A tear meanders its way down her soft cheek, taking a detour over a wayward brown curl before it drips off of her chin onto her collar. Its mate quickly follows.
"Hermione...It's time to go. There is nothing more we can do here." Professor McGonagall looks down at her shell-shocked and weary student and Hermione meekly allows herself to be drawn away from his bedside.
It's late at night and she's been here all day. She exhausted, to say the least, but every fiber of her being screams at her that to leave him would be betrayal now, as she's walking toward the door. So, she turns back, intending to return to his side.
She stops when she glimpses him once more: his face is eerily pale in the moonlight, making his freckles stand out even more, and his red hair is garishly highlighted against the white sheets.
She finds herself choking back a soft chuckle as she thinks of how he bemoaned those nasty freckles. They are persistent and stubborn, like him.
Yet, that doesn't matter now.
What she would give to have him open his eyes and look at her. She'd even take a glare if it meant he was conscious again.
She ignores McGonagall's tugging on her arm and helplessly watches Mrs. Weasley crying into Ron's pillow; his father and brothers stand grimly nearby. Ginny is sleeping, exhausted from her tears, in a chair. Her face is careworn and has aged greatly today.
So much pain.
Suddenly, this is the last place Hermione wants to be and it doesn't take any more urging for her professor to force her to leave the room. She runs swiftly away, down the hall, the slapping sounds of her feet against stone the only noise in the quiet hallway.
She hears someone call her name, but she doesn't stop to reply. She needs to get away from here, now. She needs to get away from the scene that is most certainly burned into the back of her mind like a fire-hot poker sears unwilling flesh. She is going to go absolutely mental if she doesn't find somewhere else where she can pretend that this never happened.
You see, Hermione tried to be strong while everyone else was watching. She held his hand and only let slip a sob or two. She offered a comforting hug to Ginny and managed to explain to Mrs. Weasley what happened when Harry found his eyes uncomfortably wet. She is Hermione Granger and she needed to be strong for all of them. Because, if she isn't strong, who will be?
Now, though, that she's finally free, she can let loose those emotions tumbling around inside of her, begging to be released in a storm of pent-up tears. Stopping abruptly, she wrenches open the door to a random, abandoned classroom and heaves her body inside. She almost collapses on the nearest desk, breathing quite heavily, as tears roll silently down her cheeks again.
This is her fault, Hermione admits. If she had been there for him...If she had been the 'bigger person' and forgiven him, they would've been friends and she could've reminded Harry to throw away that blasted love-enlaced potion. She doesn't forget details like that.
She's not sure how long she remains in that cold, dark room, crying, but she eventually finds her way back to her own bed in the dorm.
As she readies for bed, a flash of light from the mirror blinds Hermione's eyes momentarily and she is tempted, in a moment of insanity, to break that mirror. Because, she has seen in that mirror, just now, her reflection for the first time since this morning. And Hermione Granger has realized something serious...and disturbing. For all those years of being called a mud blood or freak, she never let it get to her; she didn't believe it. Now, though, for the first time she can recall, she hates the person staring back at her.
Because this is all her fault.