, she had no one to blame. She poured the missing ingredients into a small cauldron – perfect timing! While waiting for the next stage, she decided to deal with the sorting trays for the fourth years – Snape had managed to fill only half of them before he had been summoned. It took her almost one and a half hours – despite the fact she was trying as hard as possible, she was still slower than the professor, although by the tenth tray Hermione was acting robotically. Then she finished logging the new ingredients and put them in their places in the storage rack. It remained only to stir her potion in the small cauldron from time to time; the Skele-Gro was stirring itself according to Snape's program. Hermione could not tell herself why she was in no hurry to return to Gryffindor Tower, where her friends were waiting for her. Though, perhaps, they had given up and had gone to bed. She vaguely wondered what news they had learned from Lupin… Well, they would have time to fill her in at breakfast… Hermione was automatically stirring the potion in the cauldron, her cheek resting on her free hand, while rereading the sixth chapter of the Fiendfyre. She made a couple of notes concerning unclear moments in her rough parchment, but there was still no one to enlighten her on them. Had they always had such a long meetings? What could be possibly discussed there if it required so much time? Though, perhaps, it was not just a meeting, maybe they were torturing someone. For some reason Hermione felt anxiety and a stupid sense of guilt, although she would not admit it even to herself. She had not wanted Snape to use her wand to answer Voldemort's call, but she should have offered it anyway! Though, all her friends would decide she was crazy – thinking of letting a Death Eater borrow her wand! Nonsense! Though, precisely because of the conversation with Ron and the DA meeting later on she had felt that she was involved in the theft and she did not like it. What had he done without his wand? The Dark Lord, surely, was strict and if one did not apparate in time, he would be in trouble. Excuses like 'Forgive me, my Lord, I've lost my wand,' could hardly count. So, if Hogwarts had lost its headmaster tonight, it would be partly because of her. Disaster. Why do the darkest thoughts always come first at night? The sensitive Gryffindor conscience haunted her. Trying to put its insistent scratching to sleep, Hermione called a sleepy house-elf and asked him to bring the supper for the professor. The house-elf hesitated, but brought in some muffins and cocoa, glancing fearfully at the girl. He knew that the headmaster was not in the castle, and if the little Mudblood munched everything herself, he would be the one to answer. Hermione, pretending not to notice his suffering, asked him to put the tray on Snape's desk. She looked around. What else could she do? What if Professor Snape had fled Hogwarts just like Slughorn and was not to come back? Well, in this case, the sooner she found out about it, the better. Perhaps, she would have to leave the school as well and join Dean in the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione started to fall asleep, first over the cauldron, then over the book. Her eyes kept stubbornly closing, but the girl was determined to stay awake at any cost to see how all of this would turn out. Nevertheless, she lost the battle.

Snape appeared, as always, inaudibly, but it still somehow woke Hermione up. He opened his office door and stopped on the threshold – his tall figure wrapped in a Death Eater cloak, a magic wand in his hand. The expression on his face said that Hermione was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen in his life. His long cloak hung heavy from rain – there was no Voldemort at Hogwarts, therefore his servants had to return by foot from the Hogwarts grounds where the anti-apparition barrier started. Muggle doctors claimed that evening strolls could improve complexion which most definitely did not apply to the headmaster. So, that's how they walked around the school at night-time – in their Death Eater clothes. Of course, what was there to be ashamed of?

Though, Hermione was more taken aback by the wand Snape was holding rather than by his clothes. W-wow… Only the deeply ingrained habit for self-restraint kept her from crying out loud. What an astonishing person their headmaster was – always capable of coming up with some new abomination!

Professor Snape looked at her for a couple of seconds, deciding whether to simply slam the door or to kick Hermione out of the lab first.

"How terrible you are in those robes," he uttered, coldly looking at her. "Next time, warn me in advance if you decide to appear in my sight late at night – I already suffer from insomnia."

He abruptly shut the door and went to his desk, taking his cloak off as he walked.

"What are you doing here after midnight, Miss Granger? Brewing forbidden potions?"

As if!

"Sir, you haven't let me go yet," Hermione reminded him. "I was doing preparations for tomorrow's classes. I've just finished."

"Have you?" he put his cloak over the back of his chair and stepped closer to the cauldron with the Skele-Gro, adjusting the flame and the speed of stirring with a couple of movements of the wand.

Merlin! He used it so naturally, as though it had always belonged to him! Have his magical abilities not decreased at all?

The professor slowly raised his eyes to her; the violet flame under the cauldron intensified the unpleasant effect of his look. Here comes Legilimens! Hermione shivered, diligently averting her gaze – why hadn't she returned to her tower when she had had the chance? The headmaster, however, was simply looking at her – quite seriously and very intently, but also detached – nothing could be understood in his dark, icy eyes. His gaze was almost as unbearable as Legilimency.

"Well, since you've finished," he said sarcastically, "would you mind setting up a second cauldron? Check the crate – the scaly slugs should have hatched by now. If they are not ready, sprinkle them with the content of that jar over there and bring them here. Then, collect the rest of the ingredients. The list is on my desk."

Three o'clock in the morning!

"Yes, sir."

If he was going to shock her with bullying, his attempt went in vain. Hermione did not even feel annoyed, although the second cauldron of the Skele-Gro would be ready at seven in the morning. The girl silently took an empty sorting tray and climbed the ladder – first it was necessary to take a mandrake, the rest of the ingredients would go by its weight. Filling the tray with the contents of various jars, Hermione furtively glanced at the headmaster and suddenly realised – he was not trying to bully her. Snape was punchy with fatigue and he still had to brew more Skele-Gro for the Hospital Wing! He could not even postpone it till tomorrow – the slugs would be in the wrong phase and they were so difficult to hatch.

The professor's face was completely haggard, and he looked even more intimidating than before. The Horror of the Dungeons. He was not even forty yet! Evidentially, the service to the Dark Lord was harsh; and if the professor enjoyed his service, he kept it very well hidden.

While Hermione was moving up and down the ladder, collecting the ingredients, Snape watched her indifferently, leaning against the wall. She knew the feeling – if you don't stay standing, you'll fall asleep at once. At the same time the professor kept an eye on the ripening Skele-Gro while eating the muffins she had reserved for him. He ate three of them, by the way – was he really that hungry? Was the Dark Lord saving on food for his servants or was Death too bony today?

No, better not think this way. At least not now, or she would risk losing the integrity of her Occlumency. Nevertheless, it was hard not to think that only an hour ago those hands, that at this moment were so accurately measuring the drops into the cauldron, after having deftly stopped the rapidly rising foam with a flick of the new wand, with the same precision and skill, had been casting Unforgivable Curses on Muggles and Muggle-borns. Darkness splashed in the professor's eyes and Hermione was scared to look into it. The girl could not grasp – how was it possible to be a professor and at the same time kill and torture people at night? Damn bastard! A pale dungeon dweller, their intolerable Potions Master, traitor and a henchman of the Dark Lord. The headmaster of Hogwarts on the eve of imminent war. The lesser evil, the best they could hope for and this was the only reason that still kept them from killing him. The whole day without a wand! Was he not afraid of anything at all? He needed to get some sleep.

"It's done, sir."

Snape gave her an unblinking gaze of a Legilimens, shook the crumbs off his hands and vanished the empty tray from his supper with an 'Evanesco'. The break was over.

"Go to your dormitory, then. I'm tired of you."

Why, of course! Who else was there to get tired of? A second confession in one day, Professor. Bad memory from lack of sleep or just getting old?

Annoyed, Hermione, to her own surprise, defiantly slammed the sorting tray onto his desk. The headmaster did not even look at her – he was concentrating on rolling another suitably sized cauldron from under the table. The cauldron was slightly melted on the rim, and the Right Hand of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was trying to decide whether to fix it or it would have to suffice for now. Hermione sighed and picked up her bag.

"Good night, sir."

She left his laboratory with a heavy heart. With inner longing and a presentiment of the inevitable, she realized that one of the few joys that were still available for her at this place was gone for good. Falling asleep with lights called out was such a relief! And from now on, as though bewitched, she would leave the dungeons only after his return from that damn Voldemort. She would still experience the same gamut of feelings: contempt, loathing and hatred, but would sit and wait for him all the same. If, of course, this obnoxious, ungrateful, embittered man ever agreed to accept her help again.

Hermione tried to shake off the viscous, depressing atmosphere of the dungeons. She almost succeeded in this at the foot of Gryffindor Tower. It was very late at night, or rather very early in the morning, and even the Dementors in the corridors seemed sleepy. Hermione went straight towards the bedrooms, found the right door, but her hands no longer obeyed her, and she could not knock. Exhausted, the girl turned around and kicked the door with her heel – once, twice, thrice.

The door was opened by Harry-Neville. He let her in and rushed to wake Ron. Their room was dark, and only the greenish light of Voldemort's Mark was streaming through the window. During the day the Mark seemed less ominous.

"What happened? Are we under attack? Is McGonagall being taken?" Harry's speech was a bit slurred from sleep, but he had already pulled both wands from the bedside table and was hurriedly searching for his socks.

Ron sat up in his bed, yawning, and stared at Hermione in a dazed manner. After a thought, he retrieved his wand from under his pillow.

"Stand down," said Hermione wearily, lighting the candles. She sat on Harry's vacant bed and pulled her uncomfortable shoes off with relief. "Everything is calm… for now. But I've got some news. Sorry, I couldn't wait till morning. I think you'd better be warned in advance."

Sleepy Crookshanks, who had lost all hope of seeing his mistress in their bedroom tonight, stuck his impressive head through the door and listened up. The boys also looked at Hermione warily. Good.

"Ron, you stole the headmaster's wand, didn't you?" Hermione removed her school bag over her head and tucked a pillow behind her back. "Great job, of course."

"I did, so what?" Ronald's voice was hoarse. "Did you wake us up to say, once again, that you think I'm a thief and a blockhead?"

"Hermione, c'mon," Harry said cautiously. "Haven't we decided to live peacefully?"

"No one is quarrelling," the girl reassured her friends. "I just wish to clarify – you stole the wand that killed Professor Dumbledore in order to stop it from bringing even more evil. This is how you've explained it to me, haven't you, Ronald?"

"So?" Ron muttered gloomily, anticipating some kind of meanness on the part of Snape.

Crookshanks, realising that this was about something insignificant to him, calmly walked across the room and butted Hermione's leg, forcing her to take him onto her lap.

"So, is it all right for you that he now uses Professor Dumbledore's wand instead?" Hermione asked, nervously scratching the bold half-kneazle behind his ear. "This is not offending your feelings in any way?"

"What?!" Ron yelled, waking up completely from this news.

Harry flinched and stared at her in shock.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked in disbelief. "Professor Dumbledore's wand was… buried with him."

"Well, it's not like it was destroyed or burnt, is it?" the girl retorted.

"Are you sure?" Ron croaked in horror.

"Haven't you seen Dumbledore's wand?" Hermione screeched; Crookshanks twitched his tail annoyed by the loud sound. "Well, you will, first thing in the morning. The whole of Hogwarts will be discussing it tomorrow for sure. I'm not mistaken, Ron. If the weather wasn't so bad and muddy, I'd suggest you walk to his tomb – it's not far from here. I guarantee you that it was opened and its protective charms destroyed!"

"Holy crap, he's a total psycho!" Ron whispered, completely forgetting from shock that he was still pouting at the girl. "But, Hermione… listen… what about the body? It's been lying there for a long time. And the wand was clasped in his hand, I vividly remember…"

"And there was a powerful magical barrier around the tomb," Harry reminded darkly. "I'm no longer surprised that Snape managed to remove it without a wand, but I don't understand why he needed it."

"To get back at us, of course," Ron said angrily. "He's twatted us all right, vindictive bastard! I think I won't dare steal a wand from him a second time."

"Thank Merlin for that!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry rubbed his invisible scar.

"Look, Snape is still in Hogwarts, not in the mental health service department of St Mungo's. To aim sarcastic remarks at us during the class is more his style. But to get past the advanced protective charms of Dumbledore's tomb to steal a wand from his cold body… And all of this just to take revenge on an unknown thief?" Harry looked at Hermione doubtfully.

"I agree, this is something else," the pale Hermione shook her head. "But the only fact we've got so far is that when Professor Snape needed a wand, he went and took Professor Dumbledore's. For some reason, this was the first thing that came to his mind."

Ron hiccupped.

"We have to finish with these Horcruxes as soon as possible – that's a fact," he said in a whisper. "Things are getting worse and Snape is getting weirder. This is alarming."

"Snape is always alarming, this is normal," Harry sighed dejectedly. "Hermione, there was something else you wanted to tell us, wasn't there?"

"Yes, there was… Shanks, dear, sit by my side for now," the girl gently rolled her pet off her lap, opened her bag and pulled heavily written sheets of parchments glued together four at a time. "All right, boys, let's put aside the theories and pick up our quills."

"To do what exactly?" Ronald glanced bleakly at his peacefully snoring alarm clock – it hands showed it was four o'clock in the morning.

"You, Ron, will draw us a pictogram. Forty-seven by forty-seven inches –"

"How much by how much?!"

"Forty-seven by forty-seven… It's for the locking charms of Truwer the Sly. Don't tell me you've never heard of him."

"I don't care what's it for! I'll be drawing it till morning!"

"Good. If you finish by then, we'll have time to enter some numbers before breakfast."

"Forty-seven by forty-seven… I don't even have such parchment!" Ron moaned. "You all went crazy there in the dungeons."

Harry looked at his red-haired friend with envy, then with even greater envy at Crookshanks, sleeping on his pillow.

"And we, I take it, will set our fresh, rested minds to calculate the tension's strength of the magic field in each point, won't we?" Potter asked the girl resignedly.

"Not only," she answered mercilessly, carefully laying her papers onto his bed. "This is only for the first layer of his protection charms, Harry, and Snape has five of them. Do you have any other suggestions? We don't know at which point he starts building the defences. And will never guess… Well, if we are in no hurry to retrieve the Pensieve, I'd rather go to bed, but…" Hermione lowered her voice, staring at Ron, who, muttering curses under his breath, was unrolling three immense rolls of parchment on the floor next to each other. "But Snape's already violated Dumbledore's tomb; and, from today, we are short of one more Mudblood at Hogwarts."

"Hush, Hermione," Harry shivered at her words. "Perhaps, you'd really be better going to bed? Or lie down here, on mine, and I'll help Ron draw the pictogram."

"No time to sleep," Hermione shook her head and pulled her exhausted Never-Blunt Quill out of her bag. "You-Know-Who never rests, does he?"

"He doesn't," Harry admitted sullenly, rubbing his forehead, and began searching for the necessary table in his Charms book.

Hermione grimaced in annoyance, then rose to her feet, walked to the window and drew the curtains tightly to prevent even the slightest glimmer of the Mark from streaming into the room.