A/N: Short one shot here. I know there have been hundreds of stories about the famous possible hand holding scene on the first night of the Horcrux search, but I wanted to play it out myself.
Inspired from Deathly Hallows, chapter 10, page 176 (US):
"Harry glanced over at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside him. Ron had a fit of gallantry and insisted that Hermione sleep on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Ron's. Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands."
"Oh, for heaven's sake! Fine!" she snapped, tossing her sleeping bag on the ground. Instantly the witch was filled with guilt, regretting the harsh response that really should have been a bit more gracious.
The two wizards looked at her, pausing their efforts to clear the heavily aged, ornate furniture. Both boys looked positively knackered. Harry's fringe was worse than ever, contrasting with his pallid skin. Ron carried exhaustion in his eyes, which had darkened considerably under drooping eyelids. But there was a steely conviction that shone through, undeniably – they were all still on high alert.
Since arriving, Hermione had felt the tickle of unease as the walked cautiously behind both boys. Though it was subtle, so slight that she wanted to kick herself for reading into it, she had noticed Ron angle his body in front of her at every turn. His arm extended back when the screaming of Walburga Black began, muttering curses under his breath that certainly were not magical. He had clutched her wrist, his fingers gentle but firm, and shielded her from the shouts of "Mudblood filth!". He hadn't let go until they passed by, Harry trying in vain to close the moth-eaten velvet drapery.
And then, of course, there were the damn cushions.
"This place was creepy even when it was filled with The Order," Ron had quipped as they ascended the stairs. Harry was quiet. Hermione assumed he was thinking about Sirius, which was hard not to. This place had held him captive, not just in childhood but also in his final days. The emblems, the portraits – all of it must have haunted him. They could still hear Mrs. Black wailing as though she was being attacked.
Wordlessly, the three had agreed to stick together. Hermione supposed she made the first move, walking right past the room she had shared with Ginny last time they had stayed there. Harry paused by the large parlor with the massive fireplace, raising his eyebrows at the other two.
"Good as it's gonna get, I reckon," Ron said, walking in front of Harry to survey the room. Hermione exhaled slowly, willing herself to relax. They were all right. They'd made it out.
She allowed her eyes to wander over the red-headed wizard, admiring him furtively. He radiated a sort of nervous energy, checking around the dusty room. It was then that Arthur's patronus had materialized, echoing those wondrous words: family safe.
The noise Ron emitted upon hearing the news made her want to envelope him in a fierce hug. Instead, she dropped to the sofa next to him, holding tightly to his arm. She didn't even remember what she said in response, but he laughed and squeezed her to his side. He was deliciously warm, shaking with relief. Harry exhaled a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he joined them on the large couch. They were safe. Even if they were being watched, even if there was no plan, they were okay. Hermione didn't let go of his arm, and he didn't remove the one looped over her shoulders. It wasn't until Harry asked about how they should arrange the room for bed that they both recoiled. The witch withdrew three sleeping bags and a few lumpy pillows from her purse, mouth twitching to fight off a smile as both of the wizards' eyes slightly bulged at the impressive feat.
Harry dropped to his knees on the carpet, unrolling his sleeping bag. Ron looked as though he was about to do the same, until his eyes lit up and he strode over to where they had been sitting just moments before.
"Hermione gets the sofa," Ron said, laying one of the sleeping bags across the couch. He reached for one of the pillows but Hermione snatched it up defiantly.
"Ronald, I'm fine with the floor," she argued. "You can take it."
"But it's more comfortable! Don't be ridiculous."
"What's ridiculous is insisting that I be the one to take it. I'm perfectly willing to sleep right here –"
"Merlin, Hermione. Why can't you just-"
"Is it because I'm a girl that you assume I should take it?"
"If I say yes, you'll be angry, and if I say no, you won't believe me!" Ron snapped back, meeting her eyes. Shoot. He was right.
Averting her eyes from the cushions on the ground, the witch turned again to reach deep into her beaded bag instead, pulling out three sets of pajamas and a case with toothbrushes. She muttered that she'd be back, still embarrassed at how she had reacted when he was just trying to do something nice.
"Blimey, Hermione, I wondered where these got to last night –" Harry started, eyes widening at the small pile of clothes. She didn't hear Ron say anything as she walked towards the door, but Harry's voice was just loud enough for her to catch. "You weren't kidding, mate. We wouldn't last long without her."
She was glad they couldn't see the wide grin that stretched across her face.
The dark hallway was a stark reminder that they were no longer at the Burrow. Long shadows danced down the corridor on her way to the bathroom, and every other step emitted a sinister creak. Sirius had removed most of the menacing portraits, leaving behind discolored rectangular patches against the wall, but this enabled any noise in the house to amplify eerily.
She turned on the taps, accidentally drowning a small spider that suddenly appeared from beneath the drain. The clawed tub stood behind her. While a warm bath to sooth the tension she carried in her back and shoulders sounded lovely, she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Thankfully there was a flannel hanging up behind the door that she recognized, having borrowed it once before. Wetting it under the stream, she realized the water wasn't likely to warm up anytime soon. The witch washed her face, wiping away the makeup Ginny had applied earlier that day.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
A sudden knock on the door startled her, causing her to drop the soggy garment to the floor with an unceremonious thump. The floor was filthy, so leading Hermione to toss it into the tub behind her.
"What?" she called loudly, uncapping the toothpaste.
"Are you alright?" Her stomach did a funny flip, recognizing Ron's voice on the other side of the door. Concern that something had happened in the brief moments she was gone caused her to stop what she was doing and turn the handle, exposing the tall wizard standing there before her.
"Just, erm, checking…" he began lamely, standing in place. The dim light from the bathroom illuminated his body, highlighting how much space he took up in the doorframe. She noticed that he had changed into his pajamas already. "Sorry, I can go."
She opened the door wider and cocked her head, inviting him inside the bathroom wordlessly. He paused before stepping inside, hands deep in his pockets. She noticed his wand shoved into one of them, which would have been odd if they hadn't just gone through the events of the past three hours.
"Here," she said, reaching into the case that contained brand new toothbrushes. She remembered walking up to the receptionist at her parents' dentistry just a few days ago, stocking up on the free brushes she could pack away for such a time as this. He smiled faintly at her, lowering the red brush had had chosen horizontally so she could layer paste over the bristles. The room was filled with sounds of brushing, and Hermione leaned over to spit into the sink. At that very moment, she felt hands skim the side of her head and a gentle pressure against her neck. As she rose, Ron dropped her hair, having pulled it aside. She blushed furiously.
Ron moved forward to spit as well, positioning his hand under the faucet to gather water into his palm. Hermione turned, wiping her chin with her hand. Every nerve in her body craved intimacy with Ron, but she was downright terrified. She summoned courage, clearing her throat.
"Turn around for a moment." He obeyed immediately, his back to her now as he faced the door. She saw him reach for his wand in his pocket, twirling it between his fingers absentmindedly. Hermione kept her gaze on the back of his head as she tugged off her clothes, trusting that he wouldn't look but somehow still unable to tear her eyes away. She was forced to, however, as she pulled the long-sleeved shirt over her head. Her heart was thumping wildly, knowing she was changing just inches away from him. He must have felt similarly, as his ears were tinged red. She secured her wild hair up loosely and then cleared her throat a second time, indicating that he could turn around. He didn't, however, until she had folded up her clothes and placed everything neatly on the tiled windowsill.
"Ready?" she asked quietly. He nodded and turned the knob, stepping into the darkened hallway. This time he let her walk in front, though she sensed him close behind her as they walked back to the parlor.
The room was dim and silent. Harry was laying on his side, facing away from them. His glasses were folded up on the mantle of the fireplace. A raised sleeping bag rested between him and a flat one on the threadbare carpet. Hermione realized, with a lump in her throat, that the sofa cushions had been placed beneath the sleeping bag. Ron busied himself with folding away his clothes, a chore so rare for Ron that she instantly recognized that he was stalling. Giving her the freedom to choose which place she would sleep.
She felt a surge of affection for him as she stepped lightly towards the center, unzipping the fabric to slip inside. Seconds later Ron was mimicking her movements, crawling into his bag beside her. When she turned her head to look down at him, she saw that he lay flat on his back, eyes closed and arms crossed over the material.
Hermione closed her eyes as well, fighting not to replay the chaos of the wedding or the café. Not to think of her parents. Or the fact that they had absolutely no idea what they were going to do next.
She sensed Ron stir next to her and she turned his direction delicately, careful not to separate the cushions too far.
"Ron?" she whispered faintly, wondering if he would even hear her. She shifted so that she rested on her stomach, left arm bent at the elbow to rest under her head.
"Hmm?" he hummed, voice deep.
"I'm sorry," she said as quietly as she could, praying she wouldn't wake Harry. "I shouldn't have made a fuss earlier."
"Dunno what you're talking about," he replied, though she could hear his smile in his words. Prat.
Neither of them spoke for some time, and she wondered if he might have fallen asleep as well until she felt him touch her arm. She swallowed thickly, feeling her body react. His fingertips ran lightly back and forth, tracing over her covered forearm so lightly she might have dreamed it. It caused a delicious shiver to run through her.
Moving slowly, Hermione moved her arm down to the floor where he rested, knuckles against his padded sleeping bag. His hand slinked back to his chest before his other one reached over and met hers, sending a jolt through her body. Heart hammering madly within her, the witch snuck her fingers between his, effectively lacing their hands together. He held her a fraction tighter. The feeling was sublime.
She yawned, suddenly very much aware of how much they all desperately needed sleep. His thumb moved against hers lightly. A moment later there was another sound of shifting material and he was suddenly a bit closer, still several inches below her but more proximate. Hermione felt him lift their joined hands off the ground and onto his chest, alleviating the slight strain in her elbow she had been ignoring. Her fingertips now rested against his warm chest, lifting up and down as he breathed.
"Thank you" she breathed down to him, unsure if he would even comprehend not just what she spoke but the meaning behind her words. Hermione wasn't even entirely sure, but knew it wasn't limited to his fit of gallantry.
He squeezed her hand, confirming that in his own way, he understood.