Tuesday, March 21~~Early Morning
Hermione hadn't slept well. She was a bundle of nerves, and on top of that, everytime she tried to close her eyes the previous night's events ran through her head making her ill. Those eyes-- she could maybe, someday, forget the fangs, but something about those eyes. What bothered her most, though, was the possibility. The possibility of what it could mean if it had been real and not imagined; if it was a true symbol of what was to come. She needed an expert.
With some reluctance, she knocked on Firenze's door.