When Ron Weasley awoke in the middle of the night, it was in a confused startle, as he was unsure of what had woken him in the first place. It wasn't until he had fully come to his senses and had taken full stock of the surrounding area that he heard it.

A low whine, quivering and building beside him into something more terrified, more vulnerable than that which he had ever heard. He cast his gaze upon the girl lying – or rather, thrashing – beside him, all pale skin and wide, unseeing eyes. Though those eyes stared at the ceiling, she was still lost in the throes of dreaming, or more appropriately, those of having a nightmare.

"Hermione," he said, just as the whine gave way to a scream, and he snatched up his wand to throw a half-hazard silencing charm at the door. He remembered one of their first nights together after Malfoy Manor. Hermione had screamed herself awake, causing everyone in the house to rush to her room, wands at the ready. When it was realized she was only having a nightmare, she had blushed furiously and shamefully avoided everyone the next morning. It was then that Ron had started sleeping with her. It was for this reason that he shared her bed – to protect her from the screaming, the fear, the sheer pain as she relived the torture she had endured.

"Hermione," Ron said again, forcefully, and without thinking he threw himself on her, bearing her down as her back arched and she thrashed violently. "You're dreaming, Hermione. You're safe at the Burrow, with me, Ron. You need to wake up."

He spoke as loudly and calmly as he could. Hermione began to tremble so violently beneath him that the whole bed rattled with it. It was then that Ron realized that her screams were in the form of words, words that ripped his heart asunder;

"I didn't steal anything! Please! PLEASE!"

Ron's gut gave a horrible pang as he was brought back to that day at Malfoy Manor, trapped in the cellar, listening to his beloved scream those exact words, and being completely unable to stop her suffering. He had been helpless.

Now, years later, he felt that same kind of helplessness, despite being right there with her.

Hermione's eyes remained wide and envisioned as she stared fearfully at a tormentor who was not there, the face of an evil that no longer lived, that now only existed in her consciousness, perhaps lingering there forever, though Ron prayed that someday they would fade.

Dampness of a cold sweat soaked Ron's shirt as he pressed a hand to her forehead, rubbing his thumb over the lines her tightly knitted eyebrows formed and watching crystalline tears roll down highly arched cheeks. "Hermione, Hermione," he begged, practically shouting in her ear. "It is only a dream, there is no curse, you are safe. Bloody hell…"

The last phrase was uttered in a hoarse murmur as he decided to wait out the fit. He held her, bore hear down to the mattress with his much bigger and heavier body as she struggled to throw him off, mistaking him for an evil he could not fathom. He gripped her wrists as she tried to scratch at the scar on her arm. Mudblood.

Soon Hermione's screams of "please!" and "it was a copy, just a copy!" staggered to low whimpers, and eventually to hurt little choking sounds. Her body gave one last valiant shudder that echoed through the mattress and reverberated through Ron's body before she blinked slowly, tears clinging to her lashes.

She started to say his name, faltered, swallowed, tried again. "Ron?" a whisper, low and scared. "Are we…?"

"We're safe, love. At the Burrow. You're safe." Ron raised himself to a sitting position and then pulled a drained Hermione into his arms, one hand on the back of her neck, the other at her back, cradling her, rocking her. He repeated "you're safe," in her ear as a smaller, more normal level of shivers and quakes rocked her body. She did not cry, merely gave little huffs of breath into the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, shamed.

"Don't be," he whispered back. Both were too exhausted, too distraught, to really drag out the matter. Ron stroked her back, rubbing circles into tense muscle, and Hermione's breath slowed, deepened, became even once more.

Eventually Hermione pulled away, and Ron was torn when he looked at her face. Slackened in the way of exhaustion, eyelids at half-mast, brown eyes flat, lips slightly parted. She gave a small sigh and lowered herself back onto the bed, Ron following suit.

"Do you need anything?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Just be here."

He wrapped himself around her. That was definitely something he could do for her.