After taking the portkey Narcissa had given her, Hermione hadn't heard from Draco for the rest of the Summer. She had written to him in their two-way notebooks, but the ink wouldn't fade into the page - signaling that the message hadn't gone through. She had suspected that, with the unexpected guest in the Manor, Draco had destroyed the notebook as a precaution. She understood, of course. But the silence had haunted her for the remainder of the holiday. When she, Harry and Ron had run into Narcissa and Draco in Madame Malkin's she had been rendered speechless. Even through the relief at seeing Draco again, she couldn't help but notice how both he and his mother had looked. So incredibly tired with blank, empty eyes. There had hardly been a flicker of anything in Draco's eyes when he'd finally looked at her, and her heart had broken for him. She had known that Narcissa's words were for show, despite the very real venom lacing her tone in the moment, but had been comforted all the same when the older witch had briefly touched the back of Hermione's hand with her little finger as they left the shop. It had only gotten worse when they returned to Hogwarts. Her first look at Draco in the Great Hall nearly made her weep. He looked like a ghost and hadn't glanced her way once since entering. She discovered why in short order, of course, when Harry had come in with blood all over his shirt and explained their little altercation. Hermione hadn't known who to be more angry at: Harry for being so reckless and for making such horrible assumptions or Draco for being so callous towards her best friend.