Warning: Shell Cottage. And I'm not even sorry.

Can You Shut Up?

Every muscle in Hermione's body ached, still, and though Fleur had said it could take weeks for her to fully recover, it was still frustrating. She was exhausted, constantly, and yet every time she laid down to rest, she was assaulted with memories of a cold marble floor, a knife slicing her skin, Ron screaming her name… and sleep just wouldn't come. Even on the nights when Ron dozed in a small wooden chair at her bedside, his long limbs crammed into the rickety furniture - his own way of showing her that he was never leaving her again - she still couldn't manage more than an hour or two each night.

"There's got to be a way, right, that we can still use the sword?" Harry was saying during another one of their clandestine meetings. On the floor sat a crudely-drawn map of Gringotts between the three of them, the occasional note scribbled on the parchment. "What if we just destroy the Horcrux on the spot, the second we find it?"

Hermione leaned back against the wall next to Ron and then, on second thought, tilted toward him so that their shoulders touched. He looked down at her, his eyes asking a silent question, and Hermione nodded just slightly. He always wanted to make sure she was okay, that she wasn't in pain, but he already worried about her so much already. She didn't want to let on that her eyelids felt like there were little weights on the ends of them, dragging them down.

And yet something, maybe the warmth in his gaze, maybe the fact that Harry was distracted by poring over their map, compelled her to rest her head on his shoulder. Lately - and maybe she was just exhausted from being inside her own head all the time - it had become more and more difficult to hold herself back from him. As their plan to retrieve whichever Horcrux resided in the Lestrange vault developed, and as such revealed itself to essentially be a suicide mission, it just seemed silly not to give in to these moments between them.

And anyway, Harry likely wouldn't have noticed if they'd begun openly snogging right in front of him, so there was really no harm in innocently cozying up next to Ron…

So as Harry prattled on about logistics, and what the Horcrux may or may not do when they attempt to destroy it ("the ring was cursed, we can't forget about things like that"), she gave in to her leaden eyelids. Ron's hand briefly patted hers and gave it a soft squeeze before releasing it, and Hermione felt herself relax. Ron was here. She could sense his body heat, smell his hair, feel the vibration of his voice as he spoke to Harry, and he wasn't going anywhere. Since Christmas, he had proven that a thousand times over.

"I suppose we probably can't destroy the Horcrux while we're still in the vault," Harry mused, seemingly to himself, "not if we're trying to get in and out unnoticed - though if we don't give it a chance to fight back-"

"Harry," Ron hissed suddenly, "can you shut up?"

"What?"

Hermione felt Ron's body tense up, but she kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady.

"I'm sorry," Ron continued, his voice low. "I know this is important, and I want this to work as much as you do - but it's just…" His chest rose and fell as he let out a sigh. "Hermione doesn't sleep. I know because - because I don't really either, I just pretend while she tosses and turns or has nightmares and - and there's not a lot I can do, okay, so if she's sleeping now… just let her, please."

There was silence, and Hermione allowed herself a split-second to open her eyes, during which time she saw the expression on Harry's face soften.

"You both should sleep," said Harry finally. "I need the pair of you to be okay."

"Don't fancy impersonating a Death Eater?"

A pause, and then Harry's voice. "You know that's not how I meant it."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'll leave you to it, then," said Harry, "and we can talk about all of this tomorrow."

The soft click of the doorknob told Hermione that they were alone, and she picked up her head.

"Did he wake you up?" Ron asked immediately, annoyance in his tone. "I tried to tell him-"

"I wasn't sleeping," said Hermione quietly.

"Oh." Ron's ears turned pink. "Well - did you want to try to sleep? Because I can go."

"I do," she nodded. "But you can stay." They must have had matching blushes on their faces, Hermione thought as she spoke her next words. "I want you to stay."

As she clambered onto the bed, Ron situated himself in his usual chair, shifting around in a poorly-disguised attempt to make himself comfortable.

"Ron," said Hermione, sitting up against the headboard and patting the narrow stretch of duvet next to her thighs. "You can sleep here if you want."

"Er - really?"

Hermione calmly met his gaze, trying to act like sleeping beside each other for the first time was of no significance, but this was far more than an accidental nap on the Gryffindor common room sofa. This was the two of them purposefully choosing to share a bed, and a rather small one at that… but she knew what she wanted.

"Yes," she said. "I expect I'll sleep better with you next to me. Really next to me."

"Say no more," replied Ron, vacating his chair and joining her on the mattress.

Hermione shifted around until her head rested on the pillow, turning onto her left side so that her back was aimed at Ron. He followed suit, his hand trembling as he moved to drape an arm loosely around her waist. Despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins at the contact, Hermione also felt a sense of deep calm come over her, as though somewhere, deep in her core, she knew this was exactly where she needed to be.

"Well," Ron said, sounding breathless, "I'm really glad I told Harry off now."

"So am I," Hermione responded, letting her eyes fall shut again.

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