This one took me forever to write. I'm not completely satisfied with it, but here you go!

It has been two weeks since Hermione arrived at number 12, Grimmauld place, and she liked it no better than she had on her first day. It was a dreary, disgusting old place filled to the brim with stubborn relics, but that wasn't the worst part. Hermione disliked the evenings even more. Ever since the night of the final task, she had been haunted by the image of Harry holding Cedric's limp body. For the past 16 nights, she had been forced to relive this moment in her nightmares. Each time Harry returned with a different student, and each time she woke in a cold sweat unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

Hermione knew tonight would be no different. She dragged herself to bed, completely exhausted and pulled the blankets high up to her neck, searching for some sense of security. She fought her eyelids as long as she could, but eventually they won out pulling her immediately into a deep sleep. Much too soon, she found herself sitting in the bleachers of the all too familiar scene. She looked at all of the excited faces of the students anxiously awaiting the return of the champion. She saw Dumbledore looking almost as care free as her peers and Moody who stood fidgeting next to the benches. Before long, she heard the ominous sound of Harry returning with the port key. She strained to see Harry through the students now standing in front of her. She finally caught a glimpse of him and, with that, her first look at Voldemort's new victim.

"RON!" She screamed. Hermione shot up, breathless. "It's not real, it never happened" she attempted to convince herself. Glancing to the other side of the room, she saw Ginny sound asleep curled around Crookshanks. Neither of them seemed disturbed by her shouting. "It must have been part of my dream," she concluded, "Ron's not dead, he's sleeping. It was just a dream," but she couldn't seem to calm her pounding heart.

"No, Hermione," She scolded, "You do not need to go downstairs to see if he is really alright," yet before she knew what had happened, she found herself in her robe and slippers. She retrieved her wand and snuck downstairs. "Alohomora" She whispered. No one left their door unlocked in this place. Not with Kreature lurking at all hours of the night. Hermione slipped through the door shutting it softly behind her.

She crept to the bed and looked over Ron's sleeping figure. The young witch breathed a sigh of relief as she saw his chest rise and fall. "You should leave now," She told herself as she sat on the bed closest to Ron and drew her knees to her chest. She couldn't get the image of Ron's open, unseeing eyes out of her head, the way his head hung a little too far to the left or the sound of Harry's anguished screams. She felt a drop of water hit her hand and hoped the house hadn't started leaking. The drops continued to fall. She brought her hand to her face, realizing that the water was actually her tears. Just then, a picture in the corner of the room let out a blood curdling scream followed by a hysterical peal of laughter. Hermione gasped, looking frantically around the room for somewhere to hide.

"What would Ron say if he saw me here!" She clutched the bed, eyes widening, when she saw Ron sit up. His wand was already pointing toward the picture. His attention shifted and he whipped his body to face her.

"Who's there!" He called out to her.

"It's me," She managed through her tears.

"Me who?" Ron said, fear apparent in his voice

"It's me, Hermione," She managed through tears.

"Oh..." Ron lowered his wand, " Wait, what are you doing in my room?" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Umm" she said lamely, trying desperately to think of good reason for her presence in the boy's bedroom. For once, her mind was blank. Despite her best efforts, an audible sniffle slipped through her stifled sobs.

"Hermione?" Ron questioned, his voice softening, "Are you crying?"

She opened her mouth, expecting a firm "no" to come out, but nothing came. She rose from the bed and was about to leave when Ron touched her hand.

"Why are you crying?"

Hermione looked to the door, intent on leaving. Her legs, however, had much different intentions. Instead of moving towards the door, they turned and brought her to Ron's bed. She could barely make him out in the darkness, but just seeing his face looking up at her brought on a fresh wave of tears. She threw herself down on the bed next to him and buried her face in his chest.

At first Ron was so stiff it was as if she was hugging the bed frame itself, but after a few minutes he wrapped his arms tightly around her. He stayed silent, stroking her hair from time to time until her sobs receded.

"Why were you crying?" He ventured.

"You were dead."

"I'm right here, Hermione."

"I know, but you were dead."

"I mean I know I'm a heavy sleeper, but…"

"In my dream," Hermione sighed, she had begun to forget how daft Ron could be sometimes. "It was you instead of Cedric that night. I've been seeing different a student every night," She cringed as every dead student she has seen over the last two weeks flashed in front of her eyes, "I can't stop thinking that it really could have been anyone. It could've been you, could still be you. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named won't stop killing until he's dead. I don't want anyone I love to die. Especially you," Hermione finished with a whisper.

"Not a night goes by when I don't think about what might happen to all of us, but the point is that no one knows how long they have to live. Dark Lord or not, any of us could die at any time. It all comes down to the fact that you need to live for what you have now, do as much as you can and enjoy every minute of it. But Hermione," Ron moved his hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, "The one thing I do know, is that I'm not going down without a fight."

Hermione clasped her arms around Ron's neck. He pulled her into his lap and held her silently. She wasn't sure how long she sat curled in his embrace. At some point, she felt herself moved so she was lying on the bed, her head on his pillow. She was worried that he might leave her, but instead he lay behind her, his arm resting over her waist. The last thing Hermione could remember before she drifted off into a sweet, dreamless sleep, was the gentle touch of Ron's lips on her cheek. She found herself thinking that maybe Number 12, Grimmauld Place wasn't so retched after all.