"…Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before it slammed."
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, page 302
The common room was empty. Silence filled the Gryffindor Tower as those who had been at the party finally drifted off to their dormitories, giggling feebly and talking amongst themselves of the Quidditch match against Slytherin. Ginny was talked of the most; she'd gained many admirers for flying into Zacharias Smith at the end of the match.
Seated before the fireplace, Harry stared at the last burning embers, waiting. Hermione had been gone for hours, and she still hadn't returned from wherever she'd gone to. The invisibility cloak was over Harry's head, hiding him from view. He felt as if someone had taken all of the emotions in the world, thrown them together into one, and thrust them at him, saying, "Here Harry, see what it feels like to experience all of these emotions at once."
If that person had asked him what it felt like, he'd have explained that it was terribly confusing to be so confused about all of his thoughts and feelings. He was overjoyed that he'd won the Quidditch match, yet he was distressing over the fact that Ron couldn't play well unless he thought he'd been given a lucky potion. The way Ron went around with Lavender Brown was something that he accepted, no matter how little that acceptance was. At the same time, he was disgusted; disgusted that Ron could act the way he did around Hermione. He wondered if Ron was blind to the fact that Hermione liked him. Harry felt as thought Ron had deserved Hermione's savage attack, but by doing so, thought he was betraying his friendship with Ron. Friends weren't supposed to feel satisfaction at seeing another friend get hurt, were they?
For the first time in his life, he understood how Cho had felt when he'd kissed her. Hermione had said that it was possible to feel so many emotions at once, but he hadn't believed her. Sighing, he realized that Hermione wasn't someone to doubt. She was nearly always right about everything.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearing midnight. She still hadn't returned. Rising to his feet, he pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait and climbed out of the portrait hole. He had a feeling he'd know where to look for her. With a whispered "Lumos" he headed towards the library, hoping that she'd be there. If she wasn't… well then he'd search the entire castle for her. The sob that ripped from her throat as she'd left Ron under the attack of her birds hadn't escaped Harry's notice. He couldn't leave her to cry on her own.
Reaching the library, he looked around, weaving between bookcases and tables, searching for her. She wasn't there. Wishing he'd brought the map, he returned to wandering the corridors, checking every open room that he passed. As he passed a girl's bathroom, he heard sobbing. He paused, realizing it was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The crying didn't sound like Myrtle's though.
Ducking into the bathroom, he saw her. Sitting on the floor with her back against a sink, she had the golden birds fluttering around her head again. As he hurried towards her, something cold swooped through him from behind, and he looked up to see Myrtle's ghost cackling.
Kneeling next to Hermione, he pulled the cloak off. "Hermione, what's wrong?" It was a very stupid question, and one he didn't need answered, seeing as he already knew exactly what was wrong.
A fresh sob came from her, and her entire body shook.
"The little witch has been here for hours," Myrtle said gleefully. "I've been crying with her. It's so nice to have someone understand how I feel." Her miserable face gazed down at Harry. "You said you'd come visit me, but you never did. Four years I've waited!" With an odd choking sound, she dived into a toilet, her loud wail echoing in the bathroom.
Harry placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione, don't pay attention to Ron. He's being a git, and you know it."
She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears.
"How- how could he…?"
She trailed off, her words masked by a hysterical moan.
Harry stared at her, wishing he knew how to help. If he could, he would. The thing was— he had no idea how to help a crying girl. It was something he wished was taught.
He was a hero, damn it. Or at least, he was supposed to be. A hero not being able to stop a girl's crying? All of a sudden, a rush of anger towards Ron filled him. He wanted Hermione to get revenge. He wanted Ron to feel the way Hermione did, to experience the same feelings.
"What's wrong with me, Harry? Why doesn't he like me?"
He stared down at his friend and shook his head. He'd never seen her like this. Hermione was the strong one. She knew how to stand up to taunts. She knew how to get out of tricky situations. It seemed that this condition was one too many. She couldn't get herself out of her state of depression. But if Hermione wasn't strong enough, how was he, Harry, strong enough?
If he were a real hero, he wouldn't have needed to be strong enough. He wouldn't have had to follow Hermione to the bathroom and find her crying.
If he were a real hero, he wouldn't be here, having to bare the grief- no, worse, the emptiness- in her eyes.
If he were a real hero—
But he wasn't.
The most he could do was sit with her and give her a shoulder to cry on. That was, after all, what friends were for, weren't they?
So he did. He sat and listened to her cry her heart out. And when she was done, she looked up at him with her big, brown eyes.
And he saw, with great sadness, that the light of courage that was always present in her eyes was gone.
They were empty.
Love, as Dumbledore always said, was a powerful magic.
But it was terrible, too.
He could see that now, reflected in her eyes.
Empty eyes.