"Neville... You do what you can," was all the sympathy she could offer him. She knew it was limp and weak, and not enough to stop Neville from feeling like a failure, but it was all she had. The last few weeks had taken a heavy toll on her, and she didn’t have the energy left in her to be a shoulder to cry on. She sipped her drink and looked at her toes in their stripy socks on the chair. Part of Hermione welcomed the bone-deep tiredness, and the fear, the pain when she had been injured during the handful of battles she has been in. It all meant she was doing something.