She misses getting lost for hours in the Ministry’s archives. The scent of dust and leather and iron. And Draco, always beside her, his nose in a book. He would make some off-handed comment about a particular pair of married cousins (Orion and Walburga being, regrettably, not the only ones) or about some heiress campaigning for the right to hunt muggles. He would probably be disappointed with her now, sitting on the floor and feeling sorry for herself. 