"Hello, Hermione." The girl, his best friend, looked up at him. Sadness was in her eyes, in her face, in the way she held herself. The glow and warmth that had normally surrounded her, that was an important part of the girl he once knew was now replaced was a dreadful coldness.
"Hello, Ron." The words were whispered. They were the first she spoke in two weeks. He figured that those two words were as close to an invitation as he would get, and joined her. He sat next to her on the edge of the wall where she was perched, legs dangling off the side.
"It's been awhile since you've talked to me."
"It's been awhile since I've talked to anyone."
"How are you?"
"My parents are dead and it's my fault. How do you think I am?" Ron winced. The statement was void of emotion. She didn't say it harshly, just as a fact.
"It's not your fault, Hermione."
"They didn't even know about Voldemort. They had no idea it was coming."
"And what would they have been able to do if they did? Live in fear for years?" His voice was rising. He was impatient with the way she was acting.
"Don't yell Ron."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"Not about the yelling. About your parents. About you."
"It wasn't your fault. My parents or me. You weren't the one who broke me, Ron. Life broke me."
"Damn it! You are not broken, Hermione. You are going through a painful time. It will get better."
"Look at me, Ron. Really look at me. Don't see what you want to see; don't see what used to be here. I'm broken, Ron. Shattered from the inside with barely a shell left for the outside world to see. Do I look like the same Hermione to you?"
Ron looked away. She didn't look like the same Hermione. He'd known that since the news came. But she was right. He didn't want to admit it. They sat in silence watching the stars for a few minutes before Hermione spoke again.
"I knew what the risks of the War were. I knew I could lose people I loved. I thought I could handle it."
"You've always thought you could handle everything."
"Guess this was how I was supposed to find out that I can't."
"Don't you think that if you actually let the emotions out that you could heal?"
"I don't think I could stand the pain."
"I could help you."
"No one can help me."
"I love you." He looked deep into her eyes, and for one brief second there was a flash of emotion in them. But it was quickly dampened out.
"I'm sure I would have loved you back at one time."
He sighed, shook his head, and got up to leave. As he reached the door he heard her again.
"Ron?"
He turned to face her, his face blank.
"No one can help me...yet. It's like that saying- "you can't help those who won't help themselves." I'm not ready to help myself. Yet." She almost whispered the last word.
Ron nodded slowly and faded into the darkness of the stairwell.
And she sat and watched the stars.