A/N: This is sort of an impulse ff. It just came to me today, and it's rather short. Hope you like it anyway.

You have been forewarned; the fluff is strong with this one.

Hermione loves watching Ron sleep.

His eye lashes flutter against his cheeks as he dreams. His red hair is ruffled and messy against the white pillow. His breath comes out slow and steady, reminding her that he is still alive.

Still breathing.

Despite all that has gone wrong with their lives, despite all the pain and sorrow they have been through, despite how much they have lost, they are still breathing. They still have each other. He reminds her of that each time a gentle breath comes from his half open lips or passes through his nose in one of those earth-shaking, besieging snores of his.

She once found those snores so annoying. They kept her up all the way across the hall when she spent summers at the borrow. She used to roll her eyes at him in the morning, when he came into the kitchen well rested, ready to wolf down his breakfast, and she was sleep deprived and grumpy. "Could you snore a bit louder tonight, Ronald? I don't think that London could quite hear you." She would bicker.

Now each snore reminds her of what she could have lost. Each snore seems to say, I'm here. I'm alive. I'm not going anywhere.

She loves those snores.

She awoke a few moments ago from a startling nightmare. It was the same as always. She had watched Ron and Harry die at the Battle of Hogwarts, knowing it was her fault. They had been among the many bodies in Hogwarts. Normally Ron was awoken by her screams and sobs when she had this dream. However, she is getting more used to the nightmares as time passes by and tonight she must have been silent because Ron is snoring as always.

She doesn't mind. In fact, she is glad of it, happy to watch him sleep, so peaceful. His contentment makes her feel content as well. As long as he is okay, she is okay. He is beautiful, she thinks. She knows that boys aren't supposed to be called beautiful, but that is the only word that could adequately describe him in this moment. His long lashes keep beating against the cheeks ridden with the dark freckles she adores so much. His perfect lips keep letting soft breaths out and taking more in. His big, slightly calloused, freckled hands tighten slightly on her waist when she moves a little closer to him.

She can't wait for him to wake up. She can't wait to get lost in the clear sea of his eyes. She can't wait for the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, or to feel his fingers knotted in her hair. She can't wait to eat breakfast with him in the kitchen, to finally feel the normalcy she was deprived of for so long. She can't wait to go to work then come home and do it all over again.

For now she is content.

For now she watches him breathe in, breathe out.

For now she feels grateful that she was given this- the simple pleasure of watching him sleep.

She curls closer to him, her ear pressed against his chest, the steady beat of his heart murmuring a rhythm in her ear.

I am alive, it seems to say.

Hermione smiles, and when she finally drifts back to sleep, lulled by the symphony of Ron's heart, she doesn't dream.