Hermione thinks of how she had traced her fingers along his temple, gently pushing his hair back off his face, and he had twitched under her touch, mumbled something. How he had opened sleepy grey eyes and tipped that generous mouth at her and said very drowsily, "Go back to sleep, Hermione. Stop staring at me, it's strange." And then he had curled his maimed arm around her and pulled her in close to him, his chin resting on the top of her head and her breath puffing hot against his chest, and he had fallen back into the deep, slow breaths of sleep. And she had lain there and tried to sleep, her fingers splayed on the skin of his back, and all she had been able to think about was whether or not they would get their future.