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Unfolding her limbs from the cocoon of blankets, Hermione stretched. The glow of light that permeated through her closed eyelids told her it was morning. Lazily, movements cumbersome, she disentangled herself from the blankets that she didn’t recall covering herself with. Opening her eyes, she looked down and saw, in confusion, that every blanket had been put over her. No wonder she had felt so snug. Blearily, she looked around the tent, the damp smell was now permanent. She was alone. That much was clear. It wasn’t completely silent. Some bird chitter was noticeable, the rustling of wind through trees, but nothing else, nothing in the tent. She rose from her nest of blankets and the moment she took a step, it hit her. Like a sledgehammer to the chest, it all came back. Her mind raced back through the memory of the previous night. She played over the flashes of raised voices, the ache of her heart returning as she remembered the things that Harry and Ron had said to each other. Her breath seized as she recalled the fight that ensued and how she dashed out into the rain, calling out into the dark, only to hear the rejection in the sharp crack of Ron’s disapparation. There was also the overwhelming guilt. She could see the hurt on Harry’s face when Ron voiced his disappointment, the dejection in his eyes that was swiftly swallowed up as he let his anger get the better of him. She shivered as she recalled the bitter sarcastic tone he used, the venom in his words as he lashed out with his barbed tongue. He knew how to hurt with words, but then, so did Ron… “I get it. You choose him.” Hermione closed her eyes as the devastating reality struck her. It had been a fear for a while, for years, that there would one day be a time when she would have to choose between them. Her two best friends were boys and she had crushed on both of them at different points in their friendship. First, it was Harry, brave, brilliant Harry. But when it was clear that he didn’t see her in that way at all, she let her feelings turn purely platonic instead. It still struck her when she least expected it, whenever Harry lowered his guard and let her see the gentle, kind soul that he was. There was less of that now he had hardened himself for war. It was so desperately unfair that he wasn’t allowed to be himself and had to take on the burden of being the Chosen One. With Harry closed off and cold, Hermione found comfort in Ron’s steady presence. He was always ready to find the light side of a situation, no matter how bleak. Determined, resolute Ron - he was hopelessly tactless and oblivious, yet it was endearing in a way. He tried to make some effort, at least, even if it fell short of the mark.