A/N: This story was originally posted on Tumblr for the amazing ronaldswheezy as her Christmas present. Hope you like it! Wish you all a Very Happy New Year!
Credits to CallieSkye for being a fantastic beta and checking this for me.
Premise: This missing moment is set in Deathly Hallows the day after Ron's return. Remember how it was bone-chilling cold, and how Harry and Hermione had to wear all the sweaters they had but were still freezing? And while rescuing Harry, Ron jumped into the frozen water with all his clothes on? I have always wondered why he didn't catch a cold when he remained in those soaking clothes till they went back and explained everything to Hermione.
In this story, however, he does fall sick. Well, just a little.
Ron sniffed once more and rubbed his itchy nose on his sleeve. His throat was burning and raw. He cleared his throat softly, glancing quickly towards Hermione who was sitting with a book on her lap, facing resolutely away from him.
"Here, mate," grinned Harry, and handed him a steaming mug of tea. Ron took it gladly; sipping it far too quickly and causing his lips to burn. But neither the cold nor the annoying burn in his mouth could abate his spirits. He had found them. He took in Harry and turned to check on Hermione's slouched form again, soaking in the warmth of being back with his friends.
Harry handed a cup to Hermione before he returned and took his place next to Ron; they sipped in silence for a while.
"Don't expect her to thaw so soon," muttered the bespectacled boy in an undertone but grinned at the same time.
"I'm not expecting her to," he replied solemnly. To be quite honest, Ron was having a hard time holding back his cheerfulness. It had been months since he'd felt so optimistic. He had found his friends, one Horcrux was finished (that blasted Locket, nonetheless), they had found Gryffindor's sword, and last but not the least, someone had come to their help. There were plenty of reasons be happy, but he kept his demure sombre as a mark of his remorse, especially in front of Hermione.
"Someone needs to find us some food," she declared all of a sudden, her voice still icy, and shut her book with a snap before leaving the chair she had been curled in.
"Err… I'll do it," he volunteered promptly and cleared his still itchy throat as quietly as he possibly could. He left the now empty mug on the table and pushed the bench away to stand. She did not respond but walked away briskly towards their tiny kitchen. Ron turned towards Harry who sipped on his cup almost leisurely before putting it down. But the smirk that marked Harry's face was a clear indication that the git was enjoying this.
"If someone really wants to help, they might as well do so now!" she yelled from the kitchen, and Ron tugged on his best mate's elbow to pick him up. Rubbing his cold nose with his warm hands, he almost pushed the annoyingly cheery brat out of the tent flap before remembering something. Leaving Harry to stand, and first watch curiously and then snicker again, Ron picked up their empty mugs and took them to the sink.
He washed and dried them the muggle way(taking his own sweet time), watching Hermione from the corner of his eyes. He was sure she felt his gaze because she huffed and turned away, cutting off his view of her face.
"We'll be back in a bit," he told her while placing the dry mugs on the rack. Once again, Hermione didn't bother to reply.
….
By the time it was late evening and Harry took the watch, Ron's throat had gone from bad to worse. The icy cold water that had soaked his clothes the night before had transferred its chill to his bones. He dug out another old jumper and pulled it on. With his teeth still chattering, he rubbed his arms to generate some warmth. Finally, he sat on his bed, folded his legs underneath him and wrapped the blanket around himself. This was better and he finally turned his attention to the only other occupant in the tent. Hermione was at her bunk, still reading.
Ron coughed a little and she looked up; a foot away from him, though, and scrunched her brows in annoyance before going back to her book. Hoping that she would not yell at him (as she was still not talking to him, after all) he continued to watch her. Her hair was tied in a messy bun and that scowl seemed permanent on her features since the previous night. But to him, she still looked pretty and familiar in a way that made his heart yearn for her all the more. It was such a relief that he had managed to come back to her after all. He smiled and as the itch in his throat intensified, coughed again. Her eyes snapped up at him this time and he met her gaze sheepishly.
"Sorry." he managed in a scratchy voice. The dirty look she had been giving him softened ever so slightly, first into calculated confusion and then into something else. Worry perhaps? But before Ron could be sure (and grin madly to himself), she looked away. He turned away dejectedly to look at the jar of flames instead. Well, it was moronic to assume she would soften so quickly. If he knew her well enough, she was sure to shut him out for weeks. And he deserved it too.
A shadow appeared next to him and he looked up in surprise.
"Pepper Up potion. Drink it," she ordered in her bossy tone while handing him a cup. He was so utterly surprised that his brain forgot how to act, so he watched her with his mouth agape. She made a small sound of impatience and he shut his mouth quickly.
He took the offered cup, still quite unable to believe that she was finally talking to him and brushed her warm fingers with his cold ones; she stiffened for just a second before looking away. He seized the opportunity without thinking (and was immensely proud of himself later). With his free hand, he quickly caught her wrist, hoping with all his might that she wouldn't pull her wand on him (or start hitting him for that matter). Surprisingly, Hermione did neither; she didn't look at him though either: she simply stood next to his bed looking the other way.
"Hermione," he called as softly as his tender voice box allowed, and wondered if she actually stiffened on hearing her name from him or if that was a figment of his imagination. "I am really very sorry…"
"You should be. You left Harry when you promised to stay with him through everything," she retorted snappishly, still with her back to him, wrist in his hold.
"What can I say? I am a fucked up arse, a dickhead moron. You know how big a jerk I can be at times, Hermione," he pleaded sincerely.
"Congratulations, Ronald, you broke your own record this time," she retorted instantly. Ron was quite possibly being way too hopeful here, but hadn't her voice lost a tiny bit of that harshness?
"You are right, you always are," he replied sombrely. "You were right, Hermione, I should have taken that blasted Locket off. You are right again now. I fucked up big time on this, didn't I?" He let out a dry chuckle.
She didn't reply so he continued.
"I truly wanted to come back as soon as I left. Believe me, I desperately wanted to come back to you guys… to you." He added the last words in a whisper, hoping she had not heard but wishing her to know all the same. She pulled her arm away and he let her go, not ready to push his luck further. Letting out a sigh, he stared at the dark liquid swirling in the cup instead.
"Have it," she responded and he looked up, momentarily surprised that her voice sounded so close and almost sans the resentment. Hermione indeed was standing next to his bed. She still looked away, choosing to stare at his wrinkled bed sheets instead of him, but her features were softer. She appeared immensely sad and conflicted, and the sight only added to his guilt. She stood there just a moment longer before turning and walking away.
"This doesn't solve everything, Ron," she spoke after a while, and he assumed she meant that she was still angry with him. He couldn't complain; he wasn't expecting to be forgiven so soon.
She dimmed the light and pulled the blanket over herself while he let out a muffled cough again.
"Drink it, Ron!" she called a little annoyed.
Ron looked once more at the contents in the cup and couldn't help but smile to himself. Glancing up to ensure Hermione was still turned the other way, he pulled out his wand and silently muttered a spell to vanish the contents. It was a sneaky move, he knew it, but he really needed the infection to persist a little longer.
After all, everything's fair in love and war, isn't it?