Scraps of the old Hogwarts still remained – there was part of the old staircase still over there, a few panes of the original glass in the windows, one of the old suits of armour – but hardly anything remained to tell of all that Hogwarts had seen in the past year. Only the paintings, proudly ruined by the part they had played in the battle, showed how much damage had befallen the castle; everything else had been repaired, replaced and regenerated with shiny new material that didn't have a history, a soul, a story to tell. A knot of tears rose in Hermione's throat and she swallowed them away. She was the calm, collected one, the boss of her own emotions, a seventh-year, and Head Girl now. She was there to set an example. She was not there to burst into floods of tears every time she noticed that a speck of dust in Hogwarts was different to the way it had been before the battle.
The corridor was crammed with students, over-loud and over-bright, elbowing their way through the sea of people and getting in each others' way, and what felt like a thousand different voices were chatting, arguing, babbling, calling her, but Hermione felt as though she was getting crushed in the mayhem. She shrank back against the wall, hoping the oncoming tide would pass her by. "Miss Granger," hissed a teacher she didn't know. "As Head Girl you're meant to be demonstrating authority and directing the traffic in an orderly fashion, not skulking at the back till they've all gone past!" Hermione ignored him. "Well, really!" tutted the teacher, sounding scandalised, and marched off.
Deciding to make an effort, Hermione lifted her head and croaked half-heartedly, "Everyone keep to the left of the corridor!" A gaggle of fourth-year girls stared at her in bewilderment, before carrying on exactly as they had been, laughing and talking. Nobody else acknowledged that she'd even spoken.
An all-too familiar voice floated down the corridor to Hermione's ears and she groaned inwardly and turned to face the wall, praying he wouldn't see her. "I still can't believe we even bothered to come back to this dump," sneered Draco Malfoy, for the benefit of a group of seventh-year Slytherins Hermione had never seen before. "I can't believe they're making us retake last year! I mean, I learned more in one Muggle Studies lesson last year than I did in the whole of the rest put together." The Slytherins all squawked with laughter. Hermione stood up from the half-crouch she was positioned in. She'd heard enough. You're Head Girl, start acting like it! she told herself furiously.
"Malfoy, you didn't take Muggle Studies at all until last year and you weren't there half the time anyway," she snapped coolly, drawing herself up to her full height. The Slytherins carried on chuntering away in the background, and Draco fixed Hermione with the famous raised-eyebrow glare. "How do you know that?"
"Know your enemies better than you know your friends and all that," muttered Hermione bitterly, not loudly enough for any of the jeering Slytherins to hear her. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Draco's reply.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" asked the blonde boy, who hadn't heard her retort. "Can't take your eyes off of me? Well, tough, Granger. I don't go with Mudbloods."
"You don't need to worry about that, I don't go with traitors," Hermione snapped. "And to be perfectly honest, I'm still amazed that after everything that happened in the battle you've still got the nerve to look me in the face."
She turned on her heel and sped off through the scrum of students, leaving Draco Malfoy staring after her as though she'd doused him in cold water.