Blankets
Author's Note: Originally published on August 5, 2009
Her screams still echoed in his ears as he paced in front of the closed bedroom door where she was now resting. He was proud of her resolve to attend the burial and deal with Harry's revelations, but he knew she was hurting from the torture.
He had been loath to leave her side since their narrow escape and had tried, in his own awkward way, to show her he was there for her. Hermione's wellbeing, coupled with this frustrating inability to truly comfort her had worried him greatly over the past few hours. He had tried to sleep but the image of her, helpless in Bellatrix's grasp, was the only thing he saw behind his eyelids. He had spent the past ten minutes pondering whether to check on her, despite Fleur's earlier reassurances that Hermione would be fine.
His decision was made clear when he heard a whimper. He pushed open the door to find her asleep on the bare mattress, the bedcovers heaped in a pile on the floor. He saw her shiver from the cool spring breeze, causing him to gather the blankets in his arms before laying them over her prone body.
He couldn't tell if she was aware of his presence, but he saw the trace of a smile on her face as she whispered a quiet "Rrrnn" and snuggled tightly into the blanket. As he settled down on the floor next to her bed, the small flame of hope which he thought had been extinguished the night he left suddenly flared to life. All he could hear now, as he dozed off, was her soft voice whispering his name.