Pansy and Ron were still arguing about the condition of the rugs in the upstairs hallway when Hermione walked past them.  She didn't say anything, just opened the door to what had been her room, closed it, and sat down on the bed.  At some point, Kreacher had changed the sheets.  That was good.  The room didn't seem too dusty either.  She pried her flat, sensible, boring shoes off, set the folders she still had in her hand down on the table where she'd kept her potions, lay down, and stared up at the ceiling.  She'd always liked the ceilings in this house.  A plaster medallion sat in the middle of the ceiling of her room, unchipped and perfect despite the ravages of time.   She looked up at its white ridges and swirls and when her brain began to wonder what Draco was doing she shut it off.