Demons swirled in Hermione's head their first night at Grimmauld Place.
She was in the muggle street where she had grown up, playing jump rope with her neighbor. Her parents looked on, their expressions blank. A cloaked figure, his face hidden in shadow, emerged from the bushes and advanced on them, so slowly it was as if it were walking under water. Hermione dropped her jump rope and ran, fear clutching at her heart.
"My trainers," she heard her friend shout behind her. She looked back and saw that she was no longer with her neighbor, but with Harry, and he was rooted to the spot. Her parents had disappeared. "I need my trainers to run away, didn't you pack them?" he demanded.
"I'll get them," she heard herself say. She tried to go back to him, but she was suddenly hindered by an enormous backpack strapped to her back. The weight of it knocked Hermione to the ground and she struggled in the grass, trying desperately to get it off. The cloaked figure advanced further, but the straps seemed to tighten when she tugged at the backpack and soon she couldn't breathe.
"Hermione…"
"I can't," she muttered.
"Hermione?"
"Pack your own bloody trainers…" she said as her eyes fluttered open. She was in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, on the pathetic little bed of cushions on which Ron had insisted she sleep.
"Hermione, it's okay," Ron's voice said dreamily from her left. She turned her head and saw that he was half-awake next to her, probably because she had grabbed his shirt and was grasping it so tightly she couldn't feel her fingers.
"Ron…I'm sorry," she breathed, releasing him from her grip and trying to get her brain back to reality. "I didn't…"
"It's going to be alright, Hermione," Ron muttered, taking her by the hand and squeezing it gently, reassuringly. She returned the pressure, glad in this moment that she was not alone "I'm here." He closed his eyes again and was silent.
Hermione stared at Ron's face for a moment, intrigued, then relaxed into her cushions and slipped back into sleep.