It wasn't often that Hermione Granger was at a loss for words. But there she was, staring at Ron Weasley's guilty face as his girlfriend slipped into the corridor behind him. With no words at her disposal, her mind was whirring at lightning speed processing the various degrees of pain she was feeling at that moment. She could sense one thing above the jumble of other emotions, and that was the distinct feeling of being crushed, as if by a steamroller. Her throat constricted to the point that she couldn't swallow; her fingers were clenched in a painfully tight fist. Even her insides felt wrapped around themselves. Her chest felt as though it were being squeezed by an enormous snake… or perhaps the tentacle of a brain, the way she'd imagined so many horrible times…
Suddenly disgusted that she'd wasted so many years on this boy--countless glances and daydreams--her throat opened up and her stomach unclenched. She swallowed back a sob and said in a miraculously even voice, "You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside." The name tasted bitter in Hermione's mouth. "She'll wonder where you've gone."
Very carefully, she walked to the door; when she was there, she heard Lavender on the other side, breathless with laughter. Looking back around at him, Hermione's fingers automatically tightened around her wand at the relieved, almost smug expression that had returned to his face. Instantly, the feeling of being crushed to pieces hit her again. Without pausing to think, she heard herself scream, "Oppugno!"
--
As she had done many times before, Hermione Granger was crying. Her throat was tight; her breath caught with her sobs. But unlike those other times, she was now at Albus Dumbledore's funeral and now enveloped in the arms of a man. Ron Weasley was holding her so tightly that, rather inappropriately, she thought back to the first time she had seen him and Lavender together. The feeling of being pinned beneath a steamroller did not return. On the contrary, Ron's tight grip around her and the stitch in her side did not begin to compare to those feelings. Between sobs, she realised what she was doing by grieving Dumbledore's death—and, in fact, the deaths of all that had fallen under Voldemort, and all that were sure to fall. These tears she was crying now were nothing like those ever shed for Ron, or any boy; these tears felt liberating. She knew they had a mission set out for them. There would be no more crushing pain as a result of jealousy and immaturity… they were part of a much bigger picture now…
Perhaps realising the same thing at that moment, Ron's grip softened around her and one hand felt its way up to her hair. It was there and then that Hermione felt all the animosity she'd harboured melt away, knowing that, as his fingers softly stroked her hair, she wouldn't ever have to worry about being hurt by him again.
A/N: Please see "Overactive," a sort-of continuation of this drabble that addresses how Hermione is hurt by Ron once more, despite her certainty that it wouldn't happen again. Hope you enjoyed!