“This is a lot to take in,” Hermione admitted at length, arms sweeping behind her so she could rest her weight against her hands. The Haunt was not so busy that day, but even so, when they’d first arrived, Cleo had made a point to loudly proclaim that they were discussing E.A.R.W.I.G. matters for the benefit of anyone listening. They settled themselves in Cleo’s favorite alcove, which Cal had lovingly nicknamed “Merlin’s Armpit” many years before. It was an odd little corner with two adjacent window seats; a once coveted spot now marred by age: Both windows were cracked, forming a terrible draft, and where the two walls met, the stones were overwrought by a thick, creeping ivy. Still, it was its undesirability that made it so attractive; she’d hardly ever been bothered there and the space was always open for the taking.
The three Gryffindors seated around her had spent the better part of an hour listening to her recount what she could about Violet’s case. Strange as it was for their little group to meet in The Haunt in the first place, it was even stranger to be saying all this to two people she hardly knew, and all under the dubious cover of a makeshift Silencing ward to boot. Weasley had been asking the majority of the questions from his position standing in the corner, whereas Hermione had been echoing Cleo’s sentences at random intervals, committing them to memory from her window perch. Harry, for his part, had been largely quiet where he sat at the opposite window, his eyes fixed to a small flower which lay on the floor in the middle of their circle.
Makes the Wind: A Lamb Before the Slaughter | Chapter 16: Masquerade