He shifted, raising the arm not pinned down to brush her hair out of his face, smoothing it down over the long length of it until he reached the warm skin of her waist. Lifting his head as far as he could, he took stock of their positions. Though he'd fallen asleep wrapped around her, they'd shifted through the night (and, by the looks of it, most of the morning) until he was flat on his back, left arm around a sleeping Hermione. She was facing him, front pressed against his side, with a leg throw across his hips, arm wrapped firmly across his chest and her head nestled against his shoulder. The hair that had been attempting to work its way down his throat was strewn haphazardly around them, a dark cloud against the bright white sheets.