"H-Harry." The tremble in her voice was caused by emotion now. The shorter of the pair at the door stumbled as he made his way to the bed. His features becoming clearly the closer he got. Tears welled in her eyes as the dark, tousled hair, the gem-bright green eyes, the familiar face of her best friend came into view. She thought, for a moment, that he would hug her and was surprised when he dropped to his knees next to the bed, grabbed her left hand and (careful of the IV that she could now see was sticking out of her arm) rested his face against her open palm. He was scratchy, the dark stubble he'd so desperately tried to grow as a teenager rubbing against her palm. She ignored the mild flare of electricity under her skin at the contact in favor of turning back towards the doorway. She knew, despite still not being able to see him, that Ron was the other figure at the door. Her boys. She pressed her fingers into Harry's cheek as she spoke. "Ron." The shadowy figure in the door appeared to take a deep breath before walking cautiously into the room. Hermione found this strange. In the past, it was always Harry who was the more cautious of the two, and neither had certainly ever been cautious when it came to her. Something tugged at the back of her brain - something dark, something sad. She shied away from it and watched as the features of her other best friend came slowly into focus. Ron's hair was longer, nearly to his shoulders, but his eyes were the same. Warm and open and blue, like the Summer sky. Everything in Hermione settled - the questions that lingered (about her situation, the fucking IV in her arm, what had happened, why she was hurting) in the forefront of her mind were quieted as she watched Ron place a hand on Harry's shoulder, eyes on her.