Inspired by Just The Three of Them by Stephy-Lou Clark-Weasley

She wakes from her nightmare with a painful gasp ripped from her chest. Her heart is pounding frantically and she covers her face with her hands. In the quiet of the night, she can hear the soft breaths of her dorm mates and with detached relief is glad to know she hasn't woken any of them. Her mind is whizzing with scrambled thoughts, and even as she lays her head back on her pillow, she can't relax into the sheets and sleep.

Hemione is not fickle or dainty, she knows she is strong and resilient but in the late hours of the darkness, alone, she can't help but question herself. She doesn't want to see the troll again, she thinks, whimpering, so she slowly peels away from the sheets of her bed and steps lightly away from her dorm, into the common room and treads her way up the boys' dormitory without a moment to second-guess herself or hesitate. And then she's in, panting softly with her dream nipping at her heels to move with fumbling feet and a trembling chin she's glad no one can see in the dark. She tiptoes to the bed closest to her and is relieved to find a tuft of disheveled black hair poking from the covers, tussling in a burrow of sheets. Hermione glances around the room once more and is satisfied to hear the indignant, rattling snoring of the other boys, but Harry is silent. A little more calm than before, she looks down and sheepishly tugs down her dressing gown. Her cheeks burn as the early sense of terror settles and she is left uncomfortable, aware of her surroundings.

With a deep breath and cleansed sigh, Hermione lurks to what she believes to be Harry's bed and for a moment, any thoughts about the troll have slipped from her mind. Although he does not let out great, buzzing snores like his roommates, she hears soft whimpers coming from him, drowned out by the other noise. She frowns before tentatively reaching for his shoulder and suddenly, he stops moving. He becomes rigid and his sharp green eyes flutter open with resigned fear that is worrying on such a young face. He scrambles for his glasses and visibly relaxes to see it's only Hermione, as if he were expecting someone else.

He ducks his head, peering at Hermione with sleep filled eyes and bemusement. "Hermione? What are you doing here?" he whispers, suddenly very alert as he notices her anxious face. He scoots his knees up, propping his back against the headboard of his bed. "Is everything all right?"

The blanket around Harry's shoulder settles on his waist now, and Hermione can see his very baggy shirt, threadbare and stained, and she understands her puzzlement is obvious by the look of Harry's expression. She shakes her head and shyly looks back at Harry, playing with her hands. "I'm…I'm sorry to wake you Harry, but I had a nightmare—about the troll—and I was hoping I could…" Her voice is wobbly and breathless still, and she looks at her slippers as she trails off. But Harry seems to understand very well, and he softens, moving to the other side of his bed and pats the new space for her. She smiles weakly and climbs over and she pulls the sheets over herself, already feeling better.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Harry only nods, murmuring, "You're welcome." A quiet lulls between them, but it is very short lived when Harry turns to Hermione with a boyish grin.

"What's your favorite color?"

And this is how the night continues, Hermione and Harry asking each other silly questions and some not so silly. Questions of their life before magic, most of which Harry evades with a quick response. Hermione learns Harry quite likes to read and enjoys his lessons, almost as much as Hermione, he's just worried Ron will like him less for it. And Harry realizes Hermione's not snobbish at all, or arrogant, but lonely, just like him, and he suddenly understands why she had acted the way she did before. As their talk continues, their heads sink into their pillows drowsily, and Hermione can barely recall why she came here in the first place, but she's happy she did. Then, she sees his raggedy shirt and frowns again as her fingers curl around the fabric softly. She knows it's not her business, but she's too tired to process her thoughts, and her chattiness wins the battle. "Whose is this? It looks like you found it in a dumpster, Harry."

He blinks languidly and looks down to see what he's wearing. "Just a hand-me-down from my cousin Dudley. It's not all bad, though," he whispers, almost incoherently from sleep, but the sadness is palpable in the quiet of his words. Hermione's brow scrunches but she masks her features well enough.

"Good night, Harry." But he is already asleep, and the quiet whimpers escape him soon after.

In the morning, the other boys are horrified to find a girl in their dorm, Hermione Granger no less. And they are downright disgusted to see one of her arms wrapped around Harry and the other hand balled into a fist in his shirt.

Just wanted to say, I know they're eleven and I know this is very unlikely. Still, I don't think it's inappropriate for two kids since they just fell asleep next to each other. That's all.

Thanks for reading!