There was no sudden change in Hermione’s demeanour, she continued to lay there still, unconscious from the blood loss. Madam Pomfrey opened a bottle of potion and tipped it into her mouth, propping it open with her fingers in a C grip. He recognised the blood replenishing potion from his third year when the Hippogriff had sliced his arm open in care of magical creatures. There was nothing more he could do to help her now, his presence in her life would only be a source of pain and suffering. Purpose fuelled him as he walked to the doors they had just come through, leaving his bond in the hands of the Boy Who Lived. 