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Hermione shrunk under Rupert’s intense stare. She normally wasn’t very timid, but something about the way this man looked at her made her shudder.

“Answer me truthfully,” Rupert started, drawing out each word slowly, emphatically, his tone saturated with distrust. “Are you a scorceress, a witch, a worker of magic?”

He spoke of magic as if it was something dark, something wretched, something vile. He seemed to be referring to black magic, the evil sort, the kind fobidden at Hogwarts. Hermione knew of muggles that would treat magic with the same revulsion.

But Rupert also spoke as one with experience, as one who has seen the work of magic firsthand. He couldn’t possibly be a muggle. Not a normal muggle, at any rate.

But why did he hate magic so much?

She met his dark eyes and glimpsed… something. A flash of memory, a flicker of his past.  He’d seen magic all right.  But he’d never seen the good it could yield.

“Black magic, dark powers, the kinds of scorcery you have seen… those are awful things!” Hermione exclaimed. “What Harry and Ron and I have… it isn’t evil. I promise you that. What we have is good, something that can be beautiful and helpful and, and even life-saving!”

Rupert crossed his arms. He still didn’t look convinced.