She ran with the others the hundred metres to Gringotts, keeping up despite her foggy head and wobbly legs, ignoring the stares of the curious or startled wizards and witches on the sparsely populated street as the Order team rushed past them. Her wand was in hand, her boots were pounding the cobbles, her breath rasping in her lungs, and then they were at Gringotts, at the base of the steps in front of the impressive building. They cast bubbleheads on themselves and made sure their gasmasks were secured properly as well, as back-up to the bubbleheads just in case, and stared around at each other briefly. They all looked alien to Hermione's eyes with the heavy black gasmasks on and she gulped, steadied her nerves with an iron will. It wouldn't be good to vomit with this on.