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The flat felt so empty with him gone. Mentally, she’d been preparing herself ever since she’d fallen in love with him for the day that he’d have to leave her.
Back at Grimmauld Place, the bed had felt vast but there’d been Harry for company and on the nights Ron was away. The two of them would stay up later than usual talking about work and their relationships and whatever gossip was going around the Ministry. But now…
Fruitlessly, Hermione rolled over again to face away from the empty spot where her husband should be. She counted back through the years to the last time she’d had a room to herself. Before the end of the war, before the tent, before Hogwarts and summers in a camp bed in Ginny’s room. Looking back, it was hard to remember how it’d felt to have a place to herself, waking up alone in her childhood bedroom, falling asleep without anyone else’s breathing.
She supposed she really shouldn’t’ve been surprised at all that Harry was still awake, sitting up in bed and reading through the book Ginny had bought him for Christmas. At the sight of her, he gave a knowing smile and closed the book.
“If Ginny asks, you didn’t come till after midnight.” He said and they both glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “Though, fifteen minutes off isn’t bad. She said you’d come over for dinner.”
“You bet on me?” Hermione asked, trying, and failing, to be upset.
“Well, yes,” Harry said. “We practically had slumber parties back at the house.”
He patted the empty side of the bed and she went over, shedding her housecoat and shoes.
“I was trying to think back to the last time I had a room to myself,” Hermione explained. “It must’ve been before fourth year, before I came to the Burrow.”
“What about when we were living in Grimmauld Place?” Harry asked, “Before the tent?”
Hermione was grateful for the semidarkness that hid her blush.
“You didn’t have your own rooms?” Harry asked in amazement.
“Well, to be fair you didn’t notice,” Hermione replied.
Harry looked amused and shook his head. “You know, it’s getting harder and harder to believe that you weren’t together back then.”
“We weren’t,” Hermione said firmly.
Harry laughed, closing his book and set it aside. “If you say so.”
It was hardly good sleep, but she knew she’d be doing no better at home. Hermione awoke just before Harry’s alarm and it took a minute to orient herself, reaching across the bed for Ron only to find someone strange sleeping beside her. Realizing what she’d done, she snatched her hands away but Harry slept on, undisturbed.
She found herself studying him, something she hadn’t had the opportunity to do for so long. At times she was convinced that just yesterday they were shell shocked, sleeping on the floor of Ron’s attic bedroom and waking at odd hours with labored breath. Now she could jostle him in his sleep and he didn’t wake with his wand in his hand.
Quietly, Hermione slipped from under the covers and into her shoes. From the clock, she’d have just enough time to shower before work.
“Sleep alright?” Harry asked. She turned to find he was awake and blinking at her with unfocused eyes.
“Yeah,” she said softly, “You?”
He nodded, reaching for his glasses. “I’d offer you tea, but I’m out of milk.”
“That’s alright, I need to feed Crookshanks before work,” she said.
“If you’re coming over tomorrow I wouldn’t mind dinner,” he hinted.
“Shut up,” Hermione muttered. He grinned at her and she had to grin back. “Thanks, Harry.”
“Of course.”
“The flat’s just too quiet,” Hermione explained on the second night. “I don’t know how you do it, living alone here.”
Harry shrugged. “You get used to it after a while. I’ve been sleeping in my own room since we got the flat anyway.”
She gave him a look. “I seem to remember camp beds in that second bedroom.”
“Fine, since you came home for Christmas and stole my mate.”
Ron’s mission lasted longer then he’d promised. Hermione was kept sane only from Harry’s constant reassurance that he was alright.
“If I could let you talk to him I would,” Harry said when she’d slyly asked about the mirror that he’d taken. “Gawain didn’t want him to take it in the first place, made us promise only to use it in an emergency.” And at the look on her face, he added. “Which there hasn’t been.”
She hadn’t meant to, but found herself over there every night, sleeping on the far end of the bed and wondering whether it was pathetic that she couldn’t even last an evening alone. She was secretly grateful that Ginny was away at training camp, so she didn’t have to choose between her own sanity and intruding on her best friend’s bed.
“Any day now,” Harry told her every night as she padded in, somehow nervous to be intruding on him like this.
“He’s alright?” Hermione asked the same question she did every time she saw him.
If Harry was annoyed by this greeting he didn’t let it show.
“I’d tell you more if I could,” Harry reassured her. “But yes, he’s fine.”
And then, a week past when he should have been home, Hermione awoke in the middle of the night to someone pulling back the covers from her. In her haze of waking it took her a moment to recognize the hands that lifted her.
“You know, most men would be upset to find their wife in another bloke’s bed,” Ron whispered when she momentarily struggled in his arms.
Delighted, she threw her arms around his neck and laughed nuzzling her face against his unshaved one.
“You’re home,” she cooed, “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Sush, don’t wake Harry now,” Ron said in a hushed voice, but he sounded pleased.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Harry said, his voice muffled. “I wouldn’t mind it being the last.”
“Sorry,” they said in unison.
“See you in the morning,” Harry said, all without rolling over.
Hermione and Ron smiled at one another and, refusing to put her down, Ron carried her from the bedroom and back to their home.