So I got to thinking, in the 7th book the trio takes turns spying outside the Ministry of Magic. They're gone for several hours when it's their turn to spy/keep watch. That means when it's Harry's turn to be on duty Ron and Hermione are left alone for hours. Hours. Let your imaginations do the rest... 

She absolutely hated it. Every dusty corner, infested room, and dark window was utterly despicable. If Hermione had been here under different circumstances she would have left without a second thought. But at the moment, she didn't have much of a choice.

She was sitting on the dilapidated couch in the room where she, Harry, and Ron had spent their first night. It was now three weeks since their arrival at Grimmauld place after fleeing the wedding. They had taken up in separate bedrooms. The privacy was nice, but Hermione found herself wishing that they could all sleep together, just as they had done their first night there. There had been something comforting about it.

Sighing she opened the Tales of Beetle the Bard for the hundredth time and began to pour over the children's stories within, hoping for some clue or sign as to why Dumbledore had left the book to her. The more she looked through the book the more frustrated she felt. Her nerves were on edge most of the time, being cooped up in this nasty house, and they did not improve with her continued failure to find something important in the storybook.

There was a soft knock on the door and Ron poked his head in. "Harry's just left for watch duty. He'll be back in a few hours."

"Did he take his invisibility cloak? A-and Polyjuice potion just in case, oh and his wand—

"Hermione, Harry knows what he's doing. He'd be bloody stupid to not bring his wand." Ron came and sat on the couch next to her. Their shoulders brushed against each other.

"I know...I'm j-just being stupid." Hermione's voice quavered. "It's this stupid house and everything that's been happening..."

Ron put an arm around her shoulders. He had been doing that quite a lot lately Hermione reflected. Ever since Dumbledore's funeral, there had been a distinct change in Ron. He seemed suddenly more mature, this wasn't the case all the time obviously, but it was a more frequent occurrence. He seemed more apt to hug or compliment her then he had ever been in the past.

"Found anything in that book yet?"

"You ask me that every day. The answer is still no." Hermione swiped a hand over eyes, and there was a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Just thought I'd check." Ron withdrew his arm from around her shoulders and stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"I was looking through some rooms earlier. I found something kind of interesting. Hang on." Ron hurried out the room leaving a curious Hermione behind him. In a few moments, he returned.

"I think it's some sort of music player thing." Ron clunked it down on an oak side table. "Dad was experimenting on one once. I thought it'd be cool to try it out."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's a record player, Ron."

"It's a Muggle thing, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"Funny that it's in a house like this. You think it'd be destroyed." Ron looked quizzically at it, running his hand over its different pieces.

"Maybe it was Sirius's. He probably would have kept something like that just to annoy his parents." Hermione sounded agitated and focused back on her book.

There was a moment of silence as she turned the faded pages of the book.

"Well, don't you want to see if it works?" Ron asked.

"Ron, we have better things to do!" Hermione had been so tense and edgy the last few days that an outburst like this was normal.

"Yeah, like reading children's stories and babysitting Kreacher."

"Dumbledore gave me this book for a reason!" Hermione's eye's blazed.

"I know that. But I don't think he meant for you to spend every waking minute with your nose in it." Ron replied calmly. "Just take a break, Hermione. The book's not going anywhere."

At first, she looked as if she was going to yell a snappy retort back at him, but then, after hesitating a moment, she closed the book. Leaving the book on the deteriorating couch cushion, she strode over to Ron to examine the record player.

It was tinted orange in certain places from the rust and a thin film of dust rested over it's long neglected parts. The large bronze trumpet used to amplify the noise was dented in several places. A black disc lay motionless under it.

"Do you know how to work it?" Ron asked.

"My Grandfather used to own one. When I was younger we would visit him quite often and we'd dance around the garden while he played it." Hermione became a bit misty eyed at the memory. "That was a long time ago. He died and we never went back there."

Ron remained silent. He was praying that she didn't start crying. He couldn't stand it when she cried. It made him feel so terrible.

"I think I still remember how it works." Hermione placed the bronze needle over the grooves of the record and cranked the handle at its side a few times.

There was a crackling of static before the disc started to spin and an upbeat swing dance began to blare from the metal horn.

Hermione looked startled by the sudden burst of noise. She drew back her hands, "Well, I think it works."

"Brilliant." And without warning, Ron grabbed her hand and began to dance around the empty room with her.

"Ron!" Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

"Come on Hermione don't make me drag you. Move your feet." Ron smiled at her with his wonderful crooked grin.

She felt her heart melt.

Before long they were dancing ridiculously around the dusty, dark hole of a room. Ron would lift his arm for Hermione to spin, she would comply while laughing, causing Ron to grin even more broadly.

After he had spun her a few times, Hermione lifted her arm for Ron to spin. Ron ducked under her arm spinning ridiculously. She laughed, "You're too tall."

"No I'm not." Ron grinned and twirled in towards her. "You're just short."

They both continued laughing and dancing and spinning each other until they began to grow dizzy, which only made them laugh harder.

It was strange, Hermione would reflect weeks later, that they could do something like laughing or dancing when they were in such a dark place in their lives. However, it is the darkest of times when laughter seems the brightest.

Before long the music began to fade to static. Hermione felt disappointment welling inside her. Why did it have to end so soon? Couldn't it just go on forever?

As if in answer to her silent plea a soft stream of music began to issue from the player. Only this time it wasn't an energy filled swing, it was a soft song, reminiscent of a waltz. Sad streams of violin accompanied with a swaying piano melody filled the air.

She and Ron froze. Ever so slowly that it might have been a dream, Ron took a step closer to her. Without making eye contact, Ron hesitantly placed his hands around her waist. Hermione sucked in a breath as she felt the warmth and gentle pressure of his fingers through her light shirt. Just as she had done at Bill and Fleur's wedding she raised her hands and placed them on Ron's shoulders. She wished she could have intertwined her fingers behind his head but he was simply too tall.

Slowly, they began to dance. Sometimes taking small steps in no particular pattern, sometimes simply swaying on the spot.

Neither spoke a word. It was as if they were under some sort of spell and saying something aloud would break the enchantments. They had danced at the wedding, but not exactly like this. There they had been dressed elegantly with a golden dance floor and live music. That had been the fairy tale. A perfect dream. Now they were dancing on decaying flooring with a static-filled music recording. This was a feeble imitation of the dream. And yet, somehow it felt more real. Still a dream, yes, but a more believable one.

"Ron?"

"Hmm?" Ron's eyes were closed as if trying to savor and remember more than simply what his sense of sight allowed.

"I-is your family alright? Have you heard from them lately?" She didn't quite know what prompted this question.

Ron opened his eyes. "Hermione, if I had gotten any news from them I would have told you, you know that."

"Sorry" Hermione felt foolish, "I'm just worried about them."

"And you think I'm not?"

"No, of course you are." Hermione glanced up at Ron. "I'm worried for you too. Harry and I have both lost our parents in a way, but you haven't. I don't want you to."

Ron was silent and they swayed gently to the music. "It's so hard sometimes." His voice barely above a whisper.

"I know." Hermione felt tears prickling her eyes. Ron took notice.

"Don't cry." He wrapped his arms more firmly around her waist, drawing her closer.

For some reason this made Hermione want to cry even harder. She felt tears begin to squeeze themselves out of her eyes. They trickled down her cheeks like splattered rain on a window pane.

"Hermione..." He breathed her name. "Please don't..."

She hadn't cried since the night after the wedding. That was weeks ago. Now it all came pouring out like water breaking through a poorly constructed dam. She fell against Ron. She pressed herself against him as if this would somehow halt the pain. She felt his hands pressing against the small of her back and stroking her hair as he held her.

He had changed so much in the last few months. They all had.

He stood there holding her as she cried. She was a glass figurine and he was the only thing holding her together. Her parents were gone. The world was a mess. The only people she had right now were Harry and Ron. The thought of losing them was unbearable.

Ron kept murmuring softly under his breath. Hermione couldn't understand what he was saying but she didn't need to. Merely the sound of his voice was enough.

The strains of violin music faded away into a soft static. Hermione felt the tears drying up. As the static disappeared and the whirring of the record disc came to an end, the tears stopped.

Ron didn't let her go.

The silence was shattered. There was a loud banging noise from downstairs. Kreacher had knocked something over and the portrait of Mrs. Black began it's wailing.

Hermione pulled away from Ron. The dream had ended. It had been so beautiful. She wanted to keep living it so badly. But as is the case with wonderful dreams, once you awake there's no way to get them back.