She'd lost track of how many days it had been since he left. It might have even been weeks. Months.

She was angry with him of course. Angry that he'd been so selfish, angry that he'd abandoned them right when they were so close to unlocking the answer, to destroying Slytherin's locket. Hadn't they both promised Harry that they would stand by him no matter what? Hadn't they said they'd help him? Maybe these Horcruxes were taking longer to find than they expected, but they'd made a promise! And now Ron gone off, just like that, and broken it.

She never knew anyone could cry this much. Of course in some ways it was only predictable he'd leave. Ronald could be so immature when the time came around, but this was different. This time she felt something deeper cut into her, something that Harry, as the one always taking charge of things, would never understand. It was a feeling that would keep her awake at night as she sobbed into her pillow, that made her want to cuddle his sweaters in hopes that his smell would still be there, or else look to the bunk where he used to sleep only to feel a terrible, aching sense of grief when she realized he was really gone and he wasn't coming back.

Yes, she confessed to being hurt when he'd gone out with Lavender Brown over a lifetime ago. But this was an entirely different definition of pain, one that cut into her very core almost as much as when she'd erased her existence from her parents' memories. Maybe she did have feelings for him, but didn't he realize she couldn't act on them now when the end was so near? She was afraid, afraid of losing him, afraid of loving him only for him to be captured and for her to never see him again. But either way, he had left her. And just like with Lavender, Hermione could not help her feelings. She could not help being hurt.

Don't I matter to you Ron? Don't I mean anything to you?

She may not have realized it before, but she needed him. At times when she felt discouraged that she wasn't giving Harry enough support, she needed his comforting arm around her, to tell her that things would get better and she was doing everything right. She missed everything about him, from his red hair, to his blue eyes, his freckles, the way his ears would turn red when he was angry, she even missed their arguments as petty and meaningless as they were. They were practically a natural thing to her, she realized, just as natural as breathing. Everything she read at school was always based in fact, always set in stone, but then he'd be the buffoon who never understood anything, who always tried to contradict her, to try her prove her wrong when she knew she was absolutely right. And she missed that. Merlin, she missed him so much.

And now there was just emptiness, cold and bitter. Sometimes she wondered whether he'd hurt her deliberately by leaving, whether this was really an attack on her, not Harry. Sometimes she wondered if things would be different if she'd gone with him, whether she might have been able to talk some sense into him and convince him to come back just for a little longer. But then she'd quickly chide herself for lingering in the past, knowing such thoughts were not needed when her priority at the moment was to help Harry destroy the locket and to save the world from Voldemort. Even now, this task felt more like a fruitless dream to her than anything. Suppose they never found the other pieces, was it really worth all this sacrifice?

Don't tell yourself that. Just because he's given up doesn't mean you should. You will find them. You know you will.

In the foggy darkness, a death eater loomed over him his fallen form. His red hair looked like fire against the black, his hands held over his head as though he were a prisoner being prepared for slaughter.

"Where are they?" the cloaked figure asked.

"I don't know,"

"Answer me!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"CRUCIO!"

There was a burst of light from the Death Eater's wand and then he was writhing on the floor and screaming, "HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"

"Hermione! Hermione!" The voice carried on and on. For one hopeful moment she thought it was him who was shaking her awake in the tent, but then they used their wand to flicker on a lantern and she could see that it was Harry, dressed in several layers of sweaters, clearly just been on patrol outside.

"What?" she said groggily.

"You were shouting in your sleep," he replied, "You…,"

He trailed off, and then stopped. Neither of them had dared to utter Ron's name since he left. It was almost as he had a taboo as much as Voldemort's name did now.

Hermione sat up from the bunk and listened to the wind howling around the tent, flapping the canvas as though threatening to tip it over. "It's so cold," she said. For a moment she imagined Ron, walking in this storm, sick, dying and alone because of her. She wasn't sure she could sleep anymore.

Harry was silent for a moment, and then he moved into her bed and placed an arm around her. It wasn't a gesture of intimacy but of affection, from a brother to a sister, two people sharing in different, but equally as heavy burdens. And for a moment Hermione let her own thoughts be distracted by his, as she let herself think of everything Harry had lost, from his parents, to Sirius to Dumbledore to Ginny…she should be the one comforting him, not the other way around. She'd made a commitment to him, she said she'd be there to support him when things went rough, and yet she couldn't find the strength to help him now. She never knew she could ever feel so useless, so meaningless without him there with her.

The rain was pattering on the tent, sounding like a thousand gunshots going off at once. She remembered that summer at Fleur's wedding almost a lifetime ago when he had danced with her, how safe he had made her feel, how secure.

If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could imagine that it was him, not Harry that held her safe from the stormy winds.