Author's Chapter Notes:

Many thanks to the always generous and incredibly lovely urbanmama! Written for the Missing Moments Challenge on rhrlove [dot] com.

Ron could not contain his smile as the faint sounds of the waves breaking on the nearby shore were supplemented by the rhythmic "snorts" of one of his sleeping companions. He distinctly remembered sharing a laugh with Harry their very first night at Hogwarts when they discovered Dean's nocturnal habit of snoring with every other breath.

Breath in, breath out, SNORT, breath out. Repeat.

It was good the see Dean again. Ron was embarrassed to admit he hadn't spared much thought for his former dorm mates, his focus being mainly on Harry, Hermione and horcruxes. Tonight, however, listening to Dean's familiar snores mixed with Harry's sleep-induced mumbling, Ron's heart ached for the high-pitched whistle from Neville's nose (the result of a flying lesson gone wrong in first year) and the loud groans of Seamus tossing wildly in bed (noone wanted to know what he was doing behind those curtains).

Ron allowed himself – for just a moment – to wonder what life would have been like for the five of them if Dumbledore had survived, if You-Know-Who hadn't taken over the Ministry.

Would Dean and Harry have moved past the awkwardness of Harry and Ginny getting together? How big would Neville's Mimbulus plant thingy be now? Could he have used that book from the twins and finally settled things with Hermione?

Hermione.

There was the real thought that was keeping Ron awake. He could hardly blink without seeing the terror in Hermione's eyes, her screams still echoing in his mind.

Ron was certain he'd added to the nighttime noises in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory by moaning Hermione's name in his sleep more than a few times over the years, much to his mates' amusement no doubt. If he managed fall asleep tonight however, he feared he'd wake shouting her name – in panic. His throat was still raw from crying for her at Malfoy Manor.

Over the past year he had gone from wanting to know what her kisses tasted like or how her tits would feel in his hands, to wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms and to know she was safe.

Ron rolled the Deluminator in the palm of his hand, silently thanking Dumbledore once again for providing the means for his return to her – and Harry. If Hermione called his name tonight, Ron would not need some magic ball of light to guide him to her. She was safely tucked into the spare room one floor above him.

She was just one flight of stairs away.

Thirteen creaky steps.

Why did it feel so far?

Logically he knew Hermione was fine, that no harm would come to her – at least not for tonight; but logic was no match for the tightness in his chest as he thought how close he had come to losing her. He knew sleep would remain impossible until he saw her. So, quietly and quickly, before he could convince himself of his folly, Ron made his way up the stairs. As he reached the door to Hermione's room his courage failed him.

Chiding himself for his rash decision, he made an abrupt retreat to the staircase.

He only got as far as the top step.

Resolved, he marched back down the hall and…stopped to stare at the closed door.

I can't just barge in like some kind of perv.

But if I knock I could wake them up. Hermione needs her rest, I shouldn't disturb her.

What if she's not asleep? What if she needs something and doesn't want to wake Luna?

On and on Ron argued with himself, worry and indecision swirling in his mind. His need for reassurance finally won out and he reached for the doorknob – only to have it turn before his hand even touched it.

The door opened to reveal Luna, drowning in Fleur's dressing gown Hermione had worn earlier. "Ah, there you are."

"I–" Ron tried to speak. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

"I wondered where you were."

"Whuh?" he managed to croak.

"I'll be back in a moment. It's been much too long since I've felt the moon on my face," Luna said airily as she brushed past him and headed down the stairs.

Luna had left the door open behind her and through the dim light in the hall Ron could just see Hermione laying in her bed. He stepped into the room in order to get a better look, hoping to find her sleeping comfortably. Instead, he found her awake, smiling faintly at him, her arm outstretched reaching for him. He rushed across the room to her. Before he could take her hand she dropped it to the bed and pulled back the bedding, silently asking him to join her.

Ron crawled in beside her without hesitation.

He wrapped his arm loosely around her, fearing her body might still be feeling the effects of the Cruciatus; Hermione would have none of it. She burrowed herself tight against him, as if she could not get close enough. The feeling of a fist clenching his heart that had plagued him since the Snatchers first arrived eased the instant Hermione's head rested on his chest.

"Hermione…" Ron started.

"Ron," she whispered, silencing him with a light touch of her finger to his lips. Unable to stop himself, Ron gave her finger a gentle kiss. The smile he received in return made everything they had been through worthwhile. He linked his free hand with hers and rested them over his heart.

Ron knew in that moment he hadn't needed the help of a silly book to work things out with Hermione. He'd needed that bloody locket – he needed to face his own fears and realise he was good enough for Hermione. He'd needed to prove his love to her, for her, prove he would die for her.

And Ron also knew, without any doubt that he would die without Hermione. That was the memory he'd try to attach to what happened that night at Malfoy Manor – not the terror of what could have been, but rather the power of what they had.

Ron felt his own breathing fall into sync with Hermione's deep steady breathes as she fell asleep in his arms. Looking down at her, as she lay curled against his chest, he was pleased to see she still had a smile on her sleeping face. He pressed his lips to her forehead and finally drifted off to sleep, knowing Hermione was safe – and she was his.