Disclaimer: I don't own the HP universe. But if I did, I'd be nicer to Ron than JKR is.
Muttering unhappily under his breath, Ron poked at the fire one last time. The red glow brightened a little and climbed up the new wood a little more eagerly. He rocked back on his heels from his position in front of the fireplace and the light fell further into the room. He stood up slowly, stretching as he went, and glanced behind him to where Harry and Hermione were curled up on the mattress. Both were still asleep, and not a single nightmare yet- a rare occurrence lately. Yawning briefly, he returned to the textbook on his chair. If anyone had ever told him that he'd be reading because he wanted to learn, he'd have laughed until he wet himself and yet, here he was, reading the only book Hermione had managed to locate that had anything to do with Occlumency and still remained readable. Of course, he was reading it for the fourth time and still wasn't any closer to being understanding it but there you go. Ironic, in a way, that the only time he applied himself to something he got absolutely no where. Irrationally, he wondered if the book knew that he'd spent a large portion of his life saying that books were worthless and it was punishing him for it. Stupid book. Frustrated now, he threw himself into the chair and sat back, book in hand, to watch his friends sleep. They were lying no more than six feet away from him, Harry on the outside of the mattress and Hermione up against the wall. She had protested, loudly, when the boys had told her of the sleeping arrangements, refusing to accept that it made more sense for Harry (or Ron) to sleep on the outside of the mattress just in case there was an attack. She had argued that she was just as capable as they were in a fight and knew more spells. But she still slept on the inside, every night, except when it was her turn to keep watch. That one, she had refused to back down on. So the trio slept in shifts, someone always awake enough to sound an alert or accept an owl or even just make breakfast in the morning.
As they slept on Harry began to gravitate toward the edge of the mattress and Ron grinned a little, watching as his friend made his gradual descent onto the floor. They'd tried, for a while, to share one blanket on the mattress, but Harry's continual rolling off the bloody thing meant that someone invariably ended up cold. So Harry had his very own blanket- something he was both grateful for and embarrassed by, especially when Hermione had presented it to him with his initials embossed in the corner. Ron had pretended to not notice the tears in his friends' eyes at that, and Hermione had simply hugged him for a while. The redhead couldn't imagine ever getting teary about a blanket, but he supposed that was because his mum had given him his very own before he was old enough to remember. He still had it, too, somewhere- a small orange thing that had seen too many days and too many floors, but that he was supposed to hand on to one of his own children some day.
He flushed red when the thought of having his own children brought his eyes to Hermione's tiny figure, and he was infinitely grateful that there was no-one there to see his reaction. He sat up, throwing another log onto the fire and grumbled to himself again, only wincing slightly when his bruised ribs ached in protest. The house was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the heavy breathing of the two in the corner. Of course, it was easy for a house to be quiet when it was only three rooms big to begin with- no empty space to make noise with, he supposed. It had taken some getting used to for them all, being confined in such a small space on their own. Some days, he wanted nothing more than to silence both of his friends permanently, or to run away and pretend that he had never heard of the word Horcrux. Stupid Voldemort. Yawning, Ron checked his watch. Twenty past two. Another ten minutes and it would be Hermione's turn. He yawned again, wondering how dishonest it would be to wake her up ten minutes early so he could go to sleep now. Not that he particularly relished the idea of sharing a bed with Harry for the next few hours, but he wasn't too disappointed at the idea of waking up with Hermione. One of the small perks of their bloody quest was seeing her face first thing in the morning. He couldn't help but smile at that, the grin lighting up his face in a way the fire couldn't. He tossed the book aside and quietly moved across the hall and into the next room to boil the kettle- Hermione liked a cup of coffee at the start of her watch, and maybe he could stay up long enough to share that with her tonight.
The kitchen was, if possible, smaller and damper than the other room. He squeezed past the table and chairs, wincing as his bare feet made contact with the cold tiles. The room was in darkness, blinds pulled against any passing Muggles that may prove too curious for their own good. The house was tiny, squashed in between two others in a long terrace of neglected homes, with the front door opening into a dilapidated corridor with the kitchen to the left and the other room (bedroom, study and living room) to the left. Further down the hall were the bathroom and the storage cupboard. It had originally been a bedroom, according to Hermione, but it wasn't in any fit state to house people now- the floor was rotten and the ceiling was falling down. Ron filled the kettle and plonked it down on its stand, delighting at the little green light that lit up as he flicked the switch. It never ceased to amaze him, Muggle ingenuity.
The kettle began to whistle as he moved around the tiny kitchen, making up Hermione's coffee and a cup of tea for himself- weaker than he'd normally drink it, because he wanted to get at least some sleep that night. The lady herself stumbled into the kitchen just as he was stirring in the milk, eyes lighting up as she caught sight of the mug he was holding out to her.
"Thank you Ron." She whispered, taking the mug and inhaling the scent before taking a sip. "Anything to report?" She asked the same question every night.
"Not unless you count unrelenting boredom as something to report." She grinned up at him, wrapping her free arm around her middle.
"Not really, no. Have we got any biscuits?" She sat down heavily in the nearest chair and watched as Ron plodded around the kitchen to fulfil her request. He dropped into the seat across from her, plonking a packet of rich tea in front of her and yawning.
"Just these ones left- all they're good for is dunking anyway." She grinned at him and opened the packet eagerly.
"That's the best part about it all, Ron, the dunking. I remember when I was really little my mum wouldn't let me have anything sweet- bad for my teeth, you know?- and I'd shout and scream until she got so fed up she'd send me to my room." She paused to lift a dangerously soaked Rich Tea to her mouth and let the soggy thing drop onto her tongue. "Sometimes, if I was really, really upset, I'd get to my room and find a packet of sweets or something on my bed. I used to think that there was someone leaving them there for me- Daddy or someone." She grinned again and pushed the rest of the biscuit into her mouth. "Of course, hindsight tells me that it was magic but for years I thought it was my Dad." Her grin faded and she dunked again, falling into a comfortable and familiar silence. Ron finished his tea slowly, giving her the chance to wake up completely before he settled down for the night. When he was finished, he washed the cup without her having to prompt him, and set the kettle on to boil again, just in case.
"I should get some sleep I suppose. I spent hours reading that bloody book again, and I'm still no closer to figuring it out." He snorted his disgust and left the cup on the draining board to dry before turning to face his friend.
"You'll figure it out Ron. I know you will." She sounded confident, he noted, completely and totally confident and he could feel the swell of pride in his chest at her words.
"Yeah, but not tonight I don't reckon." She grinned at him then, moving from her chair to let him pass by- there wasn't space in the kitchen for him to get by her where she was sitting. He smiled nervously as he brushed past her, his body pressing against hers briefly as she stood by the table. He flushed a little too, embarrassed to be touching her at all despite having shared a bed with her every night for months. He was already past her when he felt her hand on his arm, pulling him back to her with a surprisingly strong grip, and reaching her other hand up to his face to brush his hair from his eyes.
"Sometimes, I wish I could be that little girl again- not knowing anything about magic, or the Wizarding world, only worrying about where my biscuits were coming from." Her voice was hushed, quieter than her normal whisper. His hands moved of their own accord, one coming to rest on her waist and the other brushing off her upper arm to rest on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles on the bare skin there. "It's too late for that, though, isn't it? This is my world now, and I know where they come from, the biscuits." He blinked several times, clearing his gaze.
"Yeah, love, you know where they come from. You're a bloody wonderful witch."
And then she kissed him, pushing her lips against his and wrapping her arms around his neck. It wasn't graceful and it wasn't perfect and had there been anyone watching they wouldn't have said it was pretty, but there were a thousand unspoken feelings and thoughts in that one kiss, and it was exactly what they needed. Eventually however, the need for air won out over the need to be closer; to touch and feel more, and Ron pulled away from her, resting his forehead against hers. Somehow, she'd ended up sitting on the table, and he was acutely aware of her legs around his waist and his hands up the back of her shirt. She was panting as heavily as he was, eyes closed and lips swollen.
"I'm sorry Ron, I shouldn't have done that." She pulled her hands back to her, crossing her arms across her chest. He took a sharp breath, stepping back instinctively.
"What?" Well, he never was too articulate. She glanced up at him, an unreadable emotion glittering in her eyes.
"It's not fair to you Ronald, to expect you to… to feel things that you don't feel, and I'm sorry for that because I should never have done that. You're my best friend Ron and I can't-" Whatever she couldn't do was forgotten as Ron reached out and took her face in his hands.
"Don't you dare back out on me now Hermione Granger- you were right. It is too late to go back now." She looked briefly startled, but only briefly, as he kissed her again, years of pent up something expressed in one gesture. He pulled away again, looking down into her eyes.
"I'm going to go to sleep now. I'll talk to you in the morning." And he walked away-a little stiffly, she noticed smugly- leaving her to her confusion, and her watch, in the kitchen with only a congealing rich tea for company. Touching one hand to her lips, Hermione Granger allowed herself her first real smile in weeks. Maybe she should send Lavender a fruit-basket. Or a packet or Rich Tea, maybe.
A/N: This was weird and ended differently to how I thought it would. Somehow, it took a twist I wasn't intending halfway through- let me know what you think if you have any suggestions.