Every bit of her ached. There was a weird sensation deep in her joints; a strange mix of relief and pain. It reminded her of taking her hair down after it had been plaited too tightly for too long. She should probably move, but she just couldn't -not yet.

He was asleep, finally. The subtle rise and fall of his chest, the comforting wisps of his breath across the crown of her curls was proof. She was aware that neither the quantity nor quality of his rest had been sufficient. She was also aware, with equal parts joy and regret, that it was his worry for her that had been the cause of his wakefulness. He had held her like this all night, almost upright against the headboard with her head resting on his chest. There had not been even a moment's hesitation when he had taken her in his arms, she thought perhaps that they were both too tired to bother with pretense. She wept when he pulled her close; she hadn't properly realized just how thin he had gotten. He mistook her tears for him as an indication of her own physical pain.

"Should I get Fleur? Do you need more potion?"

"No!" she had gripped him as tightly as her aching limbs would allow.

"But you're hurting," his voice showed his own reluctance to leave.

"I'm not...I mean, I am...but I...oh, Ron!"

He had gently shushed her then, resting his cheek on the top of her freshly washed curls. She had wanted to tell him that she was sorry, sorry for so many things, but mostly for doubting him. Faith had never been her strong suit. She had to see to believe; she had to have proof. And even then, the belief was fragile.

He deserved better. This was a genuine thought, not the pettiness of a heartbroken school girl questioning her physical appeal. She wanted to be better, for him: more trusting, more forgiving. As she had lain in agony on that cold floor, the thing she regretted most was that she would never get the chance to tell him. That regret tethered her to consciousness, to life itself, miraculously giving her a second chance.

She had wanted to tell him, but she had been too full of exhaustion and potions to form coherent words. The rest of the night was a jumble of hazy, dreamlike memories. There were broken bits of a conversation between Ron and Bill. Fearing that his brother had come to make him leave, she had been relieved to find that apparently Fleur had only sent him to try and get Ron to eat.

"Just come down and get a bite. She's asleep; you can be back for she even knows you're gone."

"If I can't do it from right here, 'm not doing it," his quietly forceful words had been a better balm than any of the spells and potions that Fleur had administered.

"Well then Merlin help you both if you have to take a piss," Bill's laugh sounded much more like Ron's than Percy's or even the twins'.

"Get outta here you git! If you wake her I'll hex your ponytail off," despite the threat there was humor in his voice, and then he chuckled at something else Bill said. She couldn't quite make out what it was but she was pretty sure it involved a broomstick being used in an unconventional manner.

He'd sung to her-or hummed-or maybe she'd dreamt the whole thing. His voice had been so warm and soft; she had felt it rumbling through his chest, her ear pressed so tightly against him that surely he would have a mark in the morning.

Everytime she had come to during the night, he had been awake. She could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, months of sleeping together in a tent- so close, yet so painfully far- had taught her well. So now that he was actually sleeping, she would not dream of waking him. And so what if that meant she got to feel his arms around her for a little longer? Didn't they both deserve at least that much?

Just yesterday she had fought so hard: to stay alive, to stay sane, to keep them safe. She had not been able to bear the thought of those being their last moments: separated, terrified, incomplete...but this…

It was horrible she knew, but there was a small part of her that reasoned that if she wasn't going to make it, she wouldn't mind her last moments being in bed with Ron Weasley. Her face flushed hotly at the thought. Maybe there were a few more things she wanted to experience before she left this world.

Ron took in a sharp breath and his grip tightened slightly on her shoulder. Hermione nuzzled in closer, placing her hand gently on his opposite arm.

"'Ermynee?"

"Hmmm?"

"You awake?"

"Um hmm."

"How you feeling?"

"A little sore, but I'm sure you have to be too. I didn't let you get very comfortable last night before I trapped you," she still hadn't moved to look at his face, afraid that if she did, the spell might be broken.

"Wasn't trapped...trapped means you wanna get away," he ran his hand gently up and down her arm, causing a delicious warmth to spread across her body.

She could scarcely breathe, the sincerity of his words made tears pool in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, searching for the perfect reply. She needed him to know, but how could she possibly tell him...there was so much. If this were a scene in a novel, she thought wistfully, she might turn her face toward his, and he might tip her chin up to him as he leaned down kissing her with a gentle passion that would leave them both breathless.

If only it could be that simple. If only they could forget the world outside this tiny room, outside this cottage, but she knew that was not an option, for either of them. They had to see this through first. This was not a novel, at least not the kind where she could forget the rest of the world and think only of herself. But she could, she reasoned, enjoy this moment just a little longer.

"And here I thought you were just powerless to escape me," she sighed dramatically, risking a look at him by turning her head toward his.

Hearing his words had been one thing, but seeing his face, how would she ever resist that face again? The obvious fatigue was no match for the tenderness in his eyes, the faint but perfect grin dancing across his lovely mouth.

"Oh, I am. Used to scare me right shitless," his expression didn't change, but she could literally feel his heart speed up, matching the rhythm of her own.

"And now?" She really couldn't believe how calm her voice sounded.

"Now...well, as long as you're alright, not much else really frightens me, y'know what I mean?" as he was speaking he reached down and tucked a particularly unruly strand of hair behind her ear.

She nodded in agreement, once again marveling at Ron, this Ron. The Ron who was still at heart the boy who had belched slugs for her, and the boy who infuriated her, and the boy who had broken her heart. The miraculous thing was that somewhere along the way he had grown into a man. A man who comforted her at her most vulnerable moments, who did not shy away from her anger, who withstood the storm of her wrath for months, but who had still been willing to exchange his life for hers without a moment's hesitation. His words, his actions, his care for her were far greater, more intimate than any kiss.

As she began to pull herself up to better settle higher on his chest, his stomach made a loud grumble of protest.

"Sounds like we need to get you some breakfast."

"'M'fine really," the reluctance in his voice made her question her previous line of thought, what if this moment was all they were ever allowed? What if they were throwing away their only chance? She would not let herself believe that, could not. There would be a day, soon, when there were no more missions to compete, no more maniacs to defeat. Then they would be able to finish this, no, to start this, properly.

"I know you missed dinner last night because of me, I won't let you miss breakfast too."

"Is that so?"

"Entirely so! Besides, you are too thin for your own good. Your mum will never forgive me if I bring you back home in such a state."

He laughed then, a real laugh, something she hadn't heard in ages, and pulled her in closer. His voice now rustling her hair, "'Specially when she finds out where I slept."

If he were trying to embarrass her, two could play at that game, "Well, then, maybe you should go before I really compromise your virtue." There, that will fix him!

"Any virtue I've ever had is yours to compromise, any time you'd like," his voice did not shake, but it was huskier than it had been before, in a way that made her suddenly less inclined to go to breakfast or anywhere else for that matter.

He did kiss her then, tenderly, on the very top of her head, lingering for a moment before he made a move to sit them both up properly. Ron made sure she was stable before he rather stiffly got out of bed and stood stretching beside it .

"It's not a compromise," she looked up at him as she spoke, "compromise means you both want different things."

It was Ron's turn to be left speechless, and as Hermione took his hand to walk with him down to breakfast, she could have sworn that it was trembling slightly.