It was two minutes to midnight when the Floo roared to life. Blaise, who had been sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, jerked upright in time to see a petite form tumble onto the hearth, as if it had been thrown through the Floo. He could only tell it was Hermione by the long brunette curls surrounding her body like a halo. The rest of her... Blaise had no words, barely had any coherent thoughts as he took her in. He had no idea what had been done to her, what could cause this kind of damage. She had landed on the hearth with her back to him, her clothes were in tatters and what he could see of her skin as he rushed to her side was covered in angry, raw skin and deep purple and black bruises. Remembering only a scant bit of his emergency healer training (a class he had taken to get close to a particularly stunning French woman more than three years ago), Blaise reached for Hermione’s mottled wrist, checking for a pulse, before he turned her as gently as he could (minding her neck) onto her back. The breath simply left his body as he looked into her face - bruised like the rest of her, with eyes swollen shut. Blood was leaking from her nostrils, out of one ear, and from a shallow slice that ran from the corner of her mouth to her collarbone. Her chest was rising and falling agonizingly slowly as Blaise dug his hand into his pocket, reaching for his wand.