She feels nothing but guilt on guilt as she sends pale white birds flitting around the room. She is alone, and for that she is grateful. No one will come for her, a fact that warms her heart. The silence is deep and unknown and so she drinks it in as the birds flit past, faster and faster.
Ron is gone, hidden somewhere in the castle with his anger, and so, she is alone. She is not afraid. Her heart pounds slowly, loudly, as it brings itself back to life. She is not afraid.
Ron had been with Lavender, in a classroom on the fifth floor. Harry had found them, a messy tangle of sweaty limbs. A fitting end to a dirty secret.
She is not sorry. She did not drive him away. He had driven himself, by his own will, and so, she is alone. She is grateful, for the darkness expects nothing, and it is nothing that she wishes to give. So she sits there, giving and receiving nothing. She is not sorry.
She will never be sorry.