“Um, hi, Harry,” I said, mustering up all my strength to smile at him.

I felt at complete odds with the situation, and I could not help wondering why this was so. I laid aside my wand, and the knitting needles came to a rest in midair, a half-finished, blue sock suspended alongside them.

Harry sat down, leisurely stretching his legs.

“Where have you been all day?” he asked, plucking the sock out of midair and examining it. I was glad I did not have to meet his gaze.

“Not much, just knitting.”

He sat down, then suddenly pushed his sofa closer to mine. When he spoke, his voice has lost its conversational touch, and he sounded serious.

“Hermione? Can I ask you something?”

I felt a sliver of fear – fear of what he might ask me – steal into my heart. I knew I had nothing to fear because I had done nothing wrong but, all the same, I could not help feeling hollow and empty on the inside. Null. Void.

It was a strange, benumbing feeling.

– It was as if someone had dropped a truckload of lead into my stomach.