the stairs, along the corridor, singing out in her high, small call:

‘Ru-oo-pert! Ru-oo pert!’

She came to his door, and tapped, still crying: ‘Roo-pert.’

‘Yes,’ sounded his voice at last.

‘What are you doing?’

The question was mild and curious.

There was no answer. Then he opened the door.

‘We’ve come back,’ said Hermione. ‘The daffodils are SO beautiful.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve seen them.’

She looked at him with her long, slow, impassive look, along her cheeks.