Classes were far worse. As the days slowly passed the bags under her eyes grew heavier and her face grew thinner, and it was hard not to notice. Even without Harry and Ron's interference, McGonagall began watching Hermione at meals and in class, worry lines wrinkling her forehead. But she never approached her.
Perhaps, Hermione thought, one sleepless night, Dumbledore told her that I was asking about Blaise. He could have told her to keep an eye out for me.
But she couldn't really bring herself to care. So what if anyone knew? It hadn't made any difference before the Christmas break, and it made no difference now.
If only I'd sent an owl, she thought, constantly. Perhaps then she could have realised something was wrong, the Aurors could have been alerted, they would have had a fresher trail to follow, and maybe Blaise would still be –
She could never bring herself to finish that thought. She scolded herself for imagining the worst possible outcome. He could be alive, and he may well be returned to her. She repeated that to herself, through the long nights.
Eventually, Friday came, in a manner much like the day before, and the day before that. Hermione had finally collapsed into bed from exhaustion Thursday evening, fully clothed, and managed to sleep for a few hours. She woke up at dawn, and crawled weakly out of bed.
After a wash, she changed her clothes and wandered down to the Common Room. It was early, but the fire had already been lit. Hermione curled up in one of the squashy armchairs in front of it and tried to retain some of the warmth.
She was listening to the sounds of students stirring above her when the portrait hole burst open. Professor McGonagall came through, flustered and visibly upset. She was so preoccupied that she didn't even notice the girl in the chair by the fire.
"Professor?" Hermione said, unintentionally letting the statement become a question.
McGonagall started, and looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "Merlin, child! What are you doing up?"
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but McGonagall put up a hand, shushing her. "No matter. Come with me."
McGonagall had turned and was out the portrait hole before Hermione had a chance to rise from her chair. She jumped up, and scrambled after the older woman.
Down the stairs and along dark corridors, Hermione followed, confused and scared. Her terror deepened when she realised she was being led to the Hospital Wing.
McGonagall stopped before the wide double doors that lead into the infirmary, and turned to look at Hermione.
"A half hour ago, Blaise Zabini was dumped on the grounds, just inside the school gates. He's been very badly hurt, and Madame Pomfrey has been working madly just to stabilise him. We think she's succeeded, and the Headmaster agreed that you be told, and brought here."
McGonagall paused and looked at Hermione with pity in her eyes. "This is against my better judgement, I might add," she said quietly, and placed a hand lightly on the girl's shoulder.
"He's in a coma, Miss Granger," McGonagall said gently. "He may not wake up for a very long time, or he may never wake up at all. He may well die. And while I thought this would be a terrible way for you to remember him, I was out-argued."
"Did you know…?" Hermione asked, trailing off mid-sentence.
"Not until the Order was notified that the Zabinis had been attacked. The entire family was kidnapped. A few days ago, in Knockturn Alley, Rosemary Zabini was found dead, but Franco, Blaise's father, is still missing. To be completely honest, there's not much hope for him. In any event, after it was discovered what had happened, I was appraised of the friendship between you and Blaise by Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Did…did he tell…" Hermione found it increasingly difficult to speak. Her throat was growing thick, and she looked down at the floor.
"No other members of the Order were told," McGonagall said quietly. Hermione nodded, and was surprised when she was swept into a fierce hug.
"I'm so sorry, child," McGonagall whispered in her ear before releasing her, and smoothing out her tartan robe. "Are you ready?"
Hermione nodded dumbly, and slowly followed McGonagall into the Hospital Wing.
Hermione could see a small group of people milling about nervously around a bed, down at the end of the long room. McGonagall stiffened, and put a hand out behind her, gesturing for Hermione to stop.
"Wait here," the professor said quietly before she swept towards the others.
Hermione stood stock still, staring at the increasingly moving group. Something was clearly wrong. Slowly, not sure if she even wanted to see, Hermione started walking towards the bed. She caught glimpses of white sheets between figures, but before she could get close, Snape, looking particularly ominous in a black, hooded robe, removed himself from the group and started towards the doors.
He didn't appear surprised to see Hermione, and when he intercepted her he grabbed her arm above the elbow and steered her to the door.
"But, Blaise…" Hermione said, twisting in Snape's grip and trying to look behind her.
"Not now, Miss Granger. Believe me when I tell you that you do not want to see him right now."
Hermione looked up at the professor, knowing her face was openly showing the horror she felt.
Without sparing a glance down, Snape's mouth thinned. "Madame Pomfrey is doing her best, but you would simply be in the way. Return to Gryffindor Tower, and when Mister Zabini is stable, you will be allowed to see him."
They went through the doors of the Hospital Wing, and Snape released his grip on her arm. He looked at Hermione coldly, his arms crossed, and she realised with a start that he was still wearing his Death Eater robes.
"Go to your Common Room. Now."
Dutifully, too tired and dazed to argue, she turned and began trudging back towards Gryffindor Tower. Snape watched her until she was out of sight, then turned and headed back down to the dungeons.
She had done as Snape instructed, and went back to her dormitory, where she went up to her room, and sat on her bed. Presently, Lavender's horrible alarm clock went off. Without waiting for her roommates to begin moaning and whining about getting out of bed, Hermione stood, hefted her satchel over one shoulder, and went down to the Common Room.
There were only a handful of students already up, but Hermione ignored them. She climbed through the portrait hole, and made her way down to the Great Hall.
She was a bit early for breakfast, but once she sat down at the Gryffindor table, a house elf popped up beside her.
"Is Miss wanting anything?"
"Yes," Hermione said quietly. "A pot of tea, please. And some toast."
The house elf bobbed her head in acquiescence, and disappeared. A moment later, a cup and saucer, a steaming pot of tea, a heaping plate of hot buttered toast and all the accompanying accruements appeared on the table in front of Hermione.
Mechanically, she poured the tea, and added cream and sugar to her cup. She spread raspberry jam on a piece of toast, took a bite, and chewed slowly.
She could have been eating cardboard covered in mud, and wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
Hermione ate slowly and carefully, and the plate of toast slowly shrank. By the time she was on the last slice, most of the students and staff had arrived.
She ignored the worried glances she was receiving from Professor McGonagall at the Head Table, where intense, whispered conversations were going on. Hermione drained the last drops of tea from her cup, and got up to leave.
Harry and Ron almost knocked her over as she was leaving the Hall.
"Hermione! Why are you down here so early?" Ron asked distractedly as he ran his hands through his hair, trying to get it to stop sticking up.
"I wanted to do a bit of review with a pot of tea," Hermione said, and some small part of her was surprised at how easily the lie rolled off her lips.
"Oh," Ron said, looking at her askance. Hermione forced herself to smile, and hoped her face didn't crack with the effort.
"I'm really alright, but I forgot a book and need to go get it. I'll see you both in Transfiguration."
She ran off, leaving Harry and Ron to watch her retreating back, and wonder.
She floated through her classes, oblivious to most of what was going on around her. It was clear from the whispered conversations and scared faces that the students had heard about Blaise.
His family, they were attacked…no, I heard it was after Christmas…yes, he's in the Hospital Wing right now…You-Know-Who sent his Death Eaters, because…
Hermione tried to tune it all out, and was mostly successful.
Lunch and dinner were both blurs of questions from Harry and Ron, all of which she replied to easily, lying through her teeth every time.
Shortly after dinner, she retreated to her dormitory, changed into her pyjamas, and crawled into bed. She shut the hangings tightly, laced her fingers together over her stomach, and laid in bed, staring at the roof of her canopy.