"USELESS COW!" Hermione stormed around her room – a single, as privilege of being Head Girl – smacking items off her desk, ripping away her bed covers, even tearing the drapes in her rage. Several minutes later, when everything in the room that was destructible had been destroyed, Hermione stopped. Putting her hands on her hips, her chest heaving, she surveyed the damage.

She didn't remember having thrown books across the room or ripping out pages. Hermione frowned slightly. Damaging books was completely out of her nature. The rest of the room, simply put, was a disaster.

Taking her wand from one of the inner pockets of her robe, Hermione wandered around her room, muttering "Reparo!" and carefully picking up damaged pages from her books to sort out later.

Hermione looked over her room again. It looked much better than it had just moments ago. She wondered why she had gone into a rage over such a minor annoyance.

It wasn't Madam Pomfrey's fault, really, that she couldn't figure out what curse or jinx or other form of spell had hit Hermione's face. After all, hadn't the best Healers at St. Mungo's tried their very best and still come up with nothing? Hermione sighed, first in frustration, then again in an attempt to calm herself, trying to force all her frustration and anger to leave her body with her exhalation.

She didn't feel better at all. Gripping her head and closing her eyes tightly, she rolled onto her bed and willed herself to sleep. Perhaps, she thought, I'll have better luck in the library. She wondered why she hadn't thought of that earlier. And who had she been calling a useless cow? Madam Pince, or herself?

---

Hermione awoke in time for dinner. She ran her hands through her hair, attempting to make it more presentable, and less like she had just fallen out of her bed. She looked in her vanity mirror, a kind provision in the Head Girl's room. No, nothing could tame it. Except whatever hair gel she had used in her fourth year, but Hermione certainly did not have time for such frivolity.

She glanced away to her chest at the foot of her bed, but some trick of the light pulled her attention back to her reflection. Was that white hair growing at her scarred temple? Hermione frowned, then decided that she liked it. She looked older, and more like she had seen several battles. Well, she had, and it was about time she had some other, more dignified reminder than just the scar.

Hermione pulled herself away from the mirror. The white was hardly noticeable yet. She wondered how Harry and Ron would view it. They probably wouldn't even notice, not if her whole head went white. No matter. The color of her hair was of no importance, and it certainly shouldn't interfere in her relationship with her friends.

As she walked down the stairs to the common room, she gave a slight shudder as she thought of how Malfoy would taunt her. She could barely stand him, and less so after the role his father had played in Voldemort's second rise to power. But no matter how hard she tried, she still had problems accepting that Draco was not his father.

By the time she had gone down the winding staircase (she had the topmost room in the girls' tower), Hermione was scowling as her thoughts continued to flutter around Malfoy and his insufferable existence. She wondered if she could off him quietly, and whether anyone would notice or care. They probably would.

Entering the common room, she found Harry and Ron sulking in the chairs by the fireplace, neither looking at the other. Ron jumped up as Hermione approached.

"About bloody time you came down," he began, not unkindly. Hermione gave him a tight smile.

"What can I say? You know how us girls need to primp and preen." Hermione felt herself loosen, tension seeping away from her back and shoulders, at this familiar bantering with Ron. Once, she and Ron had been – no, she wouldn't think about it. "Ready?"

Harry stood and stretched lazily. "Yes," he said, "Let's be on our way. Maybe we'll run into Neville."

Hermione and Ron nodded and followed Harry out of the portrait hole. Hermione did hope they ran into Neville – ever since he had gotten his own wand, and had fought alongside Harry and the others against Voldemort and his followers, he had gained much confidence in himself and Hermione thought that he had finally come into his own. The death of his grandmother had been sad, yes, but it seemed she had passed some of her willful strength on to him.

Ron asked suddenly, "Hermione, you don't have any Head Girl duties now, do you?" Hermione looked at him, puzzled, and shook her head no.

"Then what's Malfoy doing with all those kids?" Hermione glanced to where Ron was looking. Her eyes narrowed in distaste.
Draco had a herd of first years huddled around him, and he whispered conspiring manner. Well, no reason to pass up this chance to berate him. Hermione stalked towards the group; alas, Malfoy caught sight of her, paled considerably, and ushered the children away. They looked back at her, fear clearly painted on their features, before they scurried off. Hermione marked one of them in her head, hoping to corner him later and get to the bottom of this. She knew Malfoy would lie to her.

"I'll catch up with you at dinner. Don't wait for me," she said to Ron and Harry. Ron looked at her uncertainly, but Harry shrugged and strolled towards the dining hall. He, at least, knew she could take care of herself with a sniveling rat like Malfoy. "Ron, go, I'll be fine." He gave a reluctant shrug.

"Sing out if you need me." His eyes searched hers, Hermione didn't know for what. He followed Harry.

Hermione turned towards Malfoy and stalked towards him. Surprisingly, he hadn't snuck away, but had waited to face her.

"Malfoy," she snarled. "What do you think you're doing?"

He gave her an oily grin. "Merely teaching our younger students the joys of living at Hogwarts."

"Don't play games with me," Hermione nearly hissed.

"Oh, get off your high horse, Mudblood. It's no concern of yours." Hermione ignored the insult, she had heard it so many times, but she still wanted to hit Malfoy in the face. She remembered how good it had felt to slap him on the train. And that time in her third year. But violence was not the answer – she quickly suppressed her urge.

"You, corrupting the youth, at this establishment, is certainly my concern!" Hermione felt her right hand curl into a fist. No, she thought, I won't hit him. I will not resort to childish behavior; I will not brawl in the hallways; I will set a good example for the rest of Hogwarts.

Malfoy snorted. "Me? Corrupting the youth? Please. I was telling them about … the Room of Requirement."

It suddenly clicked for Hermione – that's where she could find the answers! She didn't let her joy flicker across her face, though; she didn't want Malfoy to know the gem of knowledge he had unwittingly bestowed upon her.

"What do they need with the Room of Requirement, Malfoy?" Hermione thought she had done well hiding her excitement. The Room of Requirement – of course! Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? Why was she so thick-witted?

Malfoy shrugged in agitation. "Who cares what they use it for, as long as they know it's there."

Hermione stared at him in consternation. "Malfoy," she finally snapped, "That's so irresponsible. You don't know what they could use it for –" Hermione carefully sneered at this point, "maybe something similar to what you did two years ago."

Draco's face contorted with rage. "How dare you – "

Hermione breathed, "Oh, I dare much these days. I dare much." She glared at him. Malfoy looked like he would strangle her, but Hermione held her ground. Show no weakness, she chanted in her head. Show no weakness.

"Just because He's gone, Granger, doesn't mean Mudbloods needn't fear anything," he finally said. He stalked into the hall.

Despite herself, Hermione felt a small shiver. What sort of threat had that been? She waited a few more seconds before entering the hall, too. She told herself it wasn't because she was unnerved by Malfoy's threat.

Hermione found Ron and Harry near the head of the table. She was eager to tell them of her ideas for finding out more information regarding her scar – the library and the Room of Requirement. She was such a dolt – how could she have not thought of it?

As she sat across from Ron, she noticed that Neville was also seated with them. She bit her lip. She didn't want to share her information with Neville just yet. Yes, he was a friend, but he wasn't Ron or Harry. Hermione decided to wait to tell them until they could do it privately. If either option failed to provide answers, she didn't want everyone to know of it.

They all chatted inanely throughout the meal, carefully avoiding the tender subjects of events they had all partaken in during the past year.

Hermione's thoughts centered on her scar. What was it?

---

Hermione had to wait until much later in the evening before she could snatch a private moment with Ron and Harry. They were in the Gryffindors common room, and everyone had gone up to their respective dorms except the three of them. They sat at one of the table to the side of the fireplace.

"Okay," she began, "I think I've figured it out. I haven't tried the library here yet, and I'm sure McGonagall will give me permission to look at all the books in the forbidden sections. And if that doesn't pan out, we can always do the Room of Requirement." She waited eagerly for their responses.

Harry lazily said, "We?" Hermione stared at him. "Just kidding, Hermione. Of course we'll help you. We owe you something after you did our homework for all those years." She thought he almost chuckled. That was certainly an improvement from his surliness earlier in the week.

Ron was eager to agree. "I bet the room where all the students hid their stuff might have some stuff, too."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "That's a great idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. Maybe your brain is decomposing back down to a normal level of intelligence." Ron smiled into his hand.

Hermione tossed her head defiantly. "In that case, I'll still be loads better than the both of you." Harry kicked her gently under the table.

She felt a surge of glee rise up in her – it was almost like normal, before … before Voldemort's second defeat. The price had nearly been almost too much to pay. But it was these moments of normalcy that Hermione treasured. She grinned at Ron and Harry.

Almost like old times.