And it was about then that, blushing furiously, Hermione made some prim excuses about needing to go to the loo and fled the two other witches. She slipped away to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face and use a quick charm to get the rumples out of her dress, and took a few moments to collect herself – she felt glowing and a little unsteady, and thought the champagne had gone to her head quicker than she'd thought it would. She leaned forward, hands planted on the cool tiles of the bathroom counter, and stared at herself. Tumbles of dark hair somewhere between artfully dishevelled and just plain messy, alcohol-flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes set in bruised shadows that just never went away these days, and while she wasn't thin – definitely not thin – she looked worn away somehow, to her eyes anyway. Haggard. But happy.