Hermione lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling as she listened to the party guests leave.   The ceiling was high, as properly befit this expensive apartment.  The ceilings were high, the floors were wood, the view was excellent, and she wondered if she'd be able to face any of her guests ever again.  Or anyone.  What would Pansy's gossip column read?  She could kick herself for ever agreeing to Malfoy's suggestion of a party.   Maybe she could just retreat to the Muggle world and never shop in Diagon Alley again.  It wasn't as if she could get a wizarding job.  No one would hire a creature, especially not one prone to melting into love-struck idiocy any time she brushed against her flatmate.