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Hermione explained to Ginny the concept of a Pyrrhic victory, once. Plutarch's lines mocked her as she passed by the room Harry and Ron had shared at 12 Grimmaud Place: "When someone congratulated Pyrrhus on this victory, he said: 'One more victory like this will be the end of me.'" It was empty now, like the rest of the house, as the Order's headquarters had been removed to a more... illustrious location, befitting their new status as the de facto governing body, now that the Ministry was decimated.
The war, long and hard-fought, had been close to being over. Voldemort was dead, killed by Harry in a predictably dramatic showdown, the Death Eaters losing resolve quickly without the Dark Lord's leadership. Harry, Ron, Neville (who surprised everybody by becoming one of the best Aurors the Ministry had), and Colin Creevey had been dispatched to clean up a small encampment of Death Eaters, a mission that had become almost routine at this point. None of them had expected the ambush, led by a desperate and grief-mad Crabbe (Goyle had been killed two days previous), and Neville had been the only one to escape. She had been the one who found him, at an Underground stop in Muggle London (it was funny, she thought, the way people could go about their daily business while a war was being fought right under their noses), beaten, bloody, the remnants of his wand clutched in his hand so tightly they'd worked their way into the skin.
"It was awful, Hermione," he spoke tonelessly, eyes blank as he relived the horror in his mind. "They surrounded us, and they made us watch while they tortured Colin with the Cruciatus Curse. He screamed and begged until he had no more voice left, and then he just... stopped." Neville's voice cracked, and he spoke softer. "They broke his mind, just like they did to Mum and Dad."
"What happened to Harry and Ron, Neville?" She'd asked him then. He was silent, and Hermione wanted to scream, rage, grab his shoulders and shake him until he told her they were all right, that they would be coming back, holding each other up as they walked into the living room of the Burrow, tired smiles on their faces. She took a deep breath, and repeated the question, with the tightest control she could enforce upon her voice. "What. Happened?"
Neville was quiet, and when he finally spoke, there was a catch in his voice. "I don't know what happened, exactly. I saw an opening in the circle, and I--I ran, and the Death Eaters--they started firing curses at me. H-Harry and Ron drew them back, and they yelled at me to get out of there. So I did." He saw the way her face was beginning to crumple as the first shocks of grief made their way into her consciousness, and went on hurriedly. "They d--they went together, like you know they would have wanted--you know they've never been separated since the war started. They--they would have wanted it that way," Neville said the last sentence as if he were trying to convince himself, not just her.
She'd walked off (only belatedly remembering to summon a mediwizard squad to take Neville to St. Mungo's), letting the sweep of the crowd on the Underground take her wherever, until she found herself at Heathrow, with no recollection of how she'd gotten there. She wandered the airport then, watching the planes come and go, wondering how the world could go on as it always had. She also had no recollection of the funeral, save for a glimpse of the Weasleys (now minus one) at the graveside, and an anguished shade of a man with long dark hair, translucent tears sliding down his ghostly cheeks.
The open door in front of her gave Hermione pause, as she could not fathom who would be in the house, now that it was empty of everything (including Mrs. Black, whose portrait had finally been unstuck by Kreacher and spirited away to Merlin-knew-where). She looked around the door and saw Ginny in the room they'd shared when Harry had arrived at Grimmaud Place, at the start of all this madness. She was looking out the window, and did not turn even when Hermione had come up next to her.
The years of the war had not been kind to Ginny. Always thin, she was now positively ethereal, and the set of her mouth was disconcerting on somebody so young, speaking of too much suffering in too short a period of time. Almost involuntarily, Hermione noticed that Ginny's hair was no longer the violent carrot color it had been when they were at Hogwarts, but had darkened into a rich auburn. It never was the same after they shaved it off after the fire, Hermione remembered, distantly. Suddenly her breath caught in her throat, and she coughed. Ginny finally turned, and she smiled sadly, as if recalling a sweet memory also laced with pain.
"Do you remember when you, me, Harry, and Ron snuck out to the Muggle bar down the street without telling anybody?" (Hermione recalled the night quite clearly, as that had lead to her first--and most painful--hangover, a monster that felt like a tribe of giants had used her head as a rugby ball and punted it into a swamp.) She nodded, feeling a sudden tightness in her chest. "Everybody screamed at us when we came in, but I don't think any of us cared, or we were too drunk to." Ginny's lips curved a bit wider, and Hermione wondered when she had really smiled last. "I know I didn't, at least."
Hermione remembered the way Harry and Ron's lips tasted, daquiri sugar and margarita salt and the knowledge that this could be the last outing they would all have together. The memory made her eyes water, and she blinked the tears down her cheeks. Ginny brushed them away, her own eyes bright. Instead of taking her hands away, she took Hermione's face in them and kissed her forehead, almost like Molly would have done. She knew Ginny meant the gesture in comfort, but it just made her tears flow harder, until she could taste them in her mouth. Ginny leaned over and and put her mouth on hers, tongue darting into Hermione's mouth to catch the tears. Too surprised to react, Hermione waited until she pulled away.
Ginny's expression was sober, as if she were unsure how Hermione would react. When she did nothing, Ginny spoke, quietly.
"I know how you feel. It sounds stupid, like it always does when you say it, but I loved them too, you know." Ginny reached out lightly, tentatively, as if to stroke Hermione's cheek. "And sorrow shared is sorrow halved, isn't that how the saying goes?" Hermione did not respond, and Ginny dropped her hand. "I-I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean--like that--" "No, no, Ginny, it's all right." Hermione was distant, perfunctory. Ginny looked at her, concern and worry vying for dominance. She said nothing. Concern, now tempered by awkwardness. "I'm always here, whatever you need." She didn't close the door behind her, and Hermione listened to the sound of footsteps fade down the stairs. She stood at the window for a long time, watching the people below.