Hermione eased herself down into the stuffed armchair in the room that had somehow become Pansy's office.  It wasn't a bad day, she told herself.  Not really.  She'd taken a shower, and the hot water had helped, and the potion should kick in any minute.   She'd taken to sitting in here because Harry and Ron hovered.  They cared, and they fretted, and they brought her hot tea and asked if she needed anything and they meant so, so well but it made her want to scream.