Hermione sat down on the edge of her bed, resting her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands, staring down at the floor miserably. She wanted to go down to the cellar and make Draco be sensible. She wanted things to be the way they used to be. She felt so helpless, so useless, and she hated that feeling. She breathed in and out, head buried in her hands, and told herself that things could still work out. Hermione was nothing, if not optimistic, and determined.