She usually scrambles up bleary-eyed and kneels beside him in the dim light of a lumos, speaking to him in comforting, low whispers as she touches him gently. Warm caresses to his bare chest and arms and stubble-roughened cheeks, as she tells him that it's all right, that he needs to wake up, that he's safe, that it's not real. And inevitably he does settle, and wake – blinking wet grey eyes up at her, nightmare-confusion fading, replaced by something else entirely as he stares up at her, and says her first name soft and rough at once. The sound of Hermione all needy and shocked on his lips is unimaginably alien but delicious, and makes her stomach flip and her skin go hot.