"Yeah, I think so," Neville said, though of course it was all relative, wasn't it? Everyone was struggling with their own personal demons. "Most everyone's gone home, but some of our lot have stuck around." This was not really answering the question, but he didn't really feel comfortable speaking for people like Dean, who hadn't said much about what had happened to him.
"You know, I think we've done this bed," he said thoughtfully, standing up and looking down at the sad-looking remains of what had been Professor Sprout's prize collection of Flutterby bushes. One of the leaves flapped pathetically at him as he watched. He sighed. He felt bad for the plants, but they were, after all, just plants, and people had been more important at the time.