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What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 23
- 24
- 25
Chapter 24. Sleep Walking

Hermione released Pig, closed the window, and then locked the drawing room door with a wave of her wand while Ron collected the chess pieces. Running his fingers over the cold crystal, he admired the beauty of each one of them as he replaced them in their velvet-lined box.
When he’d reclined back onto the couch, she joined him, sliding silently onto his lap. The room was strangely quiet now without the conversations and Pig’s constant hooting. He could hear the grandfather clock ticking away the time and the faint creaking of the couch as they settled into each other.
“So, where’s the firewhiskey you two were enjoying this morning while I was sleeping?” Ron asked, pretending to search the room with his eyes. “It’s got to be here somewhere, ‘cause I think Harry’s been into it again tonight.”
“You know, he woke up that way,” she told him. “Just in the most peculiar mood today, isn’t he?”
“I’ll say. I don’t think he’s ever been that open. Ever. It’s a bit unnerving, really.”
“You should have heard him in the bed this morning. It actually has me a little worried, to be honest.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Still, it beats fighting with him, which feels like all we’ve done recently. I’ll gladly take a day of him taking the piss over that any day. Besides, he’s an amateur compared to Fred and George.”
“Really?” she asked in a tone of disbelief. “You sure seemed to be getting flustered a lot around him today, even when he wasn’t teasing you. Your ears looked sunburned, they were red so much of the day.”
“Is that right?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck in a blatant attempt to distract her because he wasn’t sure if he was really ready to discuss how he’d been feeling.
The truth was, he felt all out of sorts today. His thoughts last night, coupled with their discussions today about what happened in the dungeons, had Ron feeling all mixed up. He felt aggressive, angry at what had been done to Harry and protective of him, too, which wasn’t new, but the intensity seemed to have doubled overnight. It made him feel almost possessive of Harry now. It was like he was ready to take down anyone who tried to get near him. He felt like a mother bear protecting her cub, or something.
He’d been hyperaware of Harry all day, too, which was annoying the shit out of him. He knew where Harry was in the room, every shift in his chair, every twitch of his hands. It didn’t matter where Ron was sitting. He could see Harry out of the corner of his eyes and couldn’t help them darting to him at his every movement.
It was driving him mad, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed either, it appeared, by Hermione, at least. He felt like maybe he understood more clearly now what she’d been trying to tell him about her feelings for Harry recently.
“So,” he breathed in her ear, “were the room changes his idea then?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere while she shifted on his lap to get more comfortable, sliding her hand over his chest.
“No. Well, not really,” she answered. “I was telling him this morning that we didn’t want to leave him alone in the room. Then I jokingly said we could set it up like the Gryffindor dormitories if he didn’t want to share the bed, and he just went with it. He said he thought Sirius would have thought it was funny,” she explained. “And then when you didn’t wake up, we decided to change this room as well.”
“He’s right. I bet Sirius would’ve loved it.”
“So why did you sleep so late?” she asked, evidently not willing to let the matter drop.
“I had a lot on my mind last night,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if to brush the subject aside. “It was just hard to fall asleep.”
“What was it?” she asked.
He hesitated, dropping his hand to her thigh, massaging it lightly while he considered what he wanted to say.
“Well, whatever it was, it followed you down this morning,” she told him when he still hadn’t responded. “You haven’t been yourself today either, Ron.”
“It’s just,” he began finally, resigning himself to discussing it because she could be endlessly persistent, digging until she got to the heart of the matter. He spoke quickly, deciding it was best to just get it over with. “It’s like I told Harry. Some of what Bellatrix said in the dungeons came back to me last night for the first time. I couldn’t sleep for thinking on it, and Snape again, too, after the row with Harry yesterday morning. Then discussing our little meet-up with the greasy bastard in the woods later, it was just all swirling around in my brain last night, and I couldn’t shut it out,” he said while he continued to stroke her thigh. “So yeah, I just had trouble sleeping,” he finished.
She stared at him a minute before nodding her head, apparently satisfied with his explanation, and he relaxed then, glad for the reprieve. He knew she suspected there was more, and he was surprised that she was willing to let it go at that, but he wasn’t about to complain.
They sat on the couch in companionable silence for a while with her drawing lazy symbols on his chest as he slowly stroked her thigh, both of them just reveling in their time together.
He’d hardly touched Hermione since they accidentally woke Harry in the bed the other night. Then they’d had that blazing row the next morning, followed by their heavy discussions today about their time in the dungeons and Horcruxes so that he’d barely even touched her hand in the last two days.
They needed some time alone together, to re-connect. He’d gotten used to having time with her again while Harry lay recovering from his latest setback, after their return from the forest, and he’d been missing it the last few days now that Harry was up and around again. He felt grateful that Harry wanted to turn in early.
“I don’t believe Harry was really tired at all tonight,” she said quietly, seeming to be thinking along the same lines. “I think he just wanted to give us some time alone together.”
“You reckon it’s because of what I said to him yesterday when I was angry? That you and I were just trying to find some time with each other?” he asked worriedly as he pictured Harry now sitting upstairs on the bed, twiddling his thumbs in an empty dormitory. Imagining how bored, how lonely Harry must be, Ron felt guilty then for wanting to be alone with Hermione.
“No… well, partly, maybe,” she half agreed, and then tried to clarify. “His comment about Fluffy? I told him this morning that I didn’t want it to be us and him, that I didn’t want to be divided up like that, and he said it sounded as if I thought we were three heads on one body,” she explained. “I think he’s just trying to give us some space, trying to get a bit of distance from us.”
“Hmm,” he said, frowning. There it was again, the feeling like Harry was pulling away from them. It bothered him tremendously, and he didn’t know why, really. It felt like Harry was trying to ditch them, to go on a suicide run, or something. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to push them away for their own safety, and that was the feeling Ron was getting now. But if the damn pillock thought he was going to shake them off, he was dead wrong.
This was his own fault, though, Harry’s self-imposed exile. Ron knew it. He could see Harry telling him, “I’m sorry if I’m interfering with your ‘relationship time,’” with stupid little air quotes yesterday morning, and now he was sitting upstairs alone so that they could have some time together.
Well played, Ron, he thought glumly, feeling exceedingly selfish.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head as if she continued to read his thoughts. “I don’t like it either. I think we need to keep a closer watch on him.”
“We’re already with him twenty-four/seven. Unless you’re suggesting we start taking night watches again, or something, I don’t know what else to do,” he told her. “Do you want me to break his other leg so he can’t run?” he asked jokingly.
“Ron, that’s not funny,” she scolded, though she was fighting a smile.
“I know. I’m sorry. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. The stupid dolt would still get up and keep running anyway. Just dragging the damn leg behind him,” he said in exasperation, and Hermione laughed then in spite of herself.
“Good Lord, you’re right, of course. And it probably wouldn’t even slow him down.”
They went silent again then, both frustrated by Harry’s stubbornness. He was, at least. Hermione was probably plotting a way to monitor Harry’s every movement from now on. She needed to get with Winky, he decided, and get the elf sobered up long enough to teach her the magic she’d used to bind Barty Crouch Jr. to her at the World Cup. That way, if Harry tried to run, he’d have to pull Hermione along with him.
Ron amused himself a minute with the image of Harry getting dragged out of his chair and down the hall every time Hermione needed the loo. Bet he wouldn’t like that very much, Ron thought. He’d probably go completely ballistic and burn the whole place to the ground in a rage.
“Well,” she said, shifting on his lap again, “let’s just hope we don’t have to resort to breaking any of his limbs, for a while anyway.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck then with a sigh, she pulled him as close to her as she could, pressing herself firmly against him.
Turning his attention to her, he slowly teased her earlobe with his tongue, deciding what they needed tonight was a distraction, from Harry, from Horcrux hunting, and Bellatrix. He’d had enough of that today. Ron needed to get out of his own head for awhile, to get Harry off his mind. He’d given them time together, and they might as well take advantage of it. Ron could resume feeling like shit about it later.
“You know, I’ve fantasized about snogging with you in the Gryffindor common room like a million times,” he told her as he brought his lips again to her ear, gesturing around the room with his hand before dropping it back onto her thigh.
“Hmmm,” she said, gasping a little as his wet tongue dipped into her ear. “Since when?”
“Since about fourth year. You know, when I finally spotted you were a girl,” he confessed, and she smiled again. “God, I wish I’d figured it out earlier, and that I’d worked up enough courage to tell you. We could’ve had so much time together.”
“Well, we got there in the end, Ron. That’s all that matters.”
She drew him into a kiss as she ran her fingers through his hair. His hand at the small of her back snaked its way under her shirt and up the smooth skin of her back. Pressing his palm flat against her then, he cupped her head with his other hand, shifting them again so he could recline her back against the couch. Her mouth was still fused to his, her hands still woven in his hair, so that he came with her.
They broke apart and she sighed, letting her head fall back against the arm of the couch as he pushed her legs apart with his knee and settled himself between them, resting most of his weight against her. Her hands roamed over his back while he returned to caressing her thigh, his mouth now nipping on the delicate skin of her neck and at the hollow of her throat.
“This is just as good as I imagined it would be,” he whispered, lifting his head to grin down at her.
“It is nice, isn’t it?” she agreed, before leaning up and pressing her lips to the base of his jaw and sucking gently.
He uttered a small curse, closing his eyes at the feel of her lips and teeth on him. Then she tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to work it upwards. He shifted his weight to try and help her pull it off him. When she’d finally pulled it free of his arms and head, she dropped it on the floor next to the couch and returned her hands to their lazy exploration of his back.
“Are you sure you want to do this in here?” he asked. “It’s still pretty early. What if Harry decides to come back down?”
“Well, I don’t think he will, Ron, but I locked the door,” she said, struggling to push him off her so she could sit up.
“I know, but still.”
“Do you want to stop?” she asked.
“No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Even I’m not that thick,” he said, affronted by the suggestion. “Like I’d turn down an opportunity with you. I’d have to be barking mad.”
Kicking off his shoes, Ron reached for her again. Hermione was already working the buttons open on her shirt, and he pulled her legs into his lap to remove her shoes, dropping them onto the floor next to his. They’d likely kill themselves tripping over them later when they headed up to bed, but he didn’t care very much right now.
“This is just so weird, though,” he said then, peeling off her socks and running his finger up the bottom of her foot.
“What?” she asked, exasperated. “What’s bothering you?”
“This, doing this in here,” he admitted. “It looks so much like the common room, I’m nervous, is all. I keep thinking we’re going to get caught, or something, by McGonagall, maybe, or worse, Peeves. I just keep expecting one of them to come swooping down on us at any moment.”
Hermione snorted. “It does feel a bit strange, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, watching as she slid her shirt off and tossed it to the floor on top of his. “I wish you had your school uniform on,” he told her, grinning lasciviously, his eyes roaming over her. “Or just parts of it.”
Leaning into her, he placed kisses on her collarbone.
“The tie, the skirt, and the socks, maybe,” he elaborated between kisses, as he worked his way down to the soft skin between her breasts, drawing that picture of her in his mind. “No knickers, no bra. Your hair twirled up in a bun and held together with a quill, like you do sometimes.”
“Good Lord, Ron,” she said, sounding amused, but breathless at the same time, arching her back, giving his mouth a larger expanse of her honey-colored skin to work with. “I didn’t know you’d put so much thought into this. What other Hogwarts-related fantasies do I need to know about?” she asked.
“Some of them involve you and me in the library. Doing things Madame Pince would definitely not allow,” he replied, and she gave a soft snort. “The astronomy tower, too. I always thought that would be a nice place for a shag. There’s a few more,” he admitted. “How bout we save them for later, though, yeah?” he asked, his fingers now working the clasp of her bra. It popped free easily, and he grinned at her in triumph. He was getting better at it, he thought, feeling rather chuffed.
Hermione smiled at him approvingly.
“Well done,” she said with a laugh. “No homework for you tonight, Mr. Weasley.”
“Oooohhh… I like you as Professor Granger,” he said enthusiastically, “or better yet, Headmistress. You always were good at being bossy.”
Pulling the bra free of her arms and leaning back into her, he inhaled her scent as his eyes took her in.
“Are you going to put me in detention?” he asked her, his voice low now, a husky quality to it as he brought his warm mouth to her nipple, teasing it with his tongue and feeling her shudder.
“Lay back,” she said then, in her most authoritative voice.
A shiver went up his spine at the command, their light playful banter from before turning more intense as desire built between them.
“Oh, shit,” he groaned, sucking in a breath, feeling like his heart had stopped. The sound of her voice had gone straight to his cock. Ron immediately obeyed, laying back against the opposite end of the couch and stretching out while she stood up.
She peeled off her jeans, leaving her in only her knickers while he watched her from his place on the couch. Trying not to fidget, he waited for her instructions. He was still in his trousers, but he didn’t dare attempt to remove them without her permission. Completely immersing himself in this fantastic new game they were playing, he was willing to submit to her every command.
Initially they’d been shy, unsure how to touch, where to touch to please each other, blushing uncontrollably on occasion with their fumbling ineptitude, at their inexperience. Hermione had been more embarrassed, more timid than him in the beginning. But they’d become comfortable with each other now, learning together as they explored each other, able to whisper intimate things into each other’s ears now, to tell the other their secrets and desires, to ask for what they wanted so that their lovemaking grew more and more pleasurable. Each encounter was more enjoyable than the last, though he didn’t even know how that was possible, but every time with her left him eager for the next, drawing him deeper into her spell.
Dropping to her knees beside him, her hands began working the button of his fly. He helped her push his trousers and boxers down, lifting his hips as she slid them over him and down his thighs, leaving them bunched at his knees. She ran her hands over his chest, grazing his nipples with her fingernails before continuing down his stomach while he squirmed.
Then she turned her attention to his cock, which was full and thick against his stomach, jerking under her appraising gaze. She trailed a finger down his length, and he let out a little whimper as his cock jumped again, begging for attention, impatient for her. He closed his eyes at her touch, panting in anticipation.
He felt her breath on his thigh a moment before her warm tongue was on him, licking around his scrotum, sucking each into her mouth in turn and nipping at the sensitive skin, lavishing them with attention while her hands ran over his engorged cock. His mouth fell open and he groaned loudly, thrusting shamelessly against her palm until she placed her hands on his hips, holding him down to keep him from moving. He cried out in frustration, but it turned into a cry of pleasure as Hermione moved to his aching member, running her tongue up his shaft.
Her name fell from his lips as he watched her mouth wrap around his knob, her lips stretching over him. He drew in a sharp breath as she swirled her tongue around the sensitive head, taking more of him in with every dip of her head while he strained against the hands still holding him in place. She’d only done this a couple of times, but she’d proved in typical Hermione fashion to be a very quick study, intent on mastering it.
God, he loved her.
She stopped holding him down, releasing him to wrap her hand around his base. He tried to hold still, to keep his hips from bucking against her while she slowly worked him into a quivering mess, the muscles in his legs tensing, his toes pointing as her head bobbed, her hand stroked, and her tongue swirled. Sliding a hand into her hair, he clenched his other into a fist at his side while he muttered obscenities and praise alternately to the ceiling until he wasn’t even coherent anymore, reduced to moaning and begging beneath her.
He was getting close, ready for release from the intense gratification she was giving him as she continued to engulf him. And he didn’t know if he could tell her to stop, wanting both to be inside her and to let her bring him to completion with her mouth.
“’Mione,” he whimpered. “I’m gonna come,” he warned as his body tensed.
She increased the suction of her mouth and her speed in response, taking him even further into her mouth and humming around him.
“Fuuccckkk,” he growled, gritting his teeth and gripping her head as his climax was being sucked out of him.
His whole body shuddered as he spilled himself inside her mouth, leaving him panting and dizzy while she swallowed around him. Then, when he was spent, she leaned forward and kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth so he tasted himself on her, making him groan weakly.
“Good God, you’re fantastic,” he said breathlessly when she moved to his throat. “I’ll gladly take more detentions like that.”
“Detention isn’t over yet, Mr. Weasley,” she told him, sucking on his pulse point, which was still pounding with his heart.
Ron whined, excited for her all over again. His body wasn’t quite ready to respond just yet, but it would catch up soon enough.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her into him as he devoured her mouth.
They broke apart, and he sat up, still trying to catch his breath. Kicking his trousers off onto the floor to join the rest of their discarded clothing, he slid to his knees beside the couch, taking her place and waiting for her to decide what she wanted next from him.
Hermione watched him a moment and then got to her feet, standing so near him he had to tilt his head almost all the way back to look up at her. Without waiting to be told, he slid his hands up her thighs and pulled off her knickers, not taking his eyes off her. She smiled down at him in approval, and that was all he needed to take over.
He pressed his face to her core, his thumbs pulling back her folds as he gripped her hips, going straight for her clitoris. Grabbing at his hair, she gave a little squeal of surprise and pleasure as he tugged it between his lips and sucked hard. When her legs started to shake, he released the suction and started sliding his tongue against her in soothing circles.
“Your turn to lay back, luv,” he told her, pulling away from her so she could sit.
She immediately reclined against the couch as he had done before her, throwing her arms over her head so they dangled over the side of the armrest. Leaning over her, he lowered his head to her stomach, placing hot, wet kisses all over it. Then he gently probed her navel with his tongue, causing her to suck in a breath and arch her back.
Moving to the inside of her knee, he left a wet trail from his tongue all along her thigh as he worked his way up to her throbbing core, teasing her, making her just as impatient as he’d been in her place. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and it was his turn to play unfairly now.
Sliding one of her legs up and draping the other over his shoulder, he leaned back down to her and lightly traced her opening with his tongue, finding her clit again and sucking gently on it this time while she sank boneless into the couch. He ran both hands up her stomach, over her breasts, kneading lightly while he continued to work his mouth over her, before rolling the hardening nipples between his fingers and tugging, mimicking the rhythm and the soft suction of his lips and tongue at her center.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, letting her legs fall open, relaxing into it.
When she was vibrating beneath him, restless for more, he released her nipples and placed a finger at her dripping entrance. She moaned encouragement, and when he didn’t move, she tilted her hips up to help him penetrate her. He let her pull his finger into her slick heat, let her grind her hips against his mouth, but he didn’t brace his hand against her, still teasing her, though he wasn’t holding her down like she’d done him.
Ron positioned one more finger at her entrance and she began to mewl in anticipation, still trying to penetrate herself more deeply, to grind against his uncooperative hand. He waited to see if she would command him again, watching as she grew more impatient.
“Ron,” she growled in frustration, and he immediately slid his second finger inside her, turning her growl into a moan of appreciation as he pressed up into her then, his cock returning to full readiness at the sound.
He rubbed himself against the couch while his mouth worked against her in earnest now. Her hands were back in his hair as she tried to pull him further into her, bucking against him.
“Oh, God, oh, God,” she cried helplessly a moment before she shattered, her body tensing as she howled her own release.
He continued the lazy circling of his tongue until she relaxed her thighs, clamped vice-like around his head. Then smiling against her a moment, he returned the favor, leaning over her, and capturing her mouth to share her own taste with her. When he pulled away from her, she stared up at him with heavy eyes, looking replete.
“Your mouth should come with some kind of warning label,” she declared breathlessly and then began to laugh.
Snorting in surprise, he grinned down at her. “A warning label?” he questioned in amusement. “Is that so?”
“Hell, yes,” she said with an emphatic nod of her head. “It’s incredible.”
“You want to slap a label over it, or just tattoo my tongue?” he asked, but she merely shook her head, still chuckling lightly.
“I have something else that’s ready to compete for the title of incredible, or at least work to increase its standing if you’re interested,” he propositioned her as she stretched like a cat along the couch.
Christ, she looked beautiful.
“Mmmmmm,” she sighed seductively, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her, pressing her flushed body against his and drawing him into a slow, passionate kiss.
He slid onto the couch next to her, stretching himself out alongside her, glad to be off his knees, which were getting sore from their prolonged contact with the floor. Shifting herself beneath him, she pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist, opening her body to him so she was cradling him in the apex of her thighs, supporting most of his weight. He rocked his hips, rubbing himself against her, feeling how ready she was as he continued to make love to her mouth. And then he accepted her invitation, burying himself inside her to the hilt with a quick twist of his hips, making them both moan in satisfaction.
Releasing her mouth to rest his forehead on hers, he closed his eyes at the feel of her so tight around him. Then he drew his length out of her, only to slowly push back in as deep as he possibly could, lifting his head from hers to watch her expression as he pressed her down into the couch.
“I love you,” he mumbled into the soft skin of her neck, burying his head in her hair as he established a comfortable pace and started to rock against her. Pushing her hips into him, she began to meet him thrust for thrust as she found his rhythm.
Ron let himself get lost in the pleasure she was giving him, feeling so much less frantic with one orgasm already behind him. Both of them sighed in contentment as he moved unhurriedly, almost lazily against her. She felt so good, her body wrapped around him, pulling him into her with her heels as she ran her nails up his back and over his shoulders. Then she placed her mouth on the cord of his neck, biting lightly and clenching her muscles around him. He moaned in response, tiling his head back to give her more access and thrusting into her more firmly, his pace quickening.
“Yes, faster, Ron,” she whispered against his neck as she arched up into him.
He realized after a few moments that he didn’t have that much room to maneuver on the couch, though, and so he slid his hands under her, holding her tightly to him. With as much control as he possibly could, he turned them, rolling underneath her to reverse their positions. He managed it, maybe not with complete finesse, but without causing them both to tumble off the couch onto the floor, pulling out her hair, or getting a knee in the bollocks, anyway. He even managed to stay inside her somehow.
She didn’t waste any time once they’d settled into the new position, placing her hands on the couch arm for leverage, and leaning over him. He slid his hands up her back and down her sides as she began to rock over him.
“You’re brilliant, ‘Mione,” he praised her. Ron loved this position, having his hands and mouth free to roam freely over her body while she ground down onto him, rolling her hips against him.
She started off slowly at first but quickly picked up her pace so that they were both gasping and moaning in pleasure. Pulling at her back, he urged her closer to him, and she bent her arms, leaning farther down to him so that he could flick his tongue against her nipple that was swaying tantalizingly over him.
Ron lifted his head, trying to take more of her into his mouth and she stilled, bracing her arms, holding herself slightly above him. His hands went to her hips then, her nipple between his teeth as he dug his heels into the couch, lifting his hips to drive up into her. She threw her head back, her mouth open as she let out a growl of satisfaction.
Working faster, he pistoned his hips into her with more force, grunting with every collision of their bodies as he felt his release building. She was nearing orgasm, too. He could see it on her face, feel it in the tensing of her body as she held her breath, clutching at the armrest.
“Come on, baby,” he urged her, wanting to make sure she got everything out of this, trying to hold on for her.
He latched onto her nipple again, sucking hard, and that was all it took as she cried out. He let go, letting her pull him over the edge with her, waves of delicious pleasure spreading through him, pulsing deep within her while she shook all over, riding out her own orgasm.
“You look thoroughly shagged,” he told her with a weak smile when he could speak again, both of them still breathing hard in the aftermath, as he lifted a hand to her face to wipe away stray hairs that had fallen into her eyes.
“I feel thoroughly shagged,” she agreed, sounding winded. Then she pressed her forehead to his chest and collapsed on top of him.
“Can I have another detention tomorrow?” he asked. “Professor,” he added, chuckling.
Hermione pinched him hard on his side.
“Ouch,” he yelped, jerking underneath her to get away.
Then he swatted her bum in retaliation. She let out a little yip of surprise, but he was already soothing the spot with his hand, rubbing in small circles, and she relaxed back against him.
“All right, but only if I get to paddle you then,” she grumbled into his chest.
He snorted. “Damn, Hermione. That sounds fantastic.”
They lay together on the couch for a long time afterwards, watching the room grow dark around them as he trailed his hand down the curve of her back, over her bum and back up again. Over and over again he stroked her in that hypnotic rhythm, letting his mind wander. Everything had gone quiet again so that the only sound he heard was the ticking of the clock and their soft breathing.
“Do you think he’s asleep yet?” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence, as if Harry was asleep here next to them.
“I don’t know, but I nearly am,” she told him. “I don’t know how early he got up this morning because he was already awake when I woke up. But I think I’m ready to head to bed, too.”
Ron sighed and nodded. She sat up then, and just like, that their little bubble of isolation burst. The cocoon they’d been in the last few hours dissolved until the next time they could steal away together and forget everything else for a little while.
They gathered up their things in the dark, redressed enough so that they weren’t indecent, and headed upstairs, carrying their shoes and socks.
It was a surprise when they entered Sirius’ room again. He’d forgotten how much it actually resembled the dorms. It made him smile a little. There was enough moonlight coming in from the window to illuminate Harry’s sleeping form. He’d chosen the middle bed, still deciding to position himself between them, apparently, which amused Ron even more.
Harry’s head was cocked awkwardly to the side, his glasses still on, but askew on his face. His journal with the letters from Ginny lay scattered around him on the blankets. It looked like he’d decided to do a little bedtime reading tonight with his free time.
Hermione slid his glasses carefully off his face while Ron closed the journal and placed it on the side table. Then he gathered the opened letters, re-folded them and stuffed them back in their envelopes before placing them on top of the journal. He was surprised Harry had finally opened them and had to fight the temptation to read what his sister had written.
Trying her best not to disturb him, Hermione adjusted the pillows around Harry so that he was lying more comfortably when she straightened back up. Harry sighed, shifting slightly until he’d evidently found the right spot and went still again, relaxing back into the bed. He looked peaceful, untroubled as they both stared down at him like a couple of new parents watching him sleep.
“Do you really think we’ll find a Horcrux in Bellatrix’s house?” Ron asked quietly, his mind returning reluctantly to the Horcrux hunt.
Hermione was silent a moment.
“I’m almost sure she has one, Ron, but I don’t know really where it is, if it’s in her house or not. And I don’t know how to find out without trying to capture her and force her to drink Veritaserum or something to tell us,” she whispered, turning her face to stare up at him. “I’m afraid we’ll have to search her home, or any other likely place that occurs to us to find it.”
“And do you think Harry will really be able to handle that? I mean, it’s Bellatrix. He’s likely to lose his shit completely over this, Hermione. I don’t think he’s ready,” he warned her, still speaking quietly so as not to disturb him. “What if we actually do manage to figure out where she lives, get there, and he falls apart? What do we do then?” he asked, but she just pursed her lips, worry lines appearing on her forehead.
“Why did it have to be her, for God’s sake? Why couldn’t it be one of the other Death Eaters that don’t make him go all wobbly when he hears their name?”   He sighed in frustration.
“He did better than I thought he would with Snape, Ron,” she said consolingly. “Although, admittedly, he’d already come to the conclusion that Snape was trying to save him in there. Still, he’s always hated him, and he did do some unspeakable things to Harry.”
“He wasn’t ready for that little trip either, though, was he?” Ron asked. “Look what that got him. Four more days on his back,” he reminded her.
“Physically he’s much better now, Ron. And besides, it’s not like we’re leaving tomorrow, or anything. Harry knows we have to finish this. We can’t stay holed up here forever.”
“I still don’t think he should have let Snape go,” he hissed, dwelling on the bastard again. “I know you two don’t agree, but you weren’t standing right next to him like I was in those woods, Hermione. I swear to you, he liked doing what he did to Harry.”
“Well,” she said, “it wasn’t our choice to make, Ron. You need to let Harry deal with this in his own way. You’re pushing him to kill them all, and I don’t think you should.”
“I don’t mean to, Hermione, but I’ll kill them myself to stop them getting at either of you again. I’m not letting them have another chance at him if I can help it. If that makes me a bad person or even a cold-blooded killer…well, I guess I can live with that.”
She stared up at him in silence, searching his face for a long time.
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I can’t help how I feel.”
He reached out a hand to stroke her hair, trying to soothe her, to soften his words.
“I know. I understand, truly. I just don’t know if I can do the same. I’m not ready to go there yet.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m worried about you. About both of you,” she whispered. “This war, the things we’ve seen and done…we can’t ever go back, you know? I just don’t want to see us go further down this road, further away from who we used to be.”
Ron nodded. He understood what she meant. He remembered that Harry said he was trying to hold on to himself, but Ron was trying to hold on to both of them. If someone threatened them, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate. Maybe he’d already lost himself, then, but he wasn’t mourning that old Ron if he had. He’d made the decision that he wasn’t standing on the sidelines any longer. It was too late to change his mind now even if he wanted to. He was done just watching as terrible things happened to the people he loved.
“I just want to protect him,” he said quietly. “Is it wrong that I want to take you and him and flee the damned country? Is it selfish that I want to keep you both safe, the rest of the world be damned?” he asked.
Turning to face him, Hermione slid her arms around his neck and laid her head against his chest. Ron pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands locked at the hollow of her back, and they rocked soundlessly as if slow dancing together.
“I think if we could, we’d all do that, wouldn’t we?” she said softly. “Just grab each other by the hands and keep running.”
“Yeah,” he sighed in agreement, resting his cheek on the top of her head, having to physically hold back the urge to act on it.
Harry may be the one who had to take down Voldemort, but Ron intended to be the one to clear the way for him. His role in this mission had never been as clear to him as it was since they’d escaped the dungeons. If it was Harry who had to kill him, then it was Ron and Hermione who had to help him get there and help hold him up if he needed it.
It was the first time Ron had considered his own mortality, really considered it. The likelihood that the three of them would survive this war was slim. He knew that, yet it didn’t frighten him anymore. It only made him cherish the time they did have together and try to make the most of it.
They continued to sway together for a long time, until he felt sleepy with the rocking motion of their bodies. She yawned into his chest, and then pulled away from him.
“I love you,” she whispered and planted a kiss on his lips before crawling into her own bed near the window, farthest away from him.
“I love you, too,” he said, and then stood there next to Harry for a minute longer before he finally made his way to his own bed.
Once he was lying in his own four poster, though, he didn’t feel all that tired anymore. His late start this morning had messed up his sleep schedule. Lying with his head on his arm, staring up at the hangings on his transfigured bed, he felt weirdly lonely. It had taken only a few weeks of sleeping with someone next to him to negate nearly eighteen years of sleeping alone.
His new bed felt too small, the bedding cold, and the pillow uninviting. He tossed and turned a lot, resigning himself to another night of restless sleep, but he must have nodded off at some point because the next thing he knew, his eyes had popped open in the darkness. He squinted around, trying to understand the disturbance he’d heard, looking for the source of what had awakened him.
His eyes began to adjust to the darkness as he blinked rapidly, revealing the outline of a dark form looming over him. It was Harry, he realized in stunned surprise, standing right next to Ron’s bed, staring down at him in eerie silence in the darkness.
Ron sucked in a startled breath.
“Harry…wha—”
“Shhhh!” Harry whispered urgently, clamping a hand over Ron’s mouth to silence him, and pressing Ron’s head down into the pillow.
Then he bent close to Ron so that Ron could see the weak moonlight reflecting in his eyes, making them appear to glow strangely in the darkness. They were wild and fearful, darting nervously around the room. It made the hairs stand up on Ron’s arms to see it. He hadn’t seen the crazy in Harry’s eyes for a while now, and foolishly thought that part was over, that they were past it. It looked like he’d set that fear aside too soon, however, as he stared up into Harry’s petrified face.
It was frightening enough to wake up with someone standing over you in the darkness, but when it was your best mate and his mental state was in question, it was downright terrifying. What Harry said next, though, almost stopped Ron’s heart completely.
“I think there’s someone downstairs,” he told Ron in a strained whisper, still bent low over him.
Ron immediately felt the ice cold tendrils of panic gripping him. He tried to sit up, but Harry planted a hand to his chest, pinning him to the bed with startling strength, his other hand still covering Ron’s mouth.
Straining his ears, Ron tried listening for what Harry was hearing over the pounding of his own heart and his rapid breathing against Harry’s hand, but he couldn’t hear anything. He reached up to try and pull Harry’s hand off his mouth.
“She knows we’re here,” Harry whispered urgently, sounding frightened.
“What?” Ron whispered, finally succeeding in dragging Harry’s hand away. “Who? Who’s downstairs, Harry?”
“Her,” Harry moaned, the hand on Ron’s chest curling into a fist. “We must have tripped some kind of alarm, or something, while we were searching the place.”
Ron stared at Harry, trying to see him more clearly. He must be asleep. He had to be having some kind of nightmare. Ron had never seen Harry sleepwalk like this before, though, or speak so lucidly in his dreams, but he clearly believed they were at Bellatrix’s house, perhaps searching for the Horcrux they’d been discussing all day.
He tried to sit up then, moving slowly, still straining his ears in case there really was a legitimate disturbance in the house, but he heard nothing.
“She’s coming!” Harry gasped then, in horrified alarm as he gripped Ron’s shirt. “Hurry! Go find Hermione. Get yourselves out of here!”
“Harry…” Ron started, not sure what to do.
He was afraid to wake Harry, afraid he might react badly. What if he suddenly turned on Ron and thought he was a Death Eater? This could turn seriously ugly, if not deadly, if he made a wrong move.
“We’re going to die,” Harry declared with certainty, his voice going flat. “I can’t stop it happening, Ron. I’m so sorry.”
Oh, holy Jesus! Ron thought, letting Harry pull him to his feet by his shirt, feeling terrified himself now even though he was positive they were alone in the house. He didn’t know what to do. If he tried to reason with Harry, he might get angry. If he tried to reach for his wand, Harry might feel threatened, and then he was likely to do magic and hurt someone before Ron could stun him. He had no choice, he decided, except to play along, to try and convince Harry the danger had passed.
“We’ll hide,” he told Harry. “Come on, we’ll hide over here under your invisibility cloak and she’ll never find us,” he said in sudden inspiration, steering Harry back to his own bed.
“Yeah, okay.” Harry sounded relieved to have a plan. “Wait! Hermione,” he gasped, trying to pull out of Ron’s grip.
“She’s already made it out. She’s safe,” Ron assured him, inventing wildly.
Harry visibly sagged with relief.
“Are you sure?” he asked worriedly.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. She left. Gone to call the Order, just like we planned. Now come on,” he begged, trying to get Harry back into bed, praying to every god he could think of that Hermione stayed asleep. If she woke up now or moved or anything, Harry might think she was Bellatrix and lose his head completely.
“Here, get under the invisibility cloak,” he urged, pulling the blanket back off Harry’s bed, “and don’t make a sound.”
As if he knew something here wasn’t quite right, Harry stared at him a moment before deciding to simply accept it, obediently crawling into his bed and lying down on his back. Ron went to pull the blanket up over him with shaking hands.
“Wait,” Harry objected, grabbing the blanket before Ron could pull it over his head. “You’ve got to get under the cloak, too, Ron.”
Ron gaped down at him, dumbfounded for a moment. The bed was a single, there was hardly any room for the both of them to fit on it. This had been a stupid idea, he thought, but it was too late now to think of a new plan, so he crawled in next to Harry and threw the blanket over both of them.
They were squashed together on the small bed, lying on their backs, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to ankle. Harry’s hand snaked down Ron’s arm to clutch Ron’s hand in his own shaking one as they lay still and silent next to each other. Ron felt uncomfortably warm, only partly from the heat coming off Harry’s perpetually fevered body and their warm breath trapped under the blankets.
After a few silent minutes that felt like hours, Ron rolled onto his side, facing Harry, and propped himself up on his elbow, sliding his sweaty hand out of Harry’s slackened grip. He pulled the blankets up a little to let some fresh air in with them while he stared down at Harry, though he couldn’t see anything in the near total darkness.
Harry lay motionless, quiet as a mouse, so that Ron couldn’t even hear him breathing even though he was right next to him. Ron didn’t know what else to do except wait it out now and hope that Harry would fall back to sleep.
He stayed like that for what felt like a long time, but was, in actuality, probably only a few more minutes. It was long enough that his arm had gone so numb that he could no longer feel his fingers. He waited until he was sure Harry was out again before he pulled the blankets down off their faces. He felt sweaty and knew his face would be red from the heat, his hair plastered to his forehead. Staring down at Harry then, he brushed the damp hair off his face and out of his eyes.
Then he waited a few more moments, to be sure Harry wouldn’t wake back up again before he slid out of the bed to creep silently back to his own, worried that he’d wake Harry back up, and thinking Ron was the intruder, blow the whole place up in panic.
Crawling back under his own blankets when he’d made it back to the relative safety of his own bed, Ron lay boneless against the sheets in relief. Harry had never had that kind of episode in his sleep that Ron knew of, and he’d been sharing a room with Harry since they were eleven. He’d witnessed hundreds of Harry’s terrified nightmares and visions from Voldemort. He’d heard him mumble in his sleep, cry out in fear, scream in pain, and laugh even, but he’d never seen him get up and walk around, or carry on a normal conversation while he was asleep. He didn’t know if it was just anxiety from the idea of searching Bellatrix’s home for the Horcrux that had caused it, or if it was something more, a sign of a psychological break, evidence of a widening fissure in his mental state.
Harry said he hadn’t been ready to talk about it this morning, about the suspicion he’d been harboring that Bellatrix might have a Horcrux. Was this simply a manifestation of his fear? Or maybe it was the whispered conversation he and Hermione had over him earlier that caused the episode, as if their words had seeped into his sleeping mind, planting the dream into his subconscious.
He’d never known Harry to be frightened of much, not even Voldemort really, but he was certainly terrified of her now. Even the name caused a physical reaction in him, and Harry was completely unwilling or unable to speak it aloud. She had a powerful hold on him for sure. The trauma she had inflicted was apparently far worse than what Dolohov was capable of doing with his fists, and so much harder for Harry to heal from.
His strange behavior today had Ron worried, too. Even when they’d played chess, Harry wasn’t the same. Ron had played him countless times over the years. Harry had a specific play style, everyone did, really. Once Ron figured it out, he could usually beat them, but Harry played totally differently today than he ever had before. He’d chalked it up to watching Ginny, but now he wasn’t so sure. Had Harry emerged from the dungeons completely altered?
And that damn fever! He seemed completely healthy now except for that fever. It made Ron think of those flames of Harry’s. As if the fire was just smoldering under his skin all the time now, elevating his temperature, waiting on Harry to call upon it, to explode out of him at his command. What else could it be? It persisted despite all Madame Pomfrey’s efforts. But she hadn’t seen what he and Hermione had in that dungeon. The way those golden flames just burst out of him, engulfing him yet causing him no harm. It was an awesome sight, terrifying and disturbing, and Ron would never forget it. Not as long as he lived.
Ron worried over Harry, sleepless again for the second night, it appeared. That seemed to be confirmed when he woke the next morning to find himself alone in the room again, though he could hear the shower running in the small bathroom. Sitting up, he ran a hand over his face, wondering how late in the day it was, feeling hopeful that it wasn’t as late as yesterday, or that he wasn’t alone in having a lie-in, since maybe Hermione was just now getting her shower, too. He slid out of bed and padded silently to the door, deciding to beat whoever was in the bathroom downstairs today so he’d take less ribbing.
The lavatory downstairs was free, so he got a quick shower. When he entered the drawing room, he found Hermione pouring over a book, naturally, looking for all the world like she was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, but Harry was absent.
“Ron,” she called when she saw him, sounding excited. “I think I’ve found something!”
She motioned for him to come over, pointing down at the book in her lap.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think about it yesterday, but the Lestrange are a pureblood family.”
“Yeah…so?”
“I took this book,” she explained, turning the book over in her lap so he could read the cover titled, Nature's Nobility, a Wizarding Genealogy.
He raised his eyebrows at her, and she continued.
“When we first arrived here after Bill and Fleur’s wedding?” she prompted. “It’s been in my bag all this time.”
She paused then, and when he continued to stare at her nonplussed, she went on.
“It lists the histories of most of the pureblood families. The Lestrange family dates back for hundreds of years, and I’d hoped it might shed some light on where they originated.”
“And?” he asked her, finally cottoning on, feeling a bit excited himself.
“Upper Flagley, in Yorkshire,” she announced, with a triumphant smile.
“I told you we should go there!” he cried, pointing at her. “Didn’t I? In the tent, didn’t I?”
She nodded at him, still grinning.
“Brilliant! You’re bloody brilliant, Hermione.”
She beamed up at him, and he looked around again.
“Have you told Harry? Where is he, anyway?”
“He was in the shower when I got up this morning.”
“How long ago was that?” he asked frowning, his enthusiasm draining out of him to be replaced with an uneasy foreboding.
“I don’t know, really. I came down, and then got the idea for checking this book. I’ve been caught up in it ever since. I think it’s been a while, though. I just assumed he was with you, I guess.”
“No,” he said. “And the shower was still running when I woke up maybe fifteen minutes ago. He can’t be showering for that long, can he?”
“I… I don’t know, Ron,” she replied, worry creeping into her voice now, too. “I don’t know how long he’d been in there before I woke up either.”
She set the book down and stood up.
He hurriedly relayed Harry’s strange bedtime wanderings to her as they mounted the stairs together back to Sirius’ room, the beginnings of fear and dread forming a hard knot in his stomach.
Ron could hear the water still running as soon as they stepped into the room, and his stomach clenched. In three quick strides he was at the door with his ear pressed against it. He tried the handle, but it was locked.
“Harry,” he called, rapping on the door, but there was no answer. He tried again, louder, but still nothing. He stared at Hermione, feeling well and truly terrified now, frozen in panic.
Please don’t do this, Harry, he thought desperately, his heart unable to handle the strain so that it felt as if it had stopped beating altogether, his chest aching now in its absence. Please let everything be all right, he prayed.
Hermione pulled her wand, and Ron stepped back from the door.
“Alohamora,” she said in a shaky voice, and the door came unlocked with a faint click.
Ron sucked in a trembling breath and held it, steeling himself as he turned the handle and stepped into the bathroom, praying to God he was simply overreacting again, that they would find Harry alive and unharmed, outraged at their latest intrusion upon his privacy.
His eyes darted around the cramped room, and finding no immediate sign of Harry, he stepped next to the tub, Hermione right behind him as he pulled back the shower curtain.
They found Harry nude, sitting on his knees in the tub, the shower spray pounding on the top of his head and shoulders, rolling down his chest and back and pooling in his lap. He made no sign that he’d even noticed their entrance. He just sat there, pale and lifeless, his arms hanging limp at his sides. But there was no blood, no knife in his hand or signs of self-mutilation. Ron almost cried in relief when the sight of Harry didn’t match the horrific image he’d conjured in his mind, one he could visualize with too much clarity, as he’d seen it before in this very room.
“Harry?” Hermione called to him uncertainly as she peered around Ron, but Harry still sat frozen, staring straight ahead while the water continued to rain down on him, as if he’d simply shut down in the middle of his shower this morning.
Ron bent down to get a better look at him, quickly reaching to turn off the taps when he saw the blue tinge to Harry’s lips and the gooseflesh pebbling every inch of his skin. The water was freezing, and now he could see the slight trembling of his limbs and the dead look of his eyes.
“Shit! Get me a towel,” he called, finally moved to action.
Hermione hastily tossed one at him, almost hitting him in the face with it as she turned and fled the room. Throwing it around Harry, Ron pulled his limp body from the tub. He was like lead in Ron’s arms as he struggled to hold him. When he finally had Harry securely tucked against him, he turned, staggering out of the bathroom under his weight.
Hermione had already transfigured the room, making quick work of it, returning it almost to the state it had been in a few days before with only the single magically enlarged bed dominating most of the space. Rushing to it then, she pulled back the blankets for him without even asking, and he dumped Harry onto it, still sopping wet. Then he curled up behind him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s stiff body and pulling him back against his chest.
Harry was freezing, his body trembling powerfully as Ron tried to warm him with the blankets and his own body. Hermione grabbed another towel and crawled into the bed on the other side with Harry facing her. She worked to dry his hair while he shook violently in Ron’s arms, still staring straight ahead as if he was totally unaware they were even there, completely comatose while he and Hermione whispered urgently to him, trying to get a response from him.
“God damn it!” he yelled in frustration, tightening his hold on Harry as the tremors in his body shook the whole bed. “What the hell caused this, Hermione?” he asked, feeling helpless again. “Why is this happening? What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know,” she cried, tears rolling down her face as she stared despairingly at Harry. Her hands stilled on his face as she looked back to Ron.
“I don’t know how to help him, Ron,” she confessed, her lips trembling.
She scooted closer to Harry then, laying her head right next to his on the pillow so that their noses were nearly touching.
The shuddering of his body was starting to subside as their warmth finally began seeping into his frozen flesh. She stroked his face as tears continued to leak out of her eyes, running her fingers along his cheek and over his eyebrow and then alongside his nose.
Harry let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes in response, going totally limp suddenly in Ron’s arms.
“Did he just pass out?” Ron asked in surprise.
“I have no idea,” she confessed as she continued to stroke Harry’s face. “I think he might have just fallen asleep,” she told him, sounding bewildered herself. “It’s as if he’s been completely exhausted by something.”
“Do you think it was You Know Who?” he asked her then quietly. “You think it was a vision or something that brought this on?”
“Maybe,” she said, sliding Harry’s still damp fringe off his scar and tracing it with the pad of her finger. “It’s usually bright red when that happens, though, like it’s burning on his forehead.”
“Christ, what are we going to do? Should we call Madame Pomfrey, do you think?”
“Let’s just let him rest awhile. See if he comes around on his own before we summon her here. All right?” she suggested. “Dobby can get her here in a moment if he takes a turn for the worse.”
“All right,” he agreed, stretching out more comfortably behind him now to wait it out and pressing his forehead into the back of Harry’s neck.
Harry slept, resting soundlessly for almost an hour before he began to stir, coming around finally when his body had completely thawed, though he seemed totally mystified by their presence as he blinked himself awake. He pulled his head back sharply at finding Hermione so close to him, only to find Ron pressed against his back.
“Hey, mate,” Ron whispered, when Harry stared up at him. “You all right?” he asked, peering into emerald eyes which were blessedly clear, no longer blank and deadened as before.
Harry continued to stare up at him in confusion, and then he finally nodded.
“Wha’s happened?” he mumbled, staring around the room again before looking back at Hermione.
“That’s a question for you,” Ron responded, feeling relief spread through him at the sight of Harry conscious and communicating, even if he didn’t appear to have any idea what the fuck was going on.
Harry pulled a hand out from under the blankets, wiped the sleep out of his eyes and scratched the side of his jaw, seemingly disoriented, before he finally looked back to Ron.
“Why am I naked?” he asked then, utterly perplexed.
Ron smiled down at him.
“We found you in the shower, Harry,” Hermione told him in explanation. “Do you remember what happened? Did you have a vision or something?”
Harry turned to her, silent for a long time while whatever he’d been through this morning seemed to flood into his mind. He closed his eyes then and shook his head.
“No,” he finally answered quietly.
“Oh, Harry, what happened?” Hermione asked him in concern, but he just shook his head again, looking devastated.
His back pressed against Ron’s chest, Harry continued to lie between them with his eyes closed. He appeared unwilling or unable to elaborate on what event had sent him into a total mental collapse in the bathroom while Hermione carded her fingers soothingly through his hair, which stood up all over his head, having dried into tufts in his sleep.
“I don’t know what happened, Harry,” Ron began, “but you nearly gave me a heart attack. I swear you’re not going into that bathroom alone again. It’s like a fucking deathtrap for you. I think it must be cursed, or something. You scared the shit out of us again, and it’s really starting to piss me off.”
He spoke quietly to soften his words because he wasn’t really angry at Harry at all, more weary with relief than anything, he supposed.
Harry tilted his head back to look up at him, frowning.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I couldn’t help it.”
Ron nodded.
“I know,” he whispered, though, of course, he knew nothing at all.
“I couldn’t make it stop, Ron. I think I may be falling apart,” Harry confessed then, looking scared.
Ron closed his eyes, sighing at his words, his heart clenching for him. He opened them again once the stinging had subsided, once he’d gotten control of himself again and could speak.
“It’s okay, Harry,” he told him soothingly. “Hermione and I will help hold you together.”
As he stared down at Harry, who still looked devastated, ridiculous with his hair all wild, confused and vulnerable, Ron made a monumental decision. He’d waited forever for Hermione, almost too long, afraid to act on his feelings. He wasn’t making the same mistake again. He worried they hardly had any time left.
This was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Leaning down to Harry, Ron closed the distance between them. He heard Hermione give a little “Oh,” of surprise a moment before he pressed his lips to Harry’s.

~ . ~

ACK! Well, there it is finally.  And it only took me 24 chapters to get there...sort of. Let me know what you think.
Greycie
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What it comes down to

Chapter 24. Sleep Walking