Ron had been poisoned.
Ron had been poisoned, and yet the last word she had ever said to him was...she couldn't even remember it.
She sat in the hospital win with Ginny, Harry, and Fred and George, and of course, Ron. Poor Ron. Poor, poor, Ron.
But the question was, who?
Harry was very sure it was Malfoy. But it couldn't have been. He'd been planning to meet her in Hogsmeade. And he would never do such a thing, would he? Of course she didn't say this to Harry. It wasn't important, after all. Malfoy wasn't in danger. Was he? Harry had nothing to back him up with.
"Ron!"
The doors to the infirmary flew open. Hermione didn't need to look around to know it was Hagrid. There was no mistaking the voice and the monstrous footsteps he took toward the bed. No. Hermione kept her gaze on Ron.
Draco tried to make it to the infirmary unseen. He knew Madam Pomfrey was particularly strict about the number of visitors in the wing. Power in numbers, he thought sadly and meekly to himself. He poked his head through the door as the big oaf, Hagger, or whatever his name was, flung open the doors. Unfortunately, at that point, the matron saw him.
"No more than six visitors at a time!" she squeaked, rushing toward Draco. He turned on his heel and ran, but he was relieved; it wasn't Hermione on the hospital bed, it was Weasley.
Though he had seen her sitting by his bed....What was she doing there? She didn't still like him, did she?
Draco felt a bit guilty about thinking this kind of thing when Weasley, however stupid and weasel-ly he was, had been poisoned. Then he felt guilty about not feeling guilty that he had poisoned Weasley. Then he felt guilty about that.
His head was a big jumble of mess.