DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, etc. All are copyright J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.
ALSO: This is not intended to be a ship. I am just writing about a moment of friendship (although I am okay with that ship and with you reading it as such. That just wasn't the intent).
It had been several days since Ron had left. Hermione was still wandering in a haze of depression and disbelief, but the reality that he wasn't coming back was beginning to sink in. I could see it in her eyes every now and then, not quite as vacant but every bit as destroyed.
We had set up camp for the evening, and I was lying in bed with her copy of Beadle the Bard. The stories and runes didn't make any sense to me at all, but I knew it helped her feel less alone to know that I was trying to tackle the riddle with her.
"Harry?" she called from her cot. I looked up to see her lying on her stomach, facing away from me. Her brown hair was strewn across the pillow in a curly mess.
"Yeah?" She shifted a little.
"I don't want to sleep," she whispered. Her voice sounded tiny and afraid, as if sleep would recall all the demons we'd fought and all the ones we still faced. Maybe it would.
I sighed and went over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed and absently rubbing her back with one hand.
"I know, 'Mione." I brushed her hair into a more tidy pile and moved my hand to rub her neck. "I don't really want to, either." And it was true. Even when I wasn't plagued by Voldemort, I would see Cedric, Hedwig, my parents, and Ron's retreating figure, all of them gone, and all of them my fault in some small way. I know I didn't kill them or push him away, but if I hadn't existed…? But that train of thought never served me well. I sighed again and leaned against the wall where the cot butted up to it.
There were a few minutes of silence as her breathing evened out and my hand went from rubbing to softly stroking up and down her back. I remembered nights that she had comforted me that same way, and it was surprisingly effective.
Suddenly she turned her face to me, nose against my hip, and her voice wavered as she whispered "we are all so broken," and then her arm was around me and she was crying into my waist.
And for all that I silently agreed, I couldn't help but crave these moments with her where we were so close and so raw. She was my best friend, and while I never wished her pain, I was always secretly glad that she chose to share it with me when it befell her.
I love Ginny with all my being, but this woman is my other half.