This is a one shot written for herostairss for the Romione Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr and nicely beta'ed by my good friend LastBornSlytherin. Hope you enjoy it :)

It was happening again.

This time, in the shower.

Hermione had gone from having a delightful shower in her nice and comfortable Head Girl dorm's bathroom to reliving one of the worst moments of her life.

It was Christmas Eve, and all was supposed to be well.

Especially since the ministry had finally located her parents, set their memories right. So right, in fact, that they had even picked up immediately where they left off, heading out on the vacation they had already planned over a year prior, sans their daughter But most importantly, Ron had came to visit for the holidays.

However, despite all of the wonderful things that took place after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione couldn't seem to stop the frequent nightmares and flashbacks from happening. Even in death, Bellatrix Lestrange still plagued her life.

It had been her shampoo bottle slipping from her hand, smacking hard against the stone bottom, that had triggered it. The harsh snap of the thick plastic ricocheted from wall to wall, sounding eerily like the hard heel of Bellatrix's shoes that she had worn that day in Malfoy Manor.

The warmth of the water disappeared, and in its place was the dreadfully chill memory of the unforgiving marble floor of the drawing room. Before she knew it, Hermione had been thrusted back, as if she had never left. Once again, she could hear Greyback's menacing and lust-filled growl, and feel the heated eyes of the Death Eaters staring at her, wicked sneers and malicious scowls etched into their faces.

And then,her voice. Icy and maniacal, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Now my Mudblood dear, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Tell me, where did you get that sword?"

Hermione started panting. She looked around quickly, trying to take in the fact that she was not in the manor. She was not in any danger.

Her voice croaked out, pleasing, as if she was back in front of Bellatrix. "I...I don't know, I swear!" she sobbed.

She closed her eyes. Big mistake.

Bellatrix stood over her, the insane witch aiming her wand down at her, screaming the spell that caused her the worst pain she had ever felt in her entire life. Her skin had felt as if it had burst into flames as her blood boiled, her nerves screaming in agony.

No, wait— it was her.

She was screaming and she couldn't stop. She was begging Bellatrix to stop.

She lied.

She had said it was just a copy.

That it was merely a fake.

But Bellatrix hadn't believed her.

Tears were streaming down her face, mixing with the shower that was indeed starting to run cold. She felt as if the shower walls were closing in on her, and her breathing became more panicked by the second. Bellatrix was closing in on her. Greyback was closing in on her. They were getting closer and closer and—

"Hermione!"

It was as if an angel had called out her name. It sounded faint, like the tinkling of a bell, then, as she heard her name being called again, it sounded a bit closer.

Then she felt warmth. Unbelievable warmth as arms surrounded her and a large hand slipped over her small one, squeezing it tight.

"Hermione," whispered the voice of her savior. "You're not there anymore. It's okay. You're at school. You're in your room. You're with me."

Hermione looked up and into the sapphire eyes of her comfort zone. Ron looked down at her, worry etched all over his face. This wasn't the first time he had found her like this. Lying on the floor, in the fetal position, crying out like she was trapped inside of her nightmares. And he knew it certainly wouldn't be the last.

But to happen to her at a time where she should feel nothing but happiness? It only proved that evil never slept and never left good people alone.

Hermione latched onto Ron, soaking the front of his jumper. Suddenly, the images were gone. The cold that she had felt was replaced by Ron's body heat. She realized that she wasn't in the manor anymore.

She was home.

Ron snatched the towel hanging on a nearby rod and held it up for Hermione to wrap around herself. A crooked smile tugged at the sides of his lips as the blood rushed to her cheeks, turning them a twinge of pink.

"A fine time to be bashful, don't you think?" he joked lovingly.

Hermione smirked as she stood up, wrapping the towel tightly around her, "I hadn't envisioned your first time seeing me in the nude would be while I'm making a fool of myself in the shower," she whispered as a feeling of vulnerability washed over her. She hated feeling that way, especially in front of him.

Ron gently rubbed her cheek, "You weren't making a fool of yourself, don't say things like that."

"Then why do I feel so foolish?" asked Hermione, as they made their way back to her room. "You found me cowering in the floor, as if I were a child."

"You have every right to do that," said Ron. "All the shit you went through? You were hit by the bloody cruciatus curse for crying out loud."

Hermione blushed. When Ron would speak on the fact that she had endured and gotten through her torture, it always made her feel like she was giving her more credit than she deserved. She had yet to tell him that the only reason she had survived the ordeal was because she heard him call out her name over and over, and that the sound of his voice kept her from slipping out of reality.

"Why didn't you stay at the Burrow for the holidays?" asked Hermione, changing the subject as she pulled out her pajamas to sleep in. "I'm sure Mrs. Weasley would have wanted you all home for Christmas."

"Mum understands that I want to be here," blushed Ron as Hermione stepped behind her partition to get dressed. "I could say the same about your folks as well actually."

"I couldn't very well leave the students unattended during the holidays, could I?" said Hermione in her matter-of-fact voice. "What kind of Head Girl would I be if I had left?"

"The kind of Head Girl that didn't want to be stuck in school babysitting ickle firsties when she could be having fun elsewhere," said Ron. "Although, I need to remind myself who I'm talking to."

Hermione threw her damp towel at Ron's face as she stepped out from behind her partition. Ron swiftly caught it in his hand with a satisfied smirk etched onto his face.

"I see your keeper skills haven't faltered," said Hermione.

"I see you throwing things at me for the rest of my life," laughed Ron. "I'll need to keep these arms limber."

Hermione smiled as she sat down in front of her vanity. She looked at the magnitude of hair that covered her head. The life that had been almost drained out of it during the hunt had been revitalized, finally, and it was now back into the mass of curls that Hermione had at last grown to appreciate.

"Let me," he said as he walked up behind her, picking up a brush and a hair tie off her vanity and began to tenderly brush her hair. He smiled as he took in the scent of Hermione's shampoo, reminding him of the honeysuckle bushes that grew in the spring in his mother's garden.

"Thank you," said Hermione as she closed her eyes. She loved it when Ron would brush and play with her hair. He was the only one (besides her own mother) that she allowed to let touch it. She loved the feeling of Ron's fingers making their way through her ringlets. She was fascinated by the fact that it seemed his fingers would never end up trapped, unlike her own. Perhaps her hair liked to be tamed by him, as if it had a mind of it's own.

Or perhaps her hair knew that his hands were safe. That his hands provided comfort that only Ron could give her. This was not the first time that a simple touch from Ron had made her feel as if she had nothing to fear. If she had to be honest with herself, any moment where Ron had his hands on her made her feel like she was protected.

"I'm glad you're here Ron," said Hermione as she watched Ron brush her hair into a surprisingly neat ponytail. "I really don't know what I would have done if you hadn't came and gotten me off the floor."

"You doubt yourself too much, Mione." frowned Ron. He hated when she talked like that.

"I'm not trying to doubt myself!" huffed Hermione, starting to get annoyed. "I'm simply trying to pay you a compliment."

"Yeah, by making yourself sound like some weak little girl that needs me to come to her rescue. That's not you."

"I'm not trying to say that, Ronald."

"Well then what are you trying to say?"

"Nothing, you git. I'm just trying to thank you!"

"Well don't! I don't need it, especially when it comes at the expense of you looking venerable."

"Well maybe I am venerable Ron, have you ever thought of that?!" snapped Hermione. She jumped out of her seat, turning to Ron, her brown eyes blazing with anger.

"Maybe I do feel weak, okay? Maybe I do feel like I could lose it at any given moment. I'm not always as strong as you have made yourself believe, Ron."

"And neither am I," said Ron in a low voice. "You make it seem like I have it all together and that I'm like your knight in shining armor, not afraid of anything. I'm still scared, Hermione. I still get anxious when you and Harry aren't around. I still feel helpless like I did when you were being tortured and all I did was scream your name like a bloody idiot."

Hermione and Ron gazed at each other, each one trying to catch their breath from their outbursts. Then, they laughed.

"Of course we would argue over the two of us trying to be considerate to one another," said Hermione as she smiled up at Ron, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"We wouldn't be us if we didn't have a row over something, yeah?"chuckled Ron as he reached his hand out for Hermione to take.

He pulled her into his warm embrace, her half done ponytail tickling his neck. Hermione buried her face into Ron's jumper, taking in the scents of fresh linen and apple pie, as Mrs. Weasley had packed small pastries along with the jumper, instructing that they should be eaten immediately.

"I guess we're both a couple of messed up sods, aren't we?" murmured Ron into Hermione's thick mane.

"Language, Ronald," said Hermione. "But yes, I guess neither one has it as together as we seem to. And you know what? I rather like that we both feel the same way."

"I like that too."

The tiny owl in Hermione's cookoo clock that Hagrid had made her popped out and started to hoot softly, indicating midnight. Hermione smiled as she looked up at Ron's face, his callused yet surprisingly soft hands cupping her cheeks. He moved his head down to hers, and their lips met with a tender kiss.

They both sighed against each other's lips. To them, each kiss felt just as special as the first timid one that they had shared with each other back in the end of sixth year, when they didn't exactly known what they were.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"Happy Christmas, Ron."