While Hazel had every intention of pursuing Ernie to the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall the morning after they'd kissed, a letter had reached her before she could, from her sister. The contents had driven her back to the girls' dormitory, and there she'd stayed.
Nothing was confirmed, Brenna had insisted, but she'd heard reports in The Daily Prophet offices of a mass migration of Muggleborns from the United Kingdom to France, assisted by those sympathetic to their plight. What was equally unconfirmed, and the bit Hazel wished Brenna had left out of her letter, was the rumor of a raid on the party of twenty or so Muggleborns escaping the United Kingdom, among them students who would have been at Hogwarts. Who should have been.
Had Michelle been among them? Hazel didn't know, and Brenna didn't say. There was no one she could ask, and nothing she could do, and only by force was she lead by one of her housemates to Madame Pomfrey that evening. It was beyond the nurse's power to keep her from her classes the next day, not without a serious injury, and Hazel had proceeded shakily through her lessons. She hadn't thought about Ernie. She hadn't thought about anyone, not even Michelle, not properly. That would hurt too much, to wonder if she even was anymore.
Entering the common room after acquiring a sleeping draught from Madame Pomfrey, Hazel had every intention of going right upstairs and to bed. She hadn't intended on seeing Ernie, and she caught his eye without meaning to, as well. Her pale cheeks flushed, grip tightening on the vial in her hand. Could she go and talk with him? Could she tell him?