   She was vaguely aware of backing into someone, of hearing her name—"Hermione, are you alright?"—even if she barely recognized the voice. It might be Neville. She wasn’t sure. By the time she even started wondering, no one was in sight anymore, and Hermione was panting. She must have run. All the way—she checked out the window—up to the first floor. There was the Forest, right there, and something was moving—something with legs? How many of them?—or it was just the trees moving their branches in the wind.