Things had been going relatively well. He'd spoken to everyone (with a notable, glaring exception); he had even struck up conversation with Theo and Blaise. They had both been so obviously relieved that he was voluntarily speaking to them again, they hadn't questioned (or seemed to question) the reason why. Theo's words had been circling around his head for weeks now. Missing core. He had no idea what it meant, no clue what Theo had been talking about, and he was curious. He told himself that it was simply his curiosity at the unknown that pulled at him but, of course, it was a lie. It was Hermione. Theo and Blaise (and Potter and Weasley) were worried enough about whatever was going on with her to keep her return to England from him for days. And, although he had essentially blacked out when he had first seen her again, he couldn't deny that she had looked terrible that day in the library. Frail and disheveled and fragile. Her screams, her pleading, had followed him around for weeks. It haunted him, no matter what he did to banish the images, the sounds. So, he'd gone to Theo's party, knowing he'd have to see her, but also with the intention of getting some answers from his best friends. Former best friends? He honestly didn't know. He knew he was still pissed, more so at Blaise than Theo or the others. He knew he didn't yet have it in him to forgive either of them for what really, truly felt like a betrayal.