Ron sat in the silence. He watched Hermione breathing softly as she lay asleep in a bed at his family's beach house. Her face was gently outlined in the moonlight. Her chest rose and fell peacefully with each breath. Her eyes had stopped flickering back and forth and her slumber had become calm at last. Ron squinted his eyes. He could hardly make out the mark on her neck that Bellatrix had left only hours before. In the dead of the night, absent of the urgency and apprehension in the wizarding world, it felt if only for a moment, as though nothing else existed. It was just Hermione, safe and lovely, wrapped up in the warmth of the shimmering night's light.
The day's events in their entirety had run over in his mind twice since he had taken this spot next to the bed. It was becoming increasingly difficult to organize his thoughts. The horcruxes haunted him, reminding him that everything dear to him was made vulnerable as he stood by his friends in their duty to destroy them. There were so many questions left unanswered. There was still so much to understand and it frustrated him. The less they knew and the longer it took for them to know all there was to know, the longer everyone would be in danger. He furrowed his brow and breathed deeply. Harry needed Ron to be strong for him, he told himself. Yet thoughts of his mum sick with panic about the three of them and their safety made Ron feel incredibly guilty.
Hermione stirred and Ron sat motionless as she settled back into her slumber. His thoughts turned to her. Somehow in the midst of all the chaos in his mind, he always ended back in the same place; thinking of Hermione. He thought of her family and how she didn't know where they were. He thought of how she must miss them, and how selfless she was in her attempt to keep them safe. He thought of her being safe. Was she safe? He and Harry had been separated from her earlier and her screams still rang clear to him now, even as she lay in front of him, away from immediate danger. He reminded himself of how bright she was. He told himself of how she was the cleverest witch in their year, although their own year was not nearly a great enough testament to how very intelligent she truly was. If anyone could take on the things that lay ahead, it was Hermione. Ron still wanted to keep her protected, though; he loved her.
A sigh gripped his attention. The look of distress on Hermione's face sunk into sadness. She let out a second low sigh. Ron stood up from his chair and motioned towards her. He quickly withdrew his hand. He wasn't sure what exactly to do with it. He didn't want to startle her, but the single crease in her forehead left him uneasy. He didn't want her to feel panicked.
Ron knelt down beside the bed. One hand against the wall, the other placed to his knee.
"Hermione," he said gently.
Her eyes shot open. Wide and alert, they searched wildly, looking into the darkness to find the voice calling her name. They focused on Ron's face. The crease in her forehead softened.
"Ron?" she whispered.
"Yeah." He whispered back to her.
She closed her eyes as a tear fell from her eyelash and trickled across her cheek. Ron reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. She gripped his hand tightly in hers.
"What time is it?" she asked, looking into the dark.
"It's late." He said as he stood up. "I think I just dozed off in that chair, but I'll go if you want."
"I don't want you to." Hermione whispered up to Ron.
Ron pulled the chair towards him. He positioned it next to the bed Hermione laid in. He looked down at her. From here her fresh marks were more apparent.
"Thanks, Ron." Hermione said as she looked up to him.
"Yeah." He smiled down to her.
Hermione moved across the bed to make room for Ron. She looked up at him and peeled back the blanket.
