Ron and Hermione accompanied Harry from Dumbledore's Office to Gryffindor tower. After all they had been through the trio was delirious with sleep. Any remaining adrenaline they may have had left had been exhausted by the realization that Voldemort, Tom Riddle, was not living to see the morning sun. Their bodies could not yet feel their injuries; their brains could not yet compute their emotions. But it would all catch up in due time. Right now the three of them were acting upon their purest need, sleep. They stumbled through the common room which was, by some miracle, spared of major damage. Ron insisted that Hermione come with them to the boys' dormitory and she didn't have the strength to consider propriety. With all the eagerness they could muster, Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed the stone steps and pushed open the familiar wooden door. The inviting circular bedroom was a small glimpse of heaven.
Harry all but collapsed into his bed and into a deep sleep. Hermione walked to him, removed his glasses and pulled a sheet up over him. Pulling out her wand she drew the curtains closed around him and turned toward Ron. He had removed his shirt, exposing his already bruised back. He continued to disrobe, unfastening his pants and letting them fall lazily to the floor. Hermione took in the sight of him and his orange Chudley Cannons boxer-briefs. Ron opened the top drawer of his old dresser, still filled with clothes he never had time to remove. He pulled out a large scarlet t-shirt and handed it to Hermione. She took it from him silently. Still holding her wand, Hermione charmed Ron's bed to a bigger size, something more suitable for two seventeen-year-olds to be comfortable in. Ron sank into his bed and closed his eyes. Hermione could feel her own eyes closing involuntarily even while she was still standing. She quickly shed her sweaty, blood-stained clothing and replaced it with Ron's too-big shirt before crawling under the covers. With a flick of her wand she closed the curtains around Ron's now king-sized four-poster and instinctively placed it underneath the pillow. The last thing she remembered before succumbing to sleep was Ron pulling her weak frame onto his bare chest and squeezing her tightly.
Hermione heard small voices. Was this part of her dream or was her body telling her to wake up?
"How long have I been asleep?" She heard the familiar voice of Harry Potter coming from the bed to her right. There was something different to it, however. It was heavy with sleep, groggy with unawareness, and brimming with emotion.
"Nearly fourteen hours now," a voice answered. Hermione's eyes popped open and she was stunned to find her surroundings had not changed. The morning light she had expected to flood her vision did not come. Instead, as her eyes adjusted she noticed the soft flicker of firelight coming from the center of the room, just outside the curtains of Ron's bed. The other voice spoke to Harry again, "I brought you all some food." Hermione now recognized the soft voice of Ginny, only she sounded as if she had aged five years overnight.
Hermione's brain still existed somewhere between sleep and awake but her stomach roared at the mention of food. "You have to have a little something." Ginny insisted to Harry.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Harry asked. Hermione could hear the sudden desperation in his voice.
"I'm fine." She answered soothingly.
"And your family?" As she listened for Ginny's reply Hermione could not move, could not breathe. Her memories of yesterday's events came flooding back to her. She felt her toes go cold and her stomach silence itself as she remembered the Weasleys were now a family in mourning, a family of one less. Hermione turned toward Ron who, now sprawled on his stomach, still lay in a deep, silent sleep. She was grateful that he was able to experience this small retreat from real life. Hermione knew when he woke up he would be a much different person and she silently wished that he might somehow outsleep the coming days.
"Mum's not said much. Dad won't let me see George. The rest of us are, well…in one piece, I suppose."
"Take me to them?" Harry pleaded. Hermione heard no reply, only a few seconds of silence before Harry rose from his bed, his heavy footfalls masking Ginny's as the pair left the room. Hermione resumed breathing and the only noises left were the gentle cracks of the fire and Ron's steady snores. Hermione swung her body off the side of Ron's bed, allowing her feet to find the cold, wooden floor. They felt like huge bricks attached to legs whose muscles refused to even try to work. It took Hermione a few attempts to stand upright and when she finally extended her frame fully, she was met by a stunning headache that began in her temples and erupted down her spine. She opened the curtains of Ron's bed on her side and automatically reached for the plates of food that lay abandoned on Harry's bed.
Hermione had no idea what she was eating; her taste buds didn't seem to work. Her body forced her sore arms to lift the food and deposit it into her mouth. Her stomach filled quickly and Hermione began to inhale and exhale slowly to combat her mounting nausea. Suddenly she saw Fred's face in her mind, cold and lonely. He would be hungry too by now but she knew he'd never be able to eat again. He'd never be able to do anything again. Hermione felt a wave of grief and shame wash over her and she threw herself in the direction of the bathroom. Just as quickly as she had eaten the food, it had come back up on her and into the first of the boys' toilets. She flushed it down and wondered if it would end up splashing out of some broken pipe into the crippled castle. She lifted her still-throbbing head and walked to the nearest sink.
Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, taking in her pale face. Her eyes trailed down to her shirt which she didn't even remember putting on. It was Ron's old quidditch t-shirt. She missed seeing herself in Gryffindor red. The golden lion on the front was encircled by the words "Gryffindor Keeper". She turned around, peering over her shoulder to find "WEASLEY" emblazed on her back. She smiled at the fond memory of Ron looking so strapping in his uniform. The taste of vomit in her mouth drew her out of her daydream. She reached in the cabinet and grabbed hold of the nearest toothbrush, not caring who it once belonged to. She doused it in toothpaste and scrubbed her mouth clean. A repetitive dripping caught her attention as she swallowed a small sip of water. She turned toward the showers and immediately stripped off Ron's shirt. Hermione entered the shower, turned the knob and was surprised to find the water still working. She allowed the water to drench her, standing directly underneath the nozzle and swirling her head around until her fingers were pruney. Her hands reached for a bar of soap and Hermione felt some of the pain, anger, and fear wash away with the dirt. After a few minutes she turned the water off and grabbed a towel from the center rack, wrapping herself securely in it. She rung out her hair and listened to the sound of the escaping water splatter onto the red tile.
"Hermione?" Ron's voice rang out like a shotgun in the silent bathroom. Hermione jumped and nearly fell over. Ron spotted her just outside the showers, seemingly unaware of her appearance. She looked into his eyes and hardly recognized him. He looked…broken. Tears began flooding from his eyes as he closed the distance between them. She felt his large frame envelope her and slowly weigh them down to the floor. He was sobbing and Hermione knew this was the moment in which Ron's body was rested enough to meet his mind in anguish over his brother. The noises coming from him made her stomach sink and she began to cry as well. They sat there in a puddle just outside the shower, Ron in his boxers and Hermione in a towel, crying until there was nothing left to leak out.