From the moment Hermione opened her eyes her senses were sending messages to her brain, and that information was being processed. Before Madame Pomfrey could open her mouth, Hermione already understood what was going on.
The last thing she had seen was the yellow, bulbous eyes of the Basilisk. The mirror saved her life – and now the Mandrake draught had been administered. One thing puzzled her though – why hadn't the Basilisk finished her off? It wouldn't have been too hard, so Hermione surmised.
Nevertheless, at the moment Hermione seemed to be safe enough. The paper in her hand had been removed. Who – and when – was it found? Looking around, she saw Madame Pomfrey bustling around the beds, tending to Justin Finch-Fletchley. To Hermione's surprise, Mr Weasley was there was talking to Percy in the corner, and Mrs Weasley struck up a conversation with Pomfrey when she'd moved away from Justin.
'Whatever are they doing here?' Hermione asked herself. She quashed the horrible thought that Ron had been injured – or worse – while she wasn't around to help him. Of course, the alternative that Harry had been hurt was just as unpalatable an idea.
Soon enough though, Hermione spotted the reason why. Sitting curled on a chair, a mug in her hand, was Ginny. She looked as if she was trying to be smaller and more insignificant than she physically was. Ginny's eyes, which were flickering in the torchlight, flicked towards Hermione, who sat up in bed a little higher.
Hermione beckoned her over; Ginny slowly and gingerly approached the older girl.
"Hi Ginny. Did the monster get you too?"
Ginny blinked, as if the question was non-sequtier, before answering her with a voice a little lower than a whisper. "Yeah… Kind of."
Hermione leaned over and spoke lower. "Do you know what the date is?"
"May 30, 1993." Ginny replied. "I believe its morning already."
"Oh no." Hermione groaned. "Exams are coming up and I've hardly studied for them…"
"Hermione." Ginny spoke assertively. "The first thing you do after you woke up is worry about exams? You nearly." Ginny voice suddenly gave out, and she seemed to find the floor very interesting. "Died." Ginny finished softly.
"Yeah, it is kind of frivolous, considering the circumstances, but I can't seem to help it. How long were you out for?"
"I was never Petrified." Ginny replied.
"But you said… Never mind." Hermione stated, figuring she'd find out what exactly happened later.
"Would you help me? I don't want to tell Pomfrey, because, well, I don't want to bother her when she's got so much to do. I just want to exercise my mind, make sure it's in working order."
"Well, what can I do to help?" Ginny questioned. "Which country's gross domestic product most closely equals the Malfoy family's outlay on hair cosmetics?"
"Very funny, Ginny. No, I want to play a game."
"Alright;" Ginny smiled, looking more upbeat than she had a few minutes earlier. " What should we a play?"
"Riddles." Hermione said. "I want to play riddles."
Ginny suddenly stopped smiling and her face froze.
"You know, riddle me this, riddle me that. You riddle me and I'll riddle you. The twisting tester; the brain bender, that seeming simple yet deviously devilish ideas, the riddle. What have you got for me?"
Ginny's response was not immediate, which gave Hermione the opportunity to study Ginny's expression. If outwardly Ginny seemed innocuous, when Hermione glanced at Ginny's eyes, she saw a sea of smouldering rage trying to extinguish a burning hatred from bubbling to the surface and causing a cataclysmic eruption . Clearly Ginny did not like riddles one little iota of bit.
Wondering what dark part of Ginny's childhood could've contributed to such a dislike for puzzlers, Hermione was stumped.
"Err…I'm sorry…" Hermione said, trying to defuse the situation.
"Oh, no, Hermione. It's not your fault – I should be apologising to you."
"No, I shouldn't have brought it up." Hermione wondered what exactly had happened, though she supposed underage magic and the Weasley Twins had to be heavily involved.
"You don't want to know." Ginny glanced at Hermione, seeming to extrapolate Hermione's train of thought.
"One thing I can't understand." Hermione said, addressing Ron (the reason for the midnight feast was not yet clear to Hermione, but clearly something of greatest importance had happened, but Harry wasn't saying much, and Ron certainly wasn't going to say no to a free meal.) "Is what Ginny has against riddles…?"
Ron looked around in panic, hastily swallowing his roll. Harry saved him from forcing it down too quickly by leaning in and whispering something in Hermione's ear.
Hermione paled, then her cheeks flooded with extra blood and she flushed light pink, bright crimson then blood red with mortification. How could Ginny ever forgive her?
You know what; Ginny was thinking exactly the same thing. How could Hermione ever forgive her?