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A sudden loud bang wakes him up, but not fully. Ron blinks, still exhausted and clinging to the last little bit of sleep. If he just closes his eyes, he will be able to drift off once again, no big deal. It's just a little bump in the night, nothing to worry about…

"Ron! Ronald!" Hermione hisses, shifting beside him.

So much for being able to ignore it. Ron swallows down a groan and sits up, rubbing his eyes. "I h-heard it," he confirms, unable to resist a yawn. "But it's three in the morning, Hermione. I'm sure it's nothing."

He can't see her expression in the darkness, but he can still picture it clearly in his head. If he had to guess, he would assume she isn't even a little amused with him. "Ron, please…"

Under ordinary circumstances, he knows Hermione would be the one leading the charge if she felt they were in any real danger. One thing he's always loved about her is her fierce determination. Admittedly, it can be terrifying sometimes, but in the best way possible. Now that she's pregnant, that ferocity seems to be replaced with caution. Ron doesn't blame her. Their Rosie hasn't been born yet, but Hermione is already doing everything in her power to keep her safe.

Guilt sours his stomach. Is he really going to let his wife lie there and worry about intruders? Of course she could hold her own if it came down to it, but she shouldn't have to. She wants him to investigate, and that's exactly what he'll do.

"Don't worry. I've got it," he assures her, leaning in and kissing her forehead.

"How did I get so lucky?"

He wants to point out that he's the lucky one, but he knows they'll get stuck in a loop if he does. Instead, he climbs out of bed, covering his mouth to stifle another yawn, and makes his way down the hallway in the dark, wand at his side. He could use Lumos, of course, but he doesn't want the light to give him away if someone has broken in.

He makes his way to the kitchen, laughing when he realizes what the sound had been. One of the chairs has been knocked over, and there, sitting triumphantly atop the table, licking himself without a care in the world, is Crookshanks, in all his mischievous glory.

"Oi! You woke me up!" Ron groans, like the old cat can understand him. "Do you know how worried Hermione was?"

Crookshanks looks at him with bored, apathetic eyes. Of course he doesn't. Or maybe he does, but he simply doesn't care. Cats were assholes, and sometimes he felt like Crookshanks was the king of assholes.

Still, as annoyed as he might have been, Ron is also relieved. At least it was just the cat, nothing serious, no need to be alarmed.

Shaking his head, he rights the chair once again before making his way back to the bedroom.

"Nothing to worry about," he reports, sliding into bed and drawing the blanket over him once again. "Just Crookshanks."

Hermione reaches out for him, her fingers lacing together with his. "My hero," she says.

And he knows it isn't a big deal, not really. But Hermione needed him, and he's happy to be able to help, however small his efforts may seem.