What Hermione desperately wishes is that he was Harry so she could force him to hug her. She wishes he was Ron so he could make a stupid, lame joke and she’d laugh straight from her belly because he had a way of saying things that made the mundane funny. She wishes he was Ginny so she could weep into her lap and not have to fake bravado because only another girl who knows her war would understand the things she has done to survive. Three months and all that remains of her is a carcass of memories and implausible grit. 