Harry opened his mouth to thank her, but she had already turned away, her tartan dressing gown snapping as she marched back toward the sounds of battle, shouting a hex that turned a section of falling ceiling into a flock of angry, razor-beaked sparrows.
“We’re not about to start now, Professor,” Ron said, gripping his wand tighter.
Hermione was already running toward the transfigured ramp. “Move! The diadem won’t find itself.”
The echo of her footsteps on the marble stairs faded, replaced by the thundering of their own as they ran toward the Horcrux, toward Voldemort, and toward the end. End of scene.
