Hi~, I don't know if you're still taking prompts, I just discovered you on AO3 and I love your stories. If you like my idea, feel free to write about it :) I imagine that Ron goes to Hermione's room the night after Dobbie's death. And he comforts her and hugs her (and apologizes for leaving) and they fall asleep deeply for the first time in months. (+Bonus: They wake up embarrassed because they hear that the others don't find Ron in the house)

Era: DH
Rating: T

More Than Okay

"Ron, what are you doing here?"

Her voice jolts him awake and for a moment, he forgets where he is. It takes a few seconds of consciousness for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight before he can make out his surroundings. He scans the room and takes in the peeling and dated wallpaper, the two framed twin beds with upholstered headboards, one of them empty, another a lump of blankets, an explosion of bushy brown hair.

It's a far cry from the mildewy tent canvas and camping cots, the thick, icy air, the constant penetrating dampness. Hermione is so far from the girl he's been living with in the tent. Before, she was so full of passion, determination, and fire. Anger. Energy. Now, her voice is weary, ragged, worrisome. It's not like her to ask questions she already knows the answer to.

"Where else would I be?" he asks as he sits up, suddenly more lucid and awake than ever.

"Downstairs with the boys, where you're supposed to be."

The corners of Ron's mouth turn up into a smile. It's still Hermione. Waking up from what was essentially a coma, and she's arguing with him. He wants to laugh with relief, but it might not serve him well.

Instead, he hardens her gaze and looks her directly in the eyes. "I'm never leaving you again."

He watches her eyes glow as she absorbs his words and everything they mean. The future implications, the past apologies, her own stubbornness reflected right back. "Where are you going to sleep?"

Ron nods toward the empty bed, the one that was supposed to be for Luna, but who knows where she is right now. Looking for crumple horned snorkacks, probably. "I can sleep there."

"No."

"I'm serious. I'm not leaving y—"

He pauses when she shifts to her right, ever so slightly. The subtle smile on his face is now etched across, possibly permanent.

"I know you're not leaving me," she says, averting her eyes. "Just don't sleep in Luna's bed."

Ron stares at the space beside her. It's only an inch or two larger than before, but he can't help but interpret her movement as an invitation. He wants to slide under the covers and wrap her in his arms, but it's risky. It would be disastrous to misread her now, but if he's learned anything over the past few months — past twenty four hours, even — it's that risks are unavoidable and he might as well start calling the shots.

So he does. Ron rises to his feet and watches her eyes widen in surprise and a smirk cross her face as he accepts her invitation. He crawls underneath the blankets and wraps his arm around her. She leans, melts, into him and everything feel so natural, so easy, like it's something they could have done years ago without blinking an eye.

"Dobby died," he says.

Hermione lets out an audible sigh, one that Ron can feel against his neck, reminding him of how close her lips are. Have they ever been this close?

"How's Harry handling it?"

"About as well as you'd imagine."

He can feel Hermione's head bobbing up and down in the crook of his neck. "And you? How are you holding up."

"Fucking fantastic."

It feels almost disrespectful to verbalize it, but it's true. The pain of Dobby's death has only heightened the joy of Hermione's survival. It shines a light on his new focus, the sole reason he has to still fight. Her.

He expects her to reprimand him for his lack of respect but she doesn't. Instead, she tightens her embrace and he pulls her body against his. It's not enough. If only he could pull her even closer, and there were no barriers between them. He could kiss her right now, shag her even, and he still wouldn't be close enough. So he settles for the embrace. It's motivation to win this damn war so he can spend the rest of his life next to her. If she'll have him, of course.

When her breath quickens against his neck, he knows she's looking at him, waiting for him. Inviting him. He could kiss her, snog her senseless. They both want it more than anything.

"Not like this."

It takes all of his willpower to say it. Thankfully, she nods against him and he hopes more than anything she understands how much he wants her right now. He always has, always will, but not like this.

He doesn't have time to rethink his rejection — it's not even a rejection, it's a rain check — and he knows she understands that by the way her fingers dig into his t-shirt as she hugs him. Their time will come, and it will be worth it.

While wrapped in Hermione, sleep creeps in with ease. His eyes flutter shut, and for the first time in forever, he has the best motivation to keep fighting: it's for more nights like this. They collapse against one another, comfortably, as though it's not the first time they've done this. If his dreams count, it's definitely not the first time they've shared a bed. Maybe it's not for Hermione, either. It doesn't seem like it by the way her body collapses against him, seeming to mold to his skin, her legs wrapping around his thighs, her breasts against his arm, her breath against his cheek.

It's both exciting and comfortable, natural, and it spurs the endless dreams as darkness encroaches.

x

"Ron! Where's Ron!?"

Ron's eyes snap open at the sound of his name. The voices are downstairs, muffled by walls, hallways, and a staircase.

"Haven't seen him, why?" Harry, groggy as ever, sounds like he doesn't give a crap about his best friends' wellbeing. Good man.

"He's not in his bed! Did he go for a walk or something?" Ron can make out Fleur's voice, frantic, panicked.

"He's around, just give him a second," says Dean. "He'll show up."

Fleur scoffs at Dean, and Ron laughs. It wakes Hermione.

"What are you laughing at?" she asks, and then they both pause, as footsteps approach.

"Nothing," he says. His arm is still tight around Hermione and neither makes an effort to move.

They tug closer as the door swings open, Fleur emerging into the doorway, her hair billowing behind her.

"Hermione, have you seen Ro—"

Fleur freezes in her tracks, scanning the pair entwined in each others' arms.

"Yes," says Hermione. "I have seen Ron."

Fleur's eyes flit between the pair, and she's clearly unsure what to say. "Very well, then. I'll let everyone know he's okay."

She backs out of the door, and it shuts between them. As soon as she's gone, Ron and Hermione erupt into laughter.

"She was so worried about you!" says Hermione.

"No need to be."

"Exactly, you're okay," she says, pulling him in. Her leg drapes over his torso, and without thinking about it, he lays a hand on her thigh.

It's so natural that it's hard to believe he hasn't kissed her yet.

But when she smiles at him, and her eyes drift shut, he follows suit. It's been a while since he's had a good lie-in, and they both deserve it. Plus, anything is better than facing the knowing looks of his friends down in the kitchen. He might as well sleep in.

At least they know he's okay. More than okay.