Hermione crept up the stairs, stopping with a wince at each creak. She froze at a loud groan from the wood beneath her feet, not daring to breath. Would someone hear her? How would she explain her presence two floors above her room? She began her trek again, nevertheless. She had to see Ron.

Grimacing at the squeak of Ron’s doorknob, Hermione warily stuck her head into his room. The light of the full moon spilled over the tiny space. The Chudley Cannons posters were quiet, their inhabitants sleeping.

Her eyes came to rest on Ron and her breath caught in her throat. It was a warm night and Ron had kicked off his sheets. He lay sprawled out, one long arm hanging off the bed, the other thrown across his bare chest. She had seen Ron with his shirt off before, but only in flashes, when he pulled off a sweaty shirt after Quidditch practice, beginning to undress even before reaching his dorm room. But she’d never had a chance to really look at him.

Eighteen looked good on Ron. Quidditch had defined muscles on his arms and stomach. Even in his sleep, Ron looked powerful. Hermione dragged her eyes upward. Ron’s face was turned toward the wall, half in shadow and half in moonlight.

Hermione took a few steps closer to Ron without thinking. His mouth was open slightly, his deep even breath sliding in and out of the silence of the room.

His jaw was covered with stubble.

When did that happen? Hermione mused.

One day he was a little boy, the next he was a man. A lock of bright hair was in his eyes and Hermione’s hand moved of its own volition. She gently brushed the hair from his face.

Ron flipped his head toward her and she froze. But he was still asleep. Hermione let out her breath slowly and sat down gingerly on the bed’s edge.

“Ron” Hermione breathed.

Ron didn’t move.

“Ron” she said a little louder.

No response.

Tentatively, she touched his shoulder, secretly relishing the tight muscles under her fingers, and shook him slightly.

“Ron!”

“Mmmmpppfffhhh.”

Ron flopped onto his side, his legs curling up behind Hermione. She gulped and this time put her hand to his face, stroking it gently and repeating his name softly. Ron’s lips curled up sleepily and he burrowed his head a little into his pillow. Suddenly he frowned and raised his head.

“’Mione?” he asked thickly. His eyes blinked heavily. “Mmm, wha?”

Hermione smiled, but removed her hand from his face. “Shh, I’m sorry to wake you, but I had a nightmare and…I…I wanted you.”

Ron tried to brush sleep from his eyes. “A nightmare? What happened?” He propped himself on an elbow, his legs straightening out and Hermione found she missed their warmth at her back.

She blushed, suddenly afraid of her boldness. “It’s…it’s nothing, really. I mean, not like Harry’s nightmares, or anything, but it scared me, and…and I needed…well, I wanted to see you…” she trailed off.

“Okay,” he said slowly. He looked at her closely. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Hermione looked back at him, realizing that Ron sitting up brought his face much closer to hers. She could smell his hair and the crispness of his sheets and a faint mintiness when he breathed. Hermione shivered a little and Ron, still drugged with sleep and not quite himself, threw an arm around her and drew her to him. Her bare arm connected with his chest and she gasped. Ron’s eyes flew open and he dropped his arm abruptly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “So, er, your nightmare?” His voice broke a bit and he cleared his throat.

“Yes,” Hermione breathed. “I was at home, in my kitchen, and my mother came in, but she wasn’t my mum, she was under the Imperius curse and she had a knife. I couldn’t break the curse. I tried to talk to her but she couldn’t hear me. I tried to run but she followed me with these dead eyes, trying to kill me.” She shivered again. This time Ron grabbed his sheet and draped it gently around Hermione’s shoulders.

“I know it was just a dream,” she continued, snuggling down into the sheet, which smelled wonderfully of Ron, “but it was scary, you know? Then every time I closed my eyes I saw her like that again.”

She smiled at him wanly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I came up here and woke you up.”

Ron shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like.” He glanced at her sideways and cleared his throat again. “D’you…d’you want to stay here, to sleep here? With me?”

Hermione’s head snapped up. Ron rushed on.

“It’s just that sometimes it’s nice to…you know…when you’ve had a bad dream. Gin used to sleep with me lots. And I’ve snuck in with Bill before. When I was little, I mean.” He cleared his throat again. Hermione finally found her voice.

“Yes, please,” she whispered.

Ron started. “Really? Okay. Um…well, come here, then.”

He scooted over so his back was against the wall and held up the sheet. Hermione hesitated for a moment, then lay down gingerly, very close to the edge of the bed. Ron sighed exasperatedly.

“’Mione, you’ll fall off the bed. C’mere.”

He threw a long arm around Hermione’s waist and pulled her to him effortlessly. He drew the sheet over them both, his arm hovering for a moment, as if unsure where to lay it. Finally, he placed it gently on Hermione’s waist again, his hand curled up near her face. She lay rigid, with no idea what to do next.

Heat from Ron’s bare chest was seeping through her thin cotton nightgown. The weight of his arm on her made her stomach squirm deliciously.

Slowly the tension left Hermione’s body. She began to feel sleepy, but this time she wasn’t afraid to close her eyes. Ron’s even breathing at her back was smoothing.

I could stay right here forever, she thought.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and she sighed, unconsciously snuggling closer to Ron.

Name:

Review: