Spending another day cooped up inside her room at the Three Broomsticks was only going to push Hermione even closer to the edge of sanity. Her Gryffindor traits screamed at her to just rush out and start cursing anyone who ever dared to look at her with the least bit of malice, but the parts of her that almost got her Sorted into Ravenclaw urged caution and thorough planning. How many Gryffindors did she personally know were dead because of their recklessness? Too many to put a number to. She'd cultivated a drastic change in her personality over the previous twenty years to be more calculating, slower to action though decisive when pushed. The girl she once was wouldn't even recognize the woman she'd become. In some ways that was a a good thing. In others, definitely not.