Seeing the worried look on his face, Hermione shuffled across the mattress, propping herself up on both knees until she could reach for his hands, gently lacing their fingers, almost imploringly. Over the years, the two of them had never been quite as tactile as Hermione ever was with Harry. The latter was always a constant to Hermione, a brother who enveloped her in comfort and who she knew would never stray, never pick up a whim that drove the two of them apart. With Ron, it'd always been different. In certain moments, she'd grab for his hand, but even the very brush of skin against skin left her feeling shocked. Like lightning had just struck, leaving her unable to think, sometimes incapable of breathing. That reaction had relaxed, for the most part, since the two of them started acknowledging feelings for one another. Of course, it'd taken Ron months to admit to it, months during which she was sure he was filled with doubts, but there was a point.

A point which, once passed, had the both of them knowing that they'd spend their lives together, one way or another.

Since then, his hands had only ever been a comfort.

"I know," she sighed. "I know, it's mad, that we're on an island that's so... peaceful, yet at the very first hint of danger, I can't help but look into it. Sometimes I don't feel right, being here. As though I'm afraid that if I relax too much, maybe somehow I'll suddenly wake up and find that time's passed without me. That I'll get drawn in by..." She bit her lower lip, her thumb tracing along the contour of his hand.

"By everything being almost too good to be true. Harry's safe here, he can lead a normal life. And the two of us, I don't want anything to happen to this, either."