It's two in the morning when I realize sleep just isn't going to happen tonight. I slip out of bed and tiptoe across the dormitory, trying not to disturb anyone. Harry stirs, but doesn't wake, and Neville continues snoring at top volume. I swear banshees couldn't wake him. Lucky bloke. I tread softly down the drafty staircase, hoping the the fire in the common room hasn't completely burned out. My mind is wandering and my right foot is on the last stair when I freeze.

She's sitting in the stone window seat not five feet to my left, small hands wrapped around a mug of tea that has long gone cold. Her knees are pulled to her chest and there's goosebumps on her white legs. She's staring out the window as if there are answers to be descried from the constellations if only she looks hard enough. That stubborn chin is stuck out, lips pressed together, like a child with a scraped knee or an old man at the grave of his friend, refusing to cry on principle, clinging to control. She unwraps her fingers from the handle of the mug and runs them as far through her frizzy curls as they'll go. It's a motion that I'm familiar with from the hours I've spent around Hermione. Her nervous tic I guess you'd call it, as if by pushing the hair from her face she'll be able to see the problem better. Maybe that's the reasoning; I'll never understand a fourth of what goes on in that big brain of hers.

The muscles in my legs are cramping, but I fear if I move, the stair will creak and I'll be given away. The light from the fire, whose flames are pure crimson-her doing I'd guess- , dances over her tired face, beautiful in its odd, incomparable way. Suddenly her brows come together angrily and she looks down at the mug in her hands. Out of nowhere she hurls the offending object across the common room where it smashes against the Gryfindor tapestry and falls, shattered, to the floor.

Before I can think I've stepped out of my hiding place, and her shocked face turns from the shards of china to me. I don't know if there's ever been an odder moment in my life than this one. My face has got to be redder than my hair as I stand here in my Chudley Cannon pajamas looking at one of my best friends ( and possibly more) who seems to be having a mental breakdown. She's white at first, and then a furious pink, hands balled into tight fists at her sides. I think she's shocked not only by my presence, but also her own actions. Tears fill her eyes and she seems to be about to shout at me when I take two big steps and pull her tight to my chest, surprising me as much as anyone. I don't have much experience hugging girls or dealing with their tears but it seems to me that Mione is falling apart and maybe if I hold her tight enough I can keep her together. But what do I know.

A few long seconds later I feel little arms wrap around my waist and damp tears soaking through my orange pajama top. It feels right to rest my cheek on her head, so I do. She's making little choking, sobbing noises, and I don't know how to reconcile this person with the girl I know. Hermione Granger is a force of nature; I've never seen her cry. The fact that something has her this upset scares me senseless. I'm used to her doing the talking but I know I need to say something. I'm about to open my mouth when she abruptly pulls away and marches across the room to the mess she made. She reaches into the pocket of her nightgown for her wand and comes up empty. I can't get across the room before she's crouched down and started trying to scrape up the tiny sharp pieces with her hands. "Mione no!" I kneel beside her and try to pull her hands back. She whips her head around and glares at me furiously, with a look that would normally make me shut my mouth and walk away. But the quivering lips and the tears on her cheeks call for something other than the normal reaction, so I tell her "I'll get this cleaned up. Go sit on the couch before you slice your hands up any worse!." She looks down at the bloody china bits stuck in her hands, almost as if wondering how they got there, then moves to the couch and perches on the edge of a cushion, still examining her injuries in disbelief.

I do a quick spell to clean up the mess before cautiously approaching the couch. I sit down beside her, not close enough to touch. She's staring straight ahead, elbows on her knees. "Let me see your hands." She shakes her head, hair tossing. "Mione let me fix it. Please." I venture again. This time she turns toward me and shakily extends her hands which are covered in broken china and blood. I meet her eyes and try to communicate calm and comfort before taking hold of one of her bony wrists and beginning to use magic to get the shards out.

I hear her shaky breaths and feel her too-fast pulse as I heal the damage she did to herself, but I don't look up from her hands, because if I see on more teardrop slide down that freckled nose I'll lose all focus on what I'm doing. I turn her hands over in my much bigger ones to make sure my work is done. When I'm sure all the pieces are gone and the cuts healed, I finally look up. She meets my eyes almost fearfully. "Alright, what's got you all riled up? Taking it out on a tea cup didn't work very well so maybe you should talk about it." I say with a smirk, still holding her hands.

She pulls from my grip and holds her arms out. On instinct I scoot back into the corner of the couch and let her lay her head on my chest, wrapping my arms around her, feeling her body heat through the thin cotton of her nightgown. I've never held her like this. We hug occasionally, but always briefly. Most of our touches are smacks and shoves during the innumerable rows we've gotten into. This is different. This is what I've dreamed of a thousand times but never voiced, even to Harry. Of course in my imaginings she's never been crying, except maybe over some guy who she quickly dumps for me. I move the hand that's on her lower back in small circles. The other hand rests on her hair. It's a long minute before she sniffs and begins to talk. "It's stupid. Nothing really. Just Umbridge. And Malfoy. Dear God I just never want to hear the word 'mudblood' again! I'll never be known just for being a good witch or a good person. I'll be known for being good despite what I am. It just bothers me. And Harry's all weird and I'm worried to death about him and I'm tired of being worried to death about him. And you for that matter." her words are muffled as her face is still buried in my chest but I make them out just fine, sliding my arms tighter around her as she talks. "I'm tired of worrying at all! I just want it to go away. Or for it to be someone else's problem. I can't handle it. God I'm useless." her voice cracks and she dissolves into tears again.

I play with her hair and run my fingers down her spine and wait to hear the tears cease before I say anything. When I start to talk, my voice is soft, and I don't know where the words come from but I hope they're what she needs to hear. "Hermione Jean Granger you are the bravest, cleverest, most incredible witch at Hogwarts, of any blood status. I decided you were too smart for your own good long before I knew you were muggle-born and that knowledge has changed nothing for me. You're you, not your parents or grandparents. And as for Harry, he is our problem you crazy girl. We're both his friends and we'll take care of him together. You are not all alone. You don't have to do everything and you have lost your oversized mind if you think that you're useless because you aren't invincible. It's okay to not know sometimes Mione. And to be scared. We can be scared together alright?" I murmur the last bit into her hair, which smells like parchment and lilacs. I feel, rather than see, her nod vigorously. I think she'll leave, but she only snuggles deeper into my chest and clings tighter to the fist fulls of pajama top she gathered as I spoke. I can't help but grin.

The sun is rising when her grip loosens and her breathing evens out. My arm is entirely numb and both of my legs are sure to cramp soon, but there aren't enough galleons in Gringott's to make me move right now. The most peculiar, infuriating, and beautiful girl I've ever met is fast asleep on my chest. I watch as dawn creeps over the Black Lake and think about the luck of having insomnia on this particular night.