In her dream, they were watching her. She was at Cedric's memorial service, but instead of being on a bench she was standing at the front of the Great Hall, between the congregated students at her front and Dumbledore at her back. And all their eyes were on her. She could feel their stares locked on her, pinning her with discomfort, self-consciousness, and a wild, unexplainable agitation that bubbled in her blood. She could scream but for their scrutiny. Her eyes swept the crowd, the countless faces with unblinking eyes watching her. She couldn't find Harry. He wasn't there. Panic washed over her, so thick it ached in her body. She turned her head and strained to see through the throng of students but she couldn't find Harry. Beyond their faces, toward the back of the crowd, she saw Cedric, his gaze the most unblinking of all, his face bloodied, skin ashen, body unnaturally still as he watched her. Cedric present in the crowd... that meant this memorial service would be for someone else. Where was Harry! If they would all stop watching her and let her get to Harry before he died!

Hermione flinched awake with the coiled snake of terror taut in her chest. Her hand reflexively slid a few inches across the covers in a blind search for her wand.

And then she stopped, breath held when her surroundings registered.

She was lying in bed. The soft light of morning was a blanket of its own. She was cognizant of her body for the unfamiliar aching sensation. There was not a sound, nothing to have roused her.

The panic of her dreamscape ebbed away... but the sense of being watched remained.

Hermione turned her eyes upward, as though sensing a presence, and her gaze fell upon Ron. She stiffened and for a time couldn't even think, could only look at him.

Ron was standing near the head of the bed where he'd pulled aside the curtains to look inside. At first Hermione could not understand why he was in her dorm.

Then Hermione remembered she wasn't in her bed, she was in Harry's, and the myriad memories of what had transpired last night rushed at her like a rockslide with each pebble and boulder a vivid detail. Hermione's heart began to hammer as she watched Ron for a reaction. She felt the urge to reach down and tug the covers, currently draped across her middle, up to her chest like they did in the movies, even though she did have her nightgown on, but she couldn't manage even that. She was too afraid to move until she could get a read on Ron's reaction.

Ron, obviously, had not expected to find Hermione in Harry's bed. He seemed to stare at her a long time in incomprehension. Hermione stared back.

Ron finally shifted his gaze away from Hermione to a spot beyond her shoulder. He'd be looking at Harry. Hermione desperately wanted to look, too, she ached to know he was there, yearned to check to see if he was okay, but not until Ron caved.

Shortly, Ron looked back into Hermione's eyes. His expression remained inscrutable but for a slight relaxing of his lips. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Hermione's breath silently escaped her and she felt her sore muscles unlock. She'd never felt such an aged sense of camaraderie with Ron as she did in that instant.

Without a word, careful not to make a sound, Ron disappeared. The curtain fell back in place and Hermione listened to his footsteps leave the room.

Only then did Hermione move. She closed her eyes and fought to calm her heart. She didn't know what had just happened, what it would mean for the future, but right now she let it leave with Ron. When she could breathe she tentatively rolled over and looked toward Harry.

And the vestiges of panic that had wrapped around her trachea from the depths of her dream faded away like wisps of smoke. Harry lay in bed beside her, sleeping. He was on his side facing her, and Hermione studied him. His face was not the normal calm repose of sleep; tension lingered even in slumber. His eyes weren't softly shut but rather seemed resolutely closed. A hinting shadow on his brow threatened to blossom into a full furrow. His mouth was pinched, his body curled under the blankets and arms folded over his chest. He looked like he was primed to defend himself from attack, and it was heart-breaking to see. But she could see him breathe, could feel his body heat so close because the bed wasn't made to fit two. Harry was still there, he was alive. Hermione sighed in immense relief.

She noted, in a kind of reminiscent passing, that if his hair was a little more disheveled than normal, and if his body seemed more solid and real to her than it used to, and if the swell in her chest when she looked at him was a bit stronger than it had once been, in her eyes he was remarkably unchanged for their illicit meeting last night. She woke beside him in his bed the morning after and it was still Harry. Last night the girl in her had not been sure so much could stay the same after what they'd done; now she knew better. She could go on if this is how it would be. There was an immeasurable relief in that.

And then Hermione was looking at the still-present ghosts of Harry's injuries, the hint of pain even in sleep that claimed his form, and she ached anew for him... in ways beyond how she already ached, anyway.

Hermione called gently, "Harry."

Harry's breath stuttered tensely then the shadow became the promised furrow. His lips pressed tighter together and he ducked his head down, burrowing into the pillow.

"Harry." Hermione reached out carefully and touched his shoulder.

That woke him. Harry flinched and jerked back, eyes flying open and for a moment he looked unseeingly at her.

Hermione removed her hand and waited.

She could see recognition sink in. The bewildered, startled expression changed to familiarity and relief. Then the pain still coursing through his body, remnant of the Cruciatus Curse, set his features in a grimace. And then his eyes flashed deeply and he looked long and hard at her, for a moment the Cruciatus forgotten. She knew their midnight activities had flown back at him.

Hermione quelled the flutter inside her stomach at his heated look and gave a calming smile. She wouldn't let it change them, wouldn't let it make either of them awkward, because she couldn't stand the distance that awkwardness would put between them. "You okay?" she whispered.

Harry blinked at her, seemed to take from her manner the way she was going to treat what they'd done, and in the next moment he accepted and agreed with it. The look left his eyes and back was the old Harry she'd known for years. He nodded to her question and cleared his throat. "Yeah." He cast a quick, questioning look at her that asked 'and you?', since it seemed they weren't going to actually speak to what they'd done. He'd ask with his eyes, instead.

It would be their fleeting moment of looking 'it' in the face together, unflinching. It struck Hermione in her breast, thick and real and part of a world wholly apart from muggle or magic. Hermione smiled her reply. "Best get dressed so we can make it down in time for breakfast."

It was so painfully casual that Harry seemed thrown. He frowned at her, then he lowered his gaze and his shoulders hunched. "I'm really not very hungry..." his voice trailed, but unspoken was the hurt and plea. That he would rather stay in bed, buried under the covers. That the Cruciatus still held him, that the encounter with Voldemort and what had happened to Cedric didn't make the student body of Hogwarts worth braving. That he wanted to curl up, alone, and lick his wounds.

Hermione almost gave in and let him but for selfish reasons she wouldn't this time. She wanted Harry with her, where she knew he was okay. It was out of her sight, in the graveyard, when he'd nearly been killed. A senseless, irrational part of her believed that as long as he was with her he would be okay.

Hermione shuffled closer... maybe a little closer than she would have the day before yesterday. If Ron had not already left Hermione would have tasked him with bringing them something. "Please, Harry, you should eat something. We needn't stay long, just long enough to get some toast and juice to bring back here."

Harry looked up at her at the explicit 'we' of her statement. But then he stopped questioning it. He sighed in grudging surrender. "All right."

Hermione smiled softly. "Right, then, I'll just..." then a flash of awkwardness when there was no way to leave his bed without drawing attention to the fact she was leaving his bed. "I'll just kip over and get dressed and meet you in the common room." Hermione reached down over the side of the mattress and fetched her wand from where she'd stashed it last night then crawled out of bed. As she did, her body seemed to speak to her in an entirely new dialect. Somehow the way her limbs moved, the way her nightgown touched her skin, the way her hair fell over her shoulders... it seemed different. Hers but unacquainted all at once. She was bashfully aware of the sensation of her bum in direct contact with the soft fabric of her nightgown without the usual barrier of her knickers. That was a brand new sensation. She was briefly torn about whether or not to look for her undergarments. They'd be lost, buried somewhere in the covers of Harry's bed, but she couldn't quite face the visceral reality of digging around to find them. As easily as that she abandoned them. She knew Harry would find them later, and she couldn't wrap her head around wondering what he'd do with them, but they were her material sacrifice to last night. With a blush she cast one last look at Harry, just beginning to unfold his legs and arms to clamor out of bed, then headed back to her own dorm to dress.

❾¾ ❾¾❾¾

Harry was unusually quiet on the way toward the Great Hall. The corridors were deserted, and while at the hour it was not abnormal for that part of the castle to be so quiet, it seemed eerie in the knowledge of last night's events. Hermione stayed close at Harry's side and periodically slid a concerned, searching glance at his face. He looked miles away, ensconced in a dark place that Hermione couldn't perceive. As they approached the doors of the Great Hall, and the buzz of a multitude of voices within, Harry tensed and his pace slowed. Hermione slipped her hand discretely into his and his fingers closed around her hand. His eyes flicked down to her face momentarily, and there was a soul-weary ache there that Hermione hoped would be gone when the after-effects of the Cruciatus abated.

Suddenly Hermione wanted a moment before Harry had to walk into the Great Hall to suffer stares from everyone. She pulled him gently to a stop and without resistance Harry halted and turned to her. He looked down at her and his expression read 'I don't want to do this'. Hermione couldn't tell if it meant breakfast or something much more encompassing.

"I just want to look at your arm before we go in," she said lowly. It was an excuse, but it was true that she wanted to see if the cut on his arm was any better.

Harry looked laconically at her but he didn't pull away when Hermione lifted his right arm and pulled back the sleeve of his robe. Despite having been closed by Pomfrey, it was still a very vivid red mark. Still an angry wound. It still looked dreadfully painful. Hermione grimaced in empathy and traced her fingers down the side of his arm in lieu of being able to touch the injury itself for fear of hurting him further.

A shudder rippled through Harry's body and he tugged his arm free of her.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Yeah," he muttered, and Hermione knew he wasn't just talking about his arm.

"Well, come on then, let's grab something and we'll head back up to the common room."

Harry sighed irritably but followed when Hermione started forward again.

Hermione's world of perception was narrowed down to only Harry until they stepped into the Great Hall. Then the world exploded in eyes and silence. Predictably, everyone turned to look in Harry's direction and went quiet. Hermione felt like reaching out and taking his hand again but refrained by force of will.

Hermione found Ron's face at the Gryffindor table and honed in on him. She made a bee line while Harry followed silently.

Hermione reached their friend and gave a tight smile. "Morning, Ron," she greeted, as though this was the first time today they'd seen one another. Ron looked at her pointedly a moment then looked away to greet Harry. "All right there, Harry?"

Hermione was gathering toast, jam, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. She was focused, single-minded. Get what they needed and get Harry out. The silence was now interspersed with whispering, hushed words to accompany the unrelenting stares, and Hermione felt a lion-sized impulse to rise up and shield Harry from it.

"Harry."

Hermione startled at Dumbledore's nearby voice; she hadn't seen the headmaster approach them. She looked up at the old wizard, her arms full of toast and juice. Dumbledore continued to address Harry without sparing a word to Hermione. "If you would come with me, I'm afraid the Minister of Magic needs to speak with you about last night."

Hermione quailed inside, indignant that Harry be asked to recount the misadventure again. Her mouth hung open in disbelief as she stood there stupidly with her stolen breakfast items.

Harry only nodded.

"It shouldn't take terribly long, I'll be there and I will have to insist that you be permitted to be seen by Madam Pomfrey as soon as they have what they need. Come along."

Hermione opened her mouth wider to protest, spurred by the recently awakened frantic desire to stay with Harry, but the headmaster silenced her with a mere look and then he was herding Harry away from the other students and out the door.

'At least Dumbledore will be with him,' Hermione thought sourly as she put the bread and pumpkin juice back down. With an agitated huff she plopped down at the table beside Ron. Conversation slowly crescendoed back to normal levels while Hermione frowned down at her untouched toast.

"How is he?" Ron's genuinely concerned voice cut into her thoughts.

Hermione looked up at him and her frustration at Dumbledore and the ministry took a backseat to the immediate presence of Ron, his presence a reminder of what he'd seen, what he knew. She couldn't forget the way he'd looked when she first woke, when he caught her in bed with Harry. Hermione tried not to let on in her expression that their early-morning confrontation was in the forefront of her mind.

She leaned closer to Ron to whisper her answer so no one would listen in. "Well as can be expected I suppose. He says it still hurts, but I think it's a lot better. He doesn't look nearly as pale as he did."

He nodded. "Yeah, I noticed that. Looks loads better." Ron frowned, his eyes cut left and right, then he said, "Listen, Hermione... it was really rotten of me to fall asleep last night, you know, when Harry might have needed something. Dumbledore was counting on us and I blew it. Wasn't something a good friend should have done at any rate, but I'm glad you came in to keep him company at least."

'He doesn't know,' Hermione thought with sudden understanding. Ron had not suspected anything beyond Hermione spending the night with Harry so he wouldn't be alone. And in that moment she was very glad Ron was a thick prat. It made things easier; Ron wouldn't be awkward around them because he didn't know anything untoward had happened between his two best friends. Nothing had changed between the three of them in his mind. And if Ron didn't think anything more had happened, no one would. Ron was close enough to both of them to notice the smallest hints that anyone else would miss. And Ron didn't suspect. Last night was immediately her and Harry's secret.

A sense of relief and ease almost unfamiliar under the current circumstances seemed to trickle through her bones.

"It's okay, Ron. Honestly, I couldn't sleep in my room anyway, not without knowing Harry was okay."

Ron nodded, reassured, and returned to his breakfast.

Hermione played with her slice of toast a moment longer before a sudden thought struck her and she straightened, turned to Ron abruptly, and grabbed his arm.

"Ow!" he yelped, but Hermione ignored his outburst.

"Ron!" she hissed, leaning in again, "we simply can't let him go back to that dreadful family of his after term ends. Can you imagine him spending a summer there with those people after this?"

Ron's mouth pursed unhappily. "You're right." Every term Harry came back from the Dursleys solemn and neglected; it was a week back at Hogwarts before he'd be back to his old self again, before he could shake the influence of his cruel aunt and uncle. It was something neither Ron nor Hermione had failed to notice.

In a shocking display, Ron abandoned his food and stood from the table, gesturing for Hermione to follow. "We'll owl my mum; I know she'd let Harry come stay at the Burrow for the summer."

Hermione jumped up and quickly followed Ron. The Burrow would be so much better than the Dursleys. It was already something of a second home to Harry (the first being Hogwarts; the Dursleys didn't even count as a home but more of a prison), and he'd be with people who actually cared about him. She couldn't bear to think of Harry with those awful relatives of his when he was already so shaken. They'd tear him down in his moment of weakness, like a bloody pack of wolves instead of family members. It was something Harry didn't need right now. And this was something Hermione could do for him, action she could take to safeguard him; get Harry away from those heartless people.