"I'm concerned, Ron."
Surprised, Ron looks upward, the still silhouette of Hermione outlined on top of the couch. Ron had insisted she slept in it rather than the floor, and to his relief, she had neither bickered back or seemed bitter about the request. Now, he stares at her, perplexed. "About what?"
Hermione's gaze swivels toward him, and he can see the tiny pinpricks of her eyes through the darkness. "About everything. About your family, about the horcruxes, mostly about Harry…" Ron doesn't need further explanation. Everything about their quest is terrifying, bewildering. They both glance at Harry, whose light sleep seems undisturbed by their conversation.
"Harry's fine, 'Mione. Well, as fine as the rest of us are, at least." He tries to keep the uncertainty out of his voice, but he should know better. "I'm not stupid, Ron," she reminds him, slightly cross, though Ron can hear a hint of smile in her statement. He resists the urge to stand up and kiss her, instead planting his arms onto the floor of Grimmauld Place and telling himself to keep them there. "I know you aren't," he tells her.
Silence echoes through the atmosphere, interrupted only by Harry's soft snoring. The place is so quiet in fact, that Hermione is sure Ron is asleep when his voice cuts through the dark. "Are you alright, Hermione?" Hermione really does smile, this time, shifting herself sideways so she can face Ron, even on the couch. "Not really," she admits. "Well, as alright as Harry is, at least."
Ron chuckles, unable to keep his fingers from lifting off the floor and twirling gently over a few strands of brown hair spilling over the couch. "Are you okay, Ronald?" She asks, the use of his full name brings a light flush to his face, even though he - and Hermione - can't see. "I'm splendid!" He assures her, keeping his tone light. "Well, as okay as you are, at least."
Hermione giggles, and Ron is elated with feeling. Perhaps it's all the danger, all the worry, all the want. It's moments like these, he decides, that we have to remember. And then his heart catches in his throat, because soft fingers have intwined their way into his. Their hands clasp like lovers' hands, and for once, this connection between them isn't interrupted by awkwardness. "No matter what happens," Hermione whispers, her voice carrying down, "I'm glad you're here, Ron."
Ron doesn't speak. He can't. His heart is thumping to loudly. He can't resist gently pulling her hand to his mouth, placing a light kiss inside her wrist. Hermione sighs softly, electrical wires binding the two together. "I'll never leave you, 'Mione," he says, firm on the matter. Hermione doesn't answer, although her doubt is catching. "I won't," Ron repeats, vowing it to himself more than he realizes.
"...Harry glanced over at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside him. Ron had had a fit of gallantry and insisted that Hermione sleep on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Ron's. Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands. The idea made him feel strangely lonely." - The Deathly Hallows, page 176
