Hermione slipped out of her bunk and moved like a sleepwalker toward
Ron, her eyes upon his pale face. She stopped right in front of him, her lips
slightly parted, her eyes wide. Ron gave a weak, hopeful smile and half raised
Hermione launched herself forward and started punching every inch of him
that she could reach.
“Ouch—ow—gerroff! What the—? Hermione—OW!”
She punctuated every word with a blow: Ron backed away, shielding his
head as Hermione advanced.
“You—crawl—back—here—after—weeks—and—weeks—oh, where’s my wand?”
She looked as though ready to wrestle it out of Harry’s hands and he reacted
The invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione. The force of it
knocked her backward onto the floor. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she leapt
“Hermione!” said Harry. “Calm—”
“I will not calm down!” she screamed. Never before had he seen her lose
control like this; she looked quite demented. “Give me back my wand! Give it
back to me!”
“Hermione, will you please—”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, Harry Potter!” she screeched. “Don’t you
dare! Give it back now! And YOU!”
She was pointing at Ron in dire accusation: It was like a malediction, and
Harry could not blame Ron for retreating several steps.