There is solace in his arms. Though she hasn't told him the source of her grief, he knows what she isn't saying. He knows there is only one person who can cut her this deep, and the knowledge is heady. That level of pain is borne from some deeper emotion they had yet to develop between them. Their new connection is fragile still; Harry hadn't quite gained the ability to evoke feeling from the deepest part of her soul; it would come with time.
"Hermione, I'm going to—"
She silences him with a kiss. Her lips tremble. The bitter, salty tang of tears coats her lips and then his as she takes what he offers. Silence. Acceptance. A righting of all the wrongs that had brought her to this place with him.
When her hand drifts to his and her lips part to whisper, he is at first stunned, then understanding, then overwhelmed. He doesn't know if either of them are ready. At the moment, he doesn't care.