Author's Notes: Here's a little bit of Romione for ya. It's a little serious and a little fluffy and it was cute to write. I've tried very hard to keep them in character, so you'll have to let me know how that turned out! Read and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Just Conspirators
"What do you think's going to happen?" Ron asked quietly, laying flat on his back in the middle of his bed. The criss-crossed wooden beams were so homey and friendly to him it was almost enough to forget what the world was going through."Why on Earth do you think I know the answer to that?" Hermione answered back, leaning forward from the old wooden chair to get a closer look at him.
"Because you always have the answer." Ron shrugged his shoulders, than realized Hermione couldn't see the action. He turned and propped his head up with one arm, facing her.
"I don't always have the answers, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks were pink. These were the things Ron took note of, and remembered.
"Well, at least you find the answer," he amended, and was rewarded with even pinker cheeks. It was nice, for it to be just him and her like this, in the calm before the storm. Or, at least before Harry would be back.
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't have any answers for you." Hermione sat back in the chair and fiddled with a piece of her hair. It was still the same bushy brown hair Ron was used to, and suddenly he was very glad for that.
"No one has any answers," he said, and flopped onto his back again. He studied the ceiling as Hermione studied him, the way he lay perfectly still with his hands folded over his stomach. It was eerie, she realized now, because Ron was always moving, always doing something. Now, not even his eyes moved, only remained trained on their inspection of the ceiling.
"Well, it's a war, Ron, what do you expect?" Hermione asked just to fill the silence. He smiled a little then, and it sort of unnerved her. Leaning forward again, she stared at him, willed him to look at her.
"I guess I don't expect anything, just like always," was his dark answer, and he turned his head and stared back at her. It was just as unnerving as the smile from a moment before, but Hermione couldn't look away. His hair was twisted, flopped across his forehead, and she suddenly had the bizarre desire to smooth it away.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" she challenged as her hands twisted in her lap. Ron continued to look at her, wondering why she seemed so riled up. Couldn't be because she didn't have the answer; that always upset Hermione but it wasn't like it was a big deal. She was leaning forward, her hair spilling off her shoulders and obscuring her face, and he wanted to push it back just to see her eyes.
"It means," he said slowly, "that I'm second youngest and that I'm used to it." And he turned back to look at the ceiling. Hermione was completely baffled, which was something she did not like one bit. She stood up and walked over to the bed, her steps causing the floor to groan slightly. She stood over Ron, stared down at him and frowned.
"What has being second youngest got to do with anything?" He smiled at her then, remembering she was an only child and was used to getting most of what she expected, or having expectations put on her that were reasonable, or sane. For her part, Hermione was even more bewildered that Ron was smiling, right at her, which didn't make sense at all.
"It's got everything to do with everything," Ron said patiently, sitting up and patting the bed beside him. When she sat down it thrilled him, she was actually listening to him, actually letting him speak! There was something in her face, confusion, and he realized he was the cause of it, and he could fix it also. At last - something that he, and he alone, could fix!
"Well?" Hermione pressed. She was in dangerously close proximity to this boy she had known since she was eleven, and his gaze was very intense. Somewhere along the line he had started to grow up, and Hermione was wondering how she had missed it.
"When you're second youngest, with five older brothers, and one little sister, you learn very quickly that anything you think, or expect should happen for yourself, very often doesn't." His explanation wasn't exactly the best, but she sort of understood. He was very serious now, leaning forward, his forehead almost touching hers, but he was only focused on her face, her eyes. She was finding it difficult to focus.
"Have you given up expecting anything for yourself then?" she asked softly, trying to keep his gaze. Ron shrugged again, and suddenly became acutely aware of his closeness to Hermione. He pulled back a little, and was alarmed when she looked….was it surprise? He couldn't tell. He didn't know what to tell her either.
"I don't think anyone ever does," he answered, just as softly. Her lips pursed, just a little, into what he secretly called her thinking look. He could not believe he was having such a conversation with Hermione, the girl who knows it all, who was the most confounding creature in his life. He could not believe they were in his bedroom, alone and unsupervised, though various family members were in the house. Harry was probably due back any moment as well.
"What do you expect when this is all over?" she asked suddenly, breaking his train of thought as she gestured randomly. She had never been this uncomfortable before, not that she could remember. But here they were, in his room, on his bed, her and this most maddening boy, talking about expectations…and suddenly she just wondered. It was something she never dared to wonder, because she worked at protecting herself, but now there it was, out in the open.
"This as in, the war?" he questioned, wondering what she was getting at. Most of Hermione's questions had a point, a purpose, but he couldn't quite pick this one out. Not that he could half the time anyway, but he sensed there was something different about this question. She was expecting something from his answer, and judging by her exasperated expression, he hadn't answered it right.
"Of course after the war Ron, stay with me here!" she snapped, unaware of the possible interpretation to her impatient statement. Instead she just looked angry, before looking apologetic, and then angry again. Hermione didn't know what was with herself, why she was angry. What else did she expect from him, from Ron, really?
"It'll probably depend on how it all turns out," he said slowly, thinking carefully. He didn't want to make her madder, even though he wasn't entirely sure why she was in the first place. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and looked down, twisting her hands in her lap.
"It'll turn out the way it should, Harry'll win, like he should, and no one else will…die…" Her voice almost gave out on her, and Hermione, strong as she was, realized she was only human after all. She couldn't look at Ron but was startled when his hands reached over and held on to her own, preventing them from harming each other.
"You're smarter than that Hermione; after all, it is a war." His words were not comforting, but they seemed like they were. Though it may have been his hands over hers, a gentle warmth. She turned her hands over so her palms touched his, and she looked up at him. She wasn't crying, like he thought she was, and she seemed back to her normal self, oozing confidence.
"So what do you expect?" she pressed, and he wrapped his hands around hers, as if that was answer enough. She waited, holding her breath as he began to speak.
"I really don't know, but I hope that we're all still alive and that we'll be able to help each other rebuild lives." She held his hands tighter, wishing she knew what words she needed to say. He was merely sitting there, waiting for her response, waiting for her reaction. He was being so unlike what she had grown to expect that she didn't know what to expect anymore.
"Me too," she whispered, and leaned forward, let go of his hands and hugged him. It was fully unexpected, and Ron took a second or two to wrap his brain around the idea that Hermione was hugging him, in his bedroom, on his bed, before instinct kicked in and he hugged her back. Something was changing, something was shifting, and though the world was more dangerous than it had ever been, Ron was the most content he'd ever been.
"Hey, we should-" but before he could finish, footsteps sounded up the stairs, and the pair leapt apart, wide-eyed. Ron pushed Hermione off the bed and she scrambled for the chair as he flopped back onto his back. When Harry entered the room, he found Hermione lecturing Ron on how to deal with certain hexes.
"Hey Harry!" Hermione said cheerfully.
"Thank goodness you're here, mate!" Ron said gratefully. "She's about talked my ears off! What'd you find out?" And Harry immediately launched into his plans for the Horcruxes, because he'd looked like he was about to burst with the ideas anyway. He was only glad that his friends never changed.
He didn't catch the conspiratory wink Ron sent Hermione, or the blush that rose in her cheeks because of it.