She slumped her shoulders, which, at the moment, were bearing the weight of the consequences of the final battle. Her face was caked with dirt and soot and her tears had run in rivers down her cheeks. And she was so tired, as she hadn't slept in 2 days.
Hermione lay on the deep red couch of the Gryffindor common room, closed her eyes and desperately tried to calm her racing mind. She once again ran through the events of the last day, astounded at how lucky they had been. Although, really, lucky was hardly the word. Tears ran slowly, unbidden, down her dirty cheeks once again as she thought of Fred, which lead her to Remus and Tonks, then Colin…and so many others.
That's where he found her. Apparently, sleep had finally claimed her. She was balled up, fetal-like, on the velvet couch. Her hair was a massive mess of tangles; her clothes were torn and frayed. She looked like a fallen angel. Her tear-streaked face was still wet. She looked like she was freezing, her arms wrapped around her shoulders, her feet under the cushions.
Ron sighed. This would not do. Gingerly, he put one arm under her head and the other under her knees as he stooped to pick her up. Her arms automatically went around his neck as she snuggled into him. He placed a chaste kiss on her soiled forehead and turned to the staircase of the boy's dorms. Slowly, he climbed the stairs, his mind racing over the events of the day. He thought of Fred and his whole body felt heavy and dense. He thought of George and his arms tightened around Hermione. His thoughts turned to the rest of his family as, suddenly, Hermione jerked awake.
She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to assess the situation. She looked up from Ron's maroon jumper and found his eyes on her, narrowed, as though sizing her up. She sighed.
"My hero," she said, as she cuddled herself further into his arms and promptly fell back to sleep.
And Ron felt lighter as he resumed his duty.