Chapter 2:
Hermione couldn't tell how long they sat there, huddled in a heaving mass on the cold tile that had long since dried. Before long her legs, being the part bearing most of their combined weight, began to tingle with invisible pin pricks. She felt Ron becoming heavy and knew he was on the verge of another round of much-needed sleep. Wordlessly she pushed against him, willing him to stand. She braced his frame and found her wobbly knees beneath her like a newborn lamb. Ron was conscious but unresponsive beyond taking baby steps out of the bathroom. She led him back into the empty bedroom and allowed him to fall back into his still oversized four-poster.
Reaching for her hidden wand she spoke for the first time in nearly a full day. "Aguamenti Reducto," and the last remaining bits of moisture were removed from Ron's boxer briefs. He reached a trembling hand toward her, shaking certainly from grief but also from the onset of early starvation. Hermione crossed to him and grasped his hand firmly. She looked into his blue eyes, now encased in a ring of anguished red, and felt an intense need radiating from him. "I'm right here." She whispered. She leaned in a placed a feather-light kiss on his forehead, followed by a second. Pulling back she watched his eyes slowly close and felt his arm became heavy in her hand. She pulled the covers up over him and shivered.
Still in a semi-wet towel, she charmed Ron's t-shirt toward her and changed quickly. Hermione retreated to the nearby windowsill, a stone nook separating the beds of her two best friends. She rubbed at her temples which had given birth to a new wave of headaches that pulsated her vision. In the acres below and beyond Gryffindor Tower Hermione could see dozens of people mending trees and grass. In the distance, where the Forbidden Forest met Hogwarts grounds, a row of small dirt piles lay neatly spaced. No doubt the final resting places for those who had no family to claim them.
The evening passed slowly into morning. The only event interrupting the silence was Ginny's return, arms full of fresh plates of food. Hermione hugged her tightly and did not want to let go. She marveled at how well Ginny seemed to be holding up. Hermione had never realized before the power Ginny's presence projected, and Hermione was enormously envious of the tall redhead. Encased in her friend's arms she wanted to confide in her, tell her that she feared she couldn't help Ron, to ask her what she should do for him. Hermione knew the answer. Everyone grieves differently. Ron was retreating, refueling his body while escaping reality even if only for a bit. Ginny, on the other hand, became a temporary head of the Weasley house, her biggest comfort coming from focusing on nourishing those still among the living.
Ginny asked about Ron and Hermione told her about what happened in the bathroom, still unsure if he had been fully awake or possibly lost somewhere between sleepwalk and insanity. She told Ginny how he said nothing more than her name and had yet to eat. That would be her first priority when he finally woke, to get him to eat something. Ginny told Hermione that there would be a funeral at the Burrow tomorrow and Hermione could only nod solemnly, dreading that coming moment more than any she had faced previously.