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Hermione Granger sat in the tent that came from her magic bag; she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her pale eyelids shaped to arching teardrops to accommodate the bitterness leaking from them. Her brown hair hung mussed and limp on her forehead with sadness, her makeup smeared to mar the prettiness of her delicate face. It was going to be a long night, a long and painful night full of memories which would serve only to plague the little rest she could get. Dreams of Ron's angry face, the echo of 'You choose him' …

Not that it would matter, for one could hardly expect to get a good night's sleep in wartimes anyway. The seventeen-year-old sighed as a yawn escaped her lips, knuckling her eyes to fight off the itchiness in them.

The radio beside her started to play a sad love song, causing her already sad mood to become even sadder still. She remembered the wedding just gone by, when Bill and Fleur had been so happy and when she and Ron had danced the night away. Remembered the smell of food on his dress-robes for he never stopped eating and wondered if she would ever smell that again. More cold tears spilled onto her cheeks and one solitary drop touched the corner of her mouth. She made a move to smear it on the back of her sleeve but put her arm down when the flap of the tent flipped back from a strong wind.

She leapt up and went to close it, tugging at the material hard enough that if she were not careful she would have pulled it over. In fact, she did, and the massive structure would have flattened her. It would have done so if not for the strong white hand that caught the other half and pulled it upright. Hermione looked up and her chocolate-brown eyes met with the green ones of The Boy Who Lived. He had a serious expression on his face, but she saw the glint of amusement in his eyes.

"You don't need to take it out on the tent Hermione." Harry said.

"Shut up!" she snapped, wiping her eyes angrily.

The amusement in his eyes faded away to sympathy, and when she turned to stalk back in to the tent he caught her hand. Turning, she saw that there were tears in his eyes too, but his were different and he looked so alone. She sighed and pulled away from him, motioning for him to come in, she shook her head. He sat down next to her, but made no move to start a conversation. For a while the two of them sat there silent, staring at the flame in the lamp until Harry finally could bare it no more.

"Hermione…" Harry's voice, "Please…"

"Please what? Please what?" she started to cry again.

He sighed running his fingers through his hair; this was the same story every night. Ron was gone, stormed out of the tent and now she sat in here day-in-day-out.

"You miss Ron." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she replied.

"I know it's hard…" he said.

"No you don't," she cried, "First my parents…now R-Ron…" she cried.

Harry didn't say anything, because he did not half to, the look she gave him told her everything he needed to know. Hermione nodded sadly and eyed the floor of the tent, avoiding his eyes and he lifted his hand to cup her chin and then her eyes locked with his. Harry stood to his feet, reaching down to gently take her hand.

Hermione smiled slightly when another sad intimate song began, Harry recognized it as, Nick Cave's 'Oh Children' to float through the tent. Harry smiled back, closed-mouthed and began to gently lead her in a dance. 'Round and around they went till tired from their dance they landed on the bunk.

"He's just…not ready." Harry said trying to sound soothing.

She nodded, realizing that Ron was 'not ready' for a great many things yet, her being one of them. He was while reasonably handsome not mature enough to be tender with her feelings, or to give her proper attention when she needed it. Still, the ache of losing her first love was still prominent and sharp. She cried again and pushed at him, but Harry just put his arm around her.

"Hermione, Ron's just… well he's." Harry's voice trailed off.

Hermione nodded, and she yawned hugely, in a very unladylike way. Harry smiled as she belatedly covered her mouth. "Sorry," she muttered.

"It's okay." he said softly, "Get some sleep.

She nodded, "Night Harry." She said, smiling as he gave her a hug.

A warm fuzziness came over her and she lay down, closing her eyes. For the first time that night, she did not cry. She did not hiccough in sadness, she did not even frown. That night, she dreamed not of Ron's angry face, but a pair of green eyes and black hair... a sypathetic smile...and warm arms.