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Hermione is in the library when the clock chimes 11 o'clock. She looks up, startled to see that it has grown so late. She could swear that the clocks had only just struck 9. Ah, well. She'd managed to finish the majority of her research on pureblood wizarding families. She checks her notes to be sure that the ink has dried before shuffling them into her book before gathering the rest of her things and casting a weight reduction charm on her bag. Madame Pince nods “good night,” she exits the library.
The Fat Lady swings aside obligingly when Hermione whispers, "fudge flies," and Hermione climbs up and in to the portrait hole with her bag clutched awkwardly beneath her arm. The common room is empty on first glance, but the barest flash of movement from the squashy sofa nearest the fire catches her eye just before she hears the soft rumble of a boy's snore. She lets her overstuffed bag slide gently to the floor at the base of the girls' staircase before making her way over to the sofa.
In the dim, flickering glow of the fireplace, there first appears to be one rather large and oddly-lumpy boy curled up, asleep on the sofa. But her eyes adjust and she can very easily make out the two familiar heads, one ginger, one ebony, and the two sets of gangly limbs, tangled together though they are, all rumpled shirt sleeves and gray trousers.
Ron and Harry.
Ron exhales another soft, snuffly snore, and Hermione steps closer to the sofa. They are laying face to face, Harry's slighter body pressed into the back of the cushions, and Ron's longer limbs curved rather awkwardly around Harry, his back balanced almost at the very edge of the cushions. Ron's nose is buried in Harry's hair. It doesn't look as though two people could sleep comfortably there, and yet, they are both soundly asleep.
Even from where she stands, Hermione can see the dark shadows that blemish the puffed skin under Harry's closed eyes. Harry has been suffering from horrid nightmares ever since returning to Hogwarts, and their NEWT-level classes coupled with Harry's extra lessons with Professor Snape have begun to wear heavily on Harry's body; during the day, he wears his exhaustion openly- in the strained and weary tension in his slender shoulders and the dark determination writ clearly in his eyes. For Ron's part, Hermione knows that he is the first - and sometimes only- one to hear about Harry's nightmares, and to sit up with him into all hours of the morning, determined to keep Harry from suffering alone. Oddly enough, Ron seems to have taken on the task of insuring that Harry doesn't become overwhelmed with his studies. Even now, their Transfiguration homework lays scattered on the coffee table, quills and extra parchment lay neglected on the rug.
Waking them is completely out of the question.
The sudden growl of distant thunder manages to jar her out of thoughts and into action. With her own mental and bodily fatigue tugging at her, she removes her wristwatch, transfigures it into an alarm clock and sets the alarm for 7 a.m., before setting the clock on the table. That ought to give them enough time to wake up and return to their own room before a stream of Gryffindors begins trooping through the common room, headed for breakfast.
Sparing them one last parting glance and a sad smile, she retrieves her bag, and climbs the stairs to the girls' dorm.