I sit at the appointed bench. Familiar smells, people, sounds assault me. Three months in solitude, starving, has made the Great Hall my worst fear upon return every year. I fear reprisal as I hesitantly scoop parsley potatoes from a dish my professor has handed me. I’ve the feeling Snape understands this state of limbo I struggle through. He knows if something’s not handed to me I likely won’t eat, though we’d never speak of it. I stifle a groan of delight as the delicately seasoned, hot food reaches my palette. I’ve been so hungry - mind, body, and soul.