i should have been sleeping, it being a monday night and all, but i instead stayed up until 1:21 in the morning to finish this off. it's slightly vague, especially a certain line of dialogue that i would be delighted if some of you understood, but i'm happy about it.
It was a cold Christmas.
Any other year it would have been called beautiful, what with the softly falling flakes and the clear, icy blue sky and the delicate and sharp icicles hanging from the trees and houses. Then again, any other year they would have seen this all through a window of a warm house haunted with the scent of cinnamon and chocolate.
Now it was simply cold, with a gnawing windchill, and Ron would have given just about everything to be back at the Burrow.
Just about.
The three had to travel by foot because amateur Apparation in jagged and glaciered mountains was more stupid than simply risky; it was a hard going, because periodically one of them would step into disguised holes, or trip over a blackened, bare, dry tree root hidden by the snow. There was little talking, except for periodic curses or necessary, three-word inquires.
Despite the various layers of thick clothing, Ron felt frozen down to the marrow of his bone; his gloved hands had very little feeling, his nose was tingling with the cold, and he felt the ice forming on his eyebrows and the chapness of his lips.
Looking at Harry and Hermione, he doubted that they felt much different; Harry's face was pale with red splotches, and condensation came like steam out of his mouth. She had blue lips and her excessive amounts of hair had caught likewise amounts of snow.
It was Christmas, though; Ron could see through the Muggle houses they had passed an hour earlier. It had surprised him. It didn't feel like Christmas at all; that particular twenty-fifth of December was otherwise indistinguishable, except for perhaps it was a bit chillier.
He watched Harry walk, with his eyes cast downward and mouth set in a grim line, so deep in thought that he did everything purely on reflex. He watched Hermione walk, her squinting eyes betraying her cold with her jaw shaking from the suppressed chattering of her teeth.
Ron cast his eyes forward again, to the bleak view of more snow and steeper slopes.
Hours passed with little talking, until by general and unspoken consensus they sat down and rested in a place with many fallen logs that they brushed the snow off of. Harry and Ron gathered wood for Hermione to cast her special blue fire on, and the trio sat as close to this source of warmth as possible without lighting on fire themselves.
Ron spoke first.
'Happy Christmas, everyone.'
Harry and Hermione turned their heads to look at him; Ron watched Harry as he didn't say anything for a while, just simply looked back at the fire then cast his gaze over his two friends again.
'I suppose so,' he replied, his voice lacking the hard edge it had had for the past few months. Ron smiled, and he thought he felt the ice cracking on his face.
His gaze turned to Hermione, who was silently contemplating the fire that made her face bluer than it was supposed to be; she turned her head to look at him, shadows thrown haphazardly onto the right side of her face. It was unusually pretty.
'Happy Christmas, Ron,' she finally said, smiling softly, trying to hide her exhaustion. Any other Christmas Ron would have blushed, but now he simply did not have the adequate blood circulation. 'I don't have a gift for you,' she told him.
'Me neither,' he replied, and his head was dropping slightly towards hers (but that could have been because his neck didn't feel like holding it up anymore).
However, no neck muscular condition could account for the sudden closeness, the sudden desire apparent on lips and eyes; he was able to feel her breath, shockingly warm, and he watched her eyes that neither of them closed.
The sudden sound of cracking wood jerked them both apart, and they snapped their heads toward the fire which had broken a log in half.
And Christmas was cold again.
'Catch you on the flipside?' Ron finally asked. He may have been imagining the redness of her face that came with sudden warmth deepening.
'Later,' Hermione replied; he smiled, leaned forward and kissed her near the hairline on her forehead then brushed some of the snow off her face, slowly, tiredly.
She gave her soft smile, the secret and pleased one that showed some of her teeth, and reached for Harry who appeared to be nodding off. They all jumped as Harry snapped awake and grabbed Hermione's wrist like she was trying to attack him.
No one said a thing as he released her, then rubbed his face as if hoping that would solve everything; Hermione held her wrist.
'Sorry,' he finally said.
''S'all right, mate,' Ron said quickly, after he had taken Hermione's hand and wrist into his own two. They were very small and felt too delicate for him to handle with large, cold, clumsy fingers. Harry gave Ron questioning gaze.
'We're waiting for the flipside,' he finally said, and he heard and felt Hermione's laughter as Harry chuckled a bit, his dull green eyes suddenly shining in amusement.
'Who knows when that'll come; but you two are good enough at waiting... so each to his own, I guess. Or her,' he said, looking at Hermione, who shrugged.
Time passed and they were silent; Harry nodded off onto Hermione, who likewise nodded off onto Ron, who stayed awake and welcomed the tingly spiking feeling of the numbness leaving his limbs as he warmed by the fire.
After all, it was a cold Christmas.