Part One

Grimmauld Place was speaking. The house ached and moaned as its arthritic floorboards creaked, wheezing from its dusty, asthmatic rooms. Air hissed through the cracked windows; mice squeaked behind the walls, in the distant, rusty veins. The shrieking echoes of Mrs. Black's cruel scream were humming spitefully in Hermione's ears like static, teasing her, mocking her. She felt so small, curled tightly within her sleeping bag as the house whispered around her. The stale, dusty air hung heavy her lungs; the cool, musty smell of an old house, a dark basement was inescapable. As another draft of air scattered dirt on the floor, Hermione was struck by the painful images of Dumbledore's sunken, ghastly face just before it blasted into dust.

A shiver passed through her as she clutched the cushion beneath her, ignoring its mottled surface and lumpy filling. She could see the forms of the other two beside her. Harry was turned away, facing the wall, breathing softly, sleeping deeply. Ron was not looking at her either, stomach down on the hard floor, with nothing but the sleeping bag to provide comfort. A sense of shame washed over her as she sat there looking at their still forms; she was ashamed of her cowardice, lying awake afraid of a haunted house, as the other two slept deeply. Yet the shame could not prevent her from jumping at every little sound, from thinking terrifying thoughts, from worrying over their fate.

With a soft groan, Ron rolled over onto his side, facing her. His eyes were flickering as he let out a light snore. His hand lay slack, hovering just beside her makeshift mattress. Hermione glanced at him apprehensively, as if his impassive face would give some indication of his incognizant thoughts. With slight hesitation, she removed her hand from its cocoon and gently touched the tips of his fingers with her own. When he did not stir, she lowered her hand slowly until her palm gently rested in his. She jumped when his grip reciprocated.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered. "I'm sorry…"

"It's alright," he said back, pressing his lips together pensively, looking at their joined hands.

"I was afraid," Hermione offered in response, feeling foolish.

Ron nodded and swallowed. "It's been a long night."

"I don't know how you and Harry can just go to sleep like that; I keep thinking." She noted fondly that he was tenderly caressing her hand as she spoke. The edge slowly disappeared from her voice with each word she spoke. There was a long pause between them.

"Are you afraid, Ron?" she finally asked. A blush crept up her cheeks in the dark.

Their eyes found each other in the moonlight that crept between the heavy velvet curtains. He did not respond at first, and just when she opened her mouth to take back the question, he let out a reply.

"Yeah. I am."

She tightened her grip on his hand. "For your family?"

Ron looked away, fidgeting with his sleeping bag before he returned his gaze to Hermione. He gave her a dead stare and a solemn nod. She returned the nod in understanding.

"I miss my parents. I wish I knew if they were okay," she whispered, frustrated with herself as tears emerged. She wiped them away with her free hand, but more flowed as other recollections of the day reemerged. "I was so afraid today. I was so afraid something had happened to you when we were trying to get out of the Burrow. I was terrified when we couldn't find you."

She sniffed heavily and Ron began to stroke her hand again.

"I'm terrified of losing you," Hermione squeaked. "Of losing you, of losing Harry…" The rest died off in her throat.

"I'm not going anywhere," Ron said firmly. "I promise."

And she believed him.