"That so?" she asked, looking over at the small child playing on the other bed. How he could possibly have been doing that, she had no idea, and therefore suspected rather strongly that Harry was making that bit up, though the lie did make her feel a little better. A little more important somehow. Someone had missed her, or at least Harry said he did. She supposed he must have come by for a short visit once or twice during the week she'd been out, which made her wonder how Ron had happened by yesterday. Had he been visiting too? Hermione somehow doubted it, though his presence here yesterday did indicate he had been coming of his own accord.
"I'm glad I'm awake too," she lied, her voice a lot softer than usual. Hermione was still leaning into Harry, unable to push herself upright for fear of becoming dizzy again, her head leaning back against the wall. There was so much she wanted to say, and yet... couldn't he sense it? Couldn't he tell something was wrong, that she was unhappy? But of course he was Harry, and feelings weren't spoken of when your name was Harry Potter or Ron Weasley. Wasn't that the problem? Now, she was becoming just like them.