Hermione came up to him just then. She hadn't left his side in forty-eight hours. Hadn't slept, either. Her eyes were ringed by dark shadows, her expression lined and pained. Worry was etched into every look she gave Harry, which was where her eyes were almost constantly fixed. She refused to let anyone take over her vigil, not even Neville, who was sat with them now, quite cheerily cradling his own injured arm in a Muggle-style sling, which he was proudly displaying as though it was a badge of honour.