"Arsehole," she muttered as she shoved past him. Why couldn’t she have bumped into Ron or Remus or Viktor instead of him? But she hadn’t, and now it was she and Draco, just the two of them, awkward and awful. God. His legs were longer than hers, and he moved ahead of her, Hermione falling in behind him at a brisk jog, on the alert for the enemy. Her head felt muzzy and ached from a confundus earlier, and it was hard to concentrate.