'Welcome back Ron'
AN: Even after University has begun, an occasional new idea pops into my head. In this case, this story was inspired by a piece of fanart featuring the Trio huddling together outside with Ron on watch. Regrettably, the Facebook page that uploaded it didn't give any info on the artist etc., so I have no way of crediting it. What I will say is it's great, and it planted this seed in my head. Enjoy!
In case anyone doesn't know by now, I am not Captain J.K. Rowling. I'm just a passenger hitching a ride on one of her biggest ships.
For Ron Weasley, this particular Saturday was another frustrating day, with no leads on where any of the other Horcruxes were located. Ron's half-hearted suggestion of searching in Upper Flagley had, yet again, produced no results; he had suspected as much. Anything to keep them moving, anything to wrest Harry from his Hallows obsession and to stop Hermione murdering him at the next possible opportunity. He shivered; he felt a tad guilty for feeling so damn grateful that Hermione's wrath had finally focused on someone other than himself. Then again, he thought morosely, he'd deserved every frosty glare, every non-verbal snub from her. Hell, he'd concluded even another flock of canaries was probably quite lenient punishment for abandoning her and Harry.
But particularly her.
What the day had brought however, were Snatchers. While Hermione was still under the Cloak with Harry, he'd snuck out from its protection for the purpose of raiding food from an abandoned salad bar when four Snatchers had unexpectedly Apparated just around the corner. As soon as Hermione's hasty non-verbal Disillusionment Charm hit him, the grimy gits had rounded the corner, mercifully dismissing the slight rippling in the red bricks to their left, not to mention the heavy breathing noises the wall was making.
After those fraught moments had passed, they had decided to abandon their mission, waiting until the Snatchers were out of earshot before the three of them Disapparated back to their hillside campsite in the Brecon Beacons. Things had quickly settled back to their monotonous norm. Harry was Hallows-obsessed, Hermione was ready to explode, and he, Ron, was twiddling the dials on the radio, hoping for even a slight signal from Potterwatch.
However, the monotony was suddenly broken late that evening by Hermione's angry voice as she slammed the door to the bathroom wide-open. Ron looked up. Her hair was still in a wild, knotted mess from the shower, and she had hastily wrapped herself into a dressing gown that would have been uncomfortably thin and clingy in Ron's eyes. That is, if she wasn't in a towering temper, pink patches in her cheeks flaring.
"Ron! How many times do I need to clean up after you?"
Ron sighed. He was a little preoccupied with getting back within earshot of the radio in the tent's living room, and had thus forgotten to vanish the toilet's contents after him. He groaned, stretching his muscles, before rising to a standing position.
"Sorry," he muttered, unable to keep the bite out of his voice despite his mind's alarm bells. "I was a little distracted. Blokes tend to get distracted if they've barely escaped kidnapping by a whole hoard of smelly buggers." At that, Ron managed a decidedly weak, stupid grin at Hermione. Her eyebrows knotted further, and her hands flew to her hips- a sure sign he'd said the wrong thing. Somehow, he was irresistibly reminded of the hundreds of squabbles between his mum and dad over the years, and he gulped slightly. Now was not the time…
"Not funny," she spat venomously. "That is the fifth time, Ron! The fifth time this week! Yesterday, you left the toilet seat up…"
"Blimey Hermione, it's just the bloody toilet seat. It's not like I squatted on the floor and deliberately decided to take a s-"
"No, Ron. It's just sloppy. Why is it that Harry and I always clean up after you? Yet again, you left your breakfast sitting on the table…"
On the couch opposite him, he saw Harry sigh, pocket the Snitch, and unfold the latest copy of The Daily Prophet that Hermione had retrieved from a bin earlier that morning. Ron turned his gaze away from Hermione to Harry, who rolled his eyes with a subtle smirk in Ron's direction. Just like old times, he mouthed.
Hermione still wasn't finished.
"….you left your blankets a crumpled mess yet again-"
"Well, what about the time I was freezing my backside off last night on watch while you were still showering?" he shot back.
"Well, because I was sick of Harry playing with that Snitch, and you not…"
"But at least it was comfortable and warm doing chores inside! I really wanted to thaw off in there just then!"
I bet you did," Harry whispered, but quietly enough so that Hermione didn't hear him.
Valiantly trying to block the mental image of what Harry had been suggesting, he turned to the smaller, smirking boy and gave him a glare, mouthing a certain four-letter word combined with "off."
Hermione sighed, and he turned his gaze back to her, certain his ears were now burning.
"Look Ron, all I'm saying is pull your weight. There aren't any enslaved elves here to fold your piles of clothing, or…"
"I am, I swear! I was poring over those notes of yours for hours last night, trying to figure where next…"
"Oh, for goodness sake, this is just like when you had the L-" she suddenly stopped, now looking unsure of herself as Ron felt his stomach turn to ice. They had arrived at the Locket. Something that both of them, without discussing, had agreed to avoid. Discussing the memories of that windswept night was taboo, just like You-Know-Who's name.
Ron's right hand clenched into a fist as his mind was flooded by memories of his yelling, his storming off into the mud outside, her heartfelt and tearful pleads to stop, come back before it was too late…
So far on, and yet, so little progress made.
Harry made quite an unnecessary racket of scrunching up the paper while retreating towards his bunk without a second look backwards, leaving Ron and Hermione alone to flounder in the poisonous atmosphere that had entered the living room. With horror, he noticed that Hermione's eyes looked slightly watery, as she turned her back on his and said in a rather high voice "I'll just make some tea, shall I?"
"If you want," he replied, with a distinctly colourless, drained voice. "I'll be….I'll take watch Hermione. No need for you to do it tonight." With a heavy heart, he collected the still-hissing radio and marched out of the tent flap, sitting on the dewy grass about forty feet away. Dusk was falling, and grey clouds were rolling up the green meadows below their knoll. It was a sure sign that in the valley below, Dementors were on the prowl.
He always knew that rebuilding whatever had been brewing with him and Hermione would take time. After the events at the Lovegoods', he'd almost dared to hope he and Hermione were on cordial speaking terms. A near-death experience, judging from past events, always had worked. Yes, she was now speaking with him again. Yes, it was a trillion times better than what had come beforehand, and yes, it was more than what he'd deserved.
But it still wasn't laughing while clumsily dancing two-step with her at Bill and Fleur's. It wasn't holding hands at night. It wasn't even a ritualistic squabble over Crookshanks. Merlin knew whether he'd permanently damaged his and Hermione's friendship, let alone destroyed anything else that had gone unacknowledged by both of them.
For Harry had told him about the nights of her crying, the cold days where not a single word was spoken between them. It had resulted in Ron experiencing a barrage of memories that simultaneously warmed him up and left him cold in the knowledge (or was it wishful fantasizing?) that she must have felt it too.
The words Well, I'm sure there's someone somewhere who'll have you, spoken during an argument before the Yule Ball.
The kiss on the cheek before Quidditch.
The many, inexplicable times she'd just blush for no apparent reason.
The canaries.
Visiting him in the Hospital Wing twice nearly every day (when Lavender wasn't around, naturally.)
The first night in Grimmauld Place.
Being Ron Weasley, he'd trashed it all, of course.
He pictured Luna, still locked in Azkaban, attempting to remain serene and philosophical while those ruddy things slowly sucked the happiness out of her.
And Harry was now a shell of his former self, paying the Horcrux hunt lip service as he lusted for the Deathly Hallows.
No communication or word from his family, except Fred and George occasionally appearing on Potterwatch. Thinking of his family made him thing of his sister at Hogwarts, still struggling in vain against the iron-fisted rule of a murderer. Look where that had landed Luna- in prison. Of course, thinking of Ginny made him think of the argument with Harry, and the night he'd walked out, and so the cycle of misery repeated itself.
As Ron pulled out his wand from his back pocket and ignited it (he knew if Mad-Eye was still alive, he'd have had an earful about lost buttocks), he shivered as the grey fog wrapped him in its cold embrace.
It was going to be a long night.
Three hours later
The light on the radio flickered as the night closed in around Ron. Thankfully, the mist and the associated distant hoarse, rasping breaths had vanished, although the temperature was now plummeting, with the dew on the grass soaking his knees and making them freeze. Even with his thick green coat, he was seriously contemplating getting an additional layer. The last vestiges of pink sky had long gone, and all that was left with him now was the night.
Or so he thought.
He cricked his neck as the sound of the rustling tent-flap reached him. His face split into a weak smile as he realized who it was.
Hermione. Unsteady on her feet, hair tousled from sleep, bleary-eyed and with an orange blanket and two steaming cups of hot chocolate. His stomach let out a growl as he rose to his feet.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't get back to sleep, and he was playing with that bloody Snitch. I nearly sent a flock of birds at him."
Ron grinned, walking forwards to gratefully accept the steaming hot beverage. If Hermione had sworn, then she must have been in a temper. "Don't blame you," he whispered. With a start, he realized she was shivering- the dressing gown and pyjamas she was wearing underneath was quite clearly insufficient for blocking out the cold.
"Oh damn, I'm sorry. Let me go in and get someth…"
But Hermione instead held up in her other hand the blanket, along with an empty glass jar.
"Come on," she mumbled, taking his right arm and making him sit down beside her, whereupon she threw the blanket over their knees. A wand-wave later, the jar contained several small, bright flames. Ron took the jar and put it in between their legs under the cover, smiling as his trousers, long since soaked from the dew, began steaming. Even after nearly six and a half years' friendship with Hermione, he still hadn't found something that warmed him up so effectively as her bluebell flames. Smiling appreciatively, he took his first sip of the drink and felt all the remaining coldness that had permeated his body over the last three hours vanish. "Thanks," he whispered. "You know, you didn't actually have to come out here and freeze your arse off."
"Language, Ron," she chided, but the effect was ruined by a shy smile. "I figured you might need a second pair of eyes out here, that's all. Not to mention a break from trying to tune the radio." Hermione gave a nod to the still-hissing radio, and switched it off. Noticing Ron's slight gulp, she nodded in understanding. Thoughts of his family, where they were, how they were coping, flooded his mind. With a pang, he wondered how his least-favourite brother was doing in the Ministry. Was he covertly resisting, or was he just toeing the Ministry line? Did he regret his storming out now? Far from detesting Percy, he felt, with a shock, sympathy for the traitorous git. After all, Percy hadn't done anything worse than what he'd done.
Ron suddenly felt goose bumps erupt on his right arm as Hermione put a comforting hand to his shoulder. It had been months since anything like that had happened. Were things finally settling back to their previous state?
"It's okay Ron. Ginny's safe. And so will be your brothers and your parents. You know full well that if any of them had been arrested, they'd have made the front page."
Ron tore his blue eyes from the grass blades to meet Hermione's sympathetic brown ones.
"How would you know about…?"
"Harry. Just before, he was sitting in his bunk, with the Marauders' Map, doing nothing but staring at Ginny's dot. He didn't even notice me looking."
At that, Ron outwardly shivered in disgust, but inwardly, he felt a new feeling of warmth for his best mate. All along, Harry had been watching over Ginny and the others, and he'd accused him of not caring. Hermione continued talking, her gaze focused on the horizon.
"He did that all the time, actually. Not a single word spoken. Just him, lying with the Snitch, and searching the Map for her dot." Yet again, Ron tensed up. This was the first time Hermione had even vaguely mentioned what had happened in the tent with him gone, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. She let out a sigh.
"All I did was listen to the radio. No news, no nothing. Just an occasional Muggle station with a nice tune." She sniffed, and Ron felt her lean into him a little. What in the name of Merlin was happening today?
"Ron," she began, in a tightly constricted voice. "What did you hear? I mean, what did the Locket do to you?"
Ron jumped guiltily. He knew Hermione hadn't bought Harry's lie that the Locket had simply screamed when they destroyed it. He also knew that she'd noticed how terrible a person he turned into when he'd had it. But no way, not even with the threat of a crying Hermione hanging over him like the Sword of Damocles, whatever that was, was he telling her what he'd seen come out of the Locket…
"I…I don't know if now's the time," he stuttered, summoning every ounce of Gryffindor courage and turned to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry, Hermione. One day, you'll understand." He hoped that she'd read the mask of fear, despair and regret written on his face, and the message he was trying to send. He noticed her eyes, sparkling with unshed tears, were scanning him, and she finally nodded, subtly turning away to wipe her eyes. Extremely hesitantly, sure that his heart was now going to conk out, Ron extended out his hand, and ever-so-slowly rested it on her shoulder blade. He let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding when, contrary to his fears, she didn't shrug it off. In a flash, he realized that the last time they'd been in such close physical proximity to each other was last year, before the Locket had created that terrible gulf between them.
However, the gulf between him and Hermione still hadn't quite closed. Ron inwardly shuddered at what sort of horrifying event would have to occur to make it close completely.
"What?" he heard her mumble. Ron inwardly cursed himself. Clearly she'd heard his sudden exhalation, and cursed himself for being all too transparent.
"Nothing," he lied wildly. "Just…thinking how horrible the weather was before you came outside." Great. Nice one Ron. Talking about the weather, of all things.
Hermione turned ever so slightly. Out of the corner of his right eye, he was sure she was shooting him a piercing, sideways glance.
Crap.
Bloody hell.
Merlin's saggy left…
"Yes, it was rather horrible, wasn't it?" Hermione agreed in a rather high voice- a sure sign she was under pressure. Ron turned to face her, his heart now doing a Weird Sisters drumroll against his skin. Quick as a flash, she turned away, but even in the pale light and through her curtain of hair, he could see that her cheeks had darkened. His ears began to burn in response.
"Maybe we should…" he began, trying to keep his voice under control.
"….finish our drinks?" Hermione finished, sounding slightly breathless.
"Yeah," he agreed sycophantically, downing the rest of his in a series of noisy gulps. Hermione elbowed him causing him to choke and spray the remains of his last mouthful everywhere.
"What?" he spluttered, looking at an entirely nauseated Hermione in indignation.
"Can't you drink silently?" she retaliated. "Or do I need to teach you proper etiquette in this tent?" Ron chuckled at the reference to the days at Hogwarts, when he'd typically inhale chicken drumsticks, slurp pumpkin juice, spray crumbs everywhere, etc. Remembering their argument three hours beforehand, which now seemed so trivial, he laughed heartily, and he was glad to see that Hermione had joined in. The sound of Hermione laughing warmed him up even more than a hot drink.
"Says the girl who doesn't wipe her face after eating," he teased in a mock father-voice, pointing to her upper lip, now coated by a combination of white froth and cocoa powder. Hermione wiped the cocoa mustache away while instinctively wetting her lip to get rid of the froth. Ron quick in a flash whipped his gaze away from her face- seeing that was the last thing he needed to see. Not least when he had his own fantasies beginning with her lips touching not a bit of froth, but his own mouth. They were unacknowledged during the daytime, but it was another matter at…
Her wrist. There was something odd about the watch on her left wrist….
"Is that a Muggle watch?" he blurted out suddenly, desperate to draw his mind away from the dangerous territory it had been heading into before. Hermione looked at him in surprise. "I mean…it doesn't have planets on it. Just ordinary hands. And a screen with numbers." She nodded slowly.
"I'm sure your dad would love to hear how these work," she replied, grinning. "Since when have you been so interested in Muggle items?"
-Since you started fancying her.
-Shut up.
"I was just curious," he replied, huddling further into the warmth that the blanket and flames provided. He noticed that his and Hermione's knees were now touching, and that he still hadn't removed his now-frozen hand from her left side. He quickly removed it, shaking it slightly as the flow of blood returned to his fingers.
"Well," Hermione began as though she were reciting from a textbook. "As you know, wizarding watches are powered by magic. However, Muggle watches are powered by batteries- small things that store what's called electric energy. They can last for years, because it doesn't take very much electricity to run them, just like the spell on your clock at home is still operating after nearly thirty years."
Ron had heard of this 'elektric' business before, but he wasn't about to tell Hermione the full details of their botched pickup of Harry from Privet Drive nearly four years ago. Not when it involved Harry's fat dolt of a cousin choking on one of Fred and George's products.
On the other hand, the idea that non-magical products could run for so long was mental. His dad would have eagerly sat for a six-hour explanation by Hermione, he thought. He shook his head in amazement.
"Surely these things are really valuable? Where did you get yours?"
Hermione bit her lip. "From Mum and Dad. It was a present for my seventeenth." Her face paled, and Ron knew that her mind was going back to her parents, now hopefully safe in Australia, but with no memory of their beautiful, kind, brilliant, but barking daughter. Could he have done it? How difficult it must have been for her, not knowing if her goodbye to the parents that didn't recognize her was her last.
Not to mention parents were scary. If he'd tried and failed to do the same to his mum, he'd have his backside walloped. For about the millionth time, he felt an overwhelming sense of awe and pride at her bravery and skill. How did he deserve to be in this position with her, after everything that had happened?
She wrapped an arm around his midriff and buried her face in his shoulder, causing Ron to freeze as if he'd been Petrified. "I'm just wondering," she whispered, shaking with what he was sure were sobs. "What if, after the war, if we survive, I try and lift the charm, and it doesn't work? What if I'll forever be a stranger to them?"
Ron closed his eyes, wrapping one of his own arms awkwardly around her shoulders as he ignored the tickle of bushy hair on his cheek. He didn't know any meaningful words of comfort to help her, but an occasional squeeze of her shoulder seemed to stem her crying. The only words he could manage to say was a repetitive murmur. "We'll find them. Shh…"
Gradually, she hiccuped herself to a standstill, and Ron finally knew what else to say. Humour should do the trick, he reasoned.
"You know, I've always wanted to go on holiday overseas. You, on the other hand, went to France at age thirteen. That's not fair." He gave her shoulder another squeeze as she gave a watery chuckle.
"I guess we're both up for an OE together then," she chortled, before suddenly turning a shocking shade of pink that did nothing to assuage Ron's nerves as his own cheeks began to burn fiercely.
"Harry too if he's up for it," he hastily added. "The poor bloke's never travelled much."
Hermione raised her head from his shoulder as an ashen-faced, sweating Harry stumbled out of the tent. He was swaying on the spot, his eyes were closed, and words were tumbling out of his mouth. Most of it was incomprehensible muttering, but occasionally, they both heard a snatch of Parseltongue, along with "Elder Wand," "Grindelwald," "Numengard" and "Nagini." Before Ron and Hermione could do more than stare at each other in shock and fear, Harry sank to his knees, hissing angrily.
"Draco! Haven't I told you to keep Lovegood and Ollivander quiet? Give them a taste of my displeasure, or suffer the coils of Nagini. And you, Lucius…"
Harry's voice tailed off into an inhuman hiss as he quietened down, but he was still writhing, sweat pouring off his forehead. It reminded Ron of the wild, frantic thrashing Harry had displayed before his dad was attacked in the Department of Mysteries three Decembers beforehand.
A small, trembling hand grasped his tightly. He turned to see Hermione regarding the thrashing Harry with a look of panic and concern written all over her face. Ron squeezed back. Quite why the sudden emergence of Harry, even a nightmare-ridden one, had rattled her so much, he didn't know.
"Have you seen him so bad?" he asked her gently.
She nodded. "Only once. It was after the snake had bitten him, in Godric's Hollow. He continued thrashing for hours on end, screaming curses, crying…I was so worried," she finally confessed weakly.
Ron nodded. He finally understood why he'd met a frosty silence and a trembling lip whenever he'd tried to broach the subject with Hermione. Thankfully, Harry had filled in the gaps for him. Once again, remorse threatened to consume him. He could picture her in the tent, panic-stricken, unable to sleep, unable to do anything as Harry writhed in the grip of Voldemort's thoughts.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there in Godric's Hollow," he whispered. "I'm sorry you had to care for him all on your own." Hermione, now looking paler than he'd ever seen her, smiled weakly.
"I'm not," she replied. "Trust me Ron, no one should see what we saw in Bathilda's House." She turned to him; her entire form was trembling. "I just wonder Ron. What if the connection between him and V- I mean, You-Know-Who- is more than Legilimency? Why would he be able to see the snake- a Horcrux- not You-Know-Who himself- attack your Dad? What really happened to his soul that night in Godric's Hollow?"
Ron turned, exchanging a worried glance with Hermione as comprehension began to dawn on him.
"What are you-?"
But he never got the time to come to the terrible conclusion she had, whatever it was, because Harry blearily opened his eyes and looked around confused at the grass he was lying on. Wiping his forehead of sweat, he looked up and smiled at them while squinting- his glasses had been left behind in the tent.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Needed some fresh air outside," Hermione shivered, trying to not look too worried. "You…just had a nightmare and began sleepwalking. Then you began crying out his words in your sleep." Harry yawned. "I'm not a huge fan of it myself," he muttered. "I'll just head back inside-"
But Hermione shook her head. "No, please Harry. You can join us." Ron looked at her with a slight twinge of his old jealousy, followed by a gush of affection for her as he realized she was worried what Harry would do next in his sleep.
He jumped, realizing that Hermione was staring at him expectantly to back her up. He coughed to cover his mistake, breathing a sigh of relief himself that Harry was now liberated from the clutches of Voldemort's thoughts.
"Yeah, no problem mate. Just get another blanket though- neither of us want to sacrifice ours."
"Ron!" she chided, digging an elbow into his ribs, but Ron knew that she wasn't really mad with him. After all, the warmth from the flames and blanket was making them both drowsy, he thought as he let out a great yawn. He definitely wouldn't dare put himself in a position where he was expelled from the cozy warmth of the flames.
Harry returned a short while later, this time wearing glasses and clutching his red blanket.
"How on earth are you two not frozen in place by now?" he asked, pointing at their clothing.
"Bluebell flames," Ron chuckled. "Honestly Harry, you should have figured out by now that Hermione's a genius." He turned to beam at her, and his heart missed a beat as she gave him a piercing, slightly suspicious look back, clearly detecting a blatant bit of unnecessary flattery. Harry coughed, and Ron turned back to face his best mate just in time to see him roll his eyes with an all-too knowing smile. Ron had seen that look from Ginny and the Twins countless times before, and he knew it meant trouble was brewing.
"So…whereabouts?" Harry asked, looking at the patch of cold, damp grass.
"Oh for goodness sake Harry, come here," Hermione brusquely replied, pulling Ron to the right so Harry could sit down closer to the warmth of the flames. Harry stretched his arms with a groan, then sat down, wrapped his blanket around himself and sighed in contentment. "Thanks." The words came out as a drunken slur, but Ron knew it was because of how exhausted Harry got after each peek into Voldemort's mind. Actually, it was a miracle that he hadn't vomited after this particularly severe episode.
"Goodnight Harry," came Hermione's voice from his right.
"Yeah, 'night Hermione." Harry rolled over to face Ron.
"How bad was I?" he muttered quietly. Ron turned to look at Hermione, who gave him another sombre look. "Very," he admitted. "Hermione was worried to death about you. You started crying out about how You-Know-Who was going to use Malfoy to, to torture Ollivander, and one of the Lovegoods. I don't know whether it was Luna or Xenophilius." Harry shook his head, and wiped more sweat from his face. His eyes were, unlike much of today, focused and full of concern. Ron felt a huge sense of relief that for now, at least, the Hallows mania had been left behind.
"Blimey. How long was I out for?"
"At least a minute," came Hermione's muffled reply.
"Well," Harry said shakily. "At least I look a whole sight better than poor old Ollivander or either of the Lovegoods." The three fell into a silence that no-one dared break as they reflected on what was happening to Luna, fighting off Dementors in Azkaban, and possibly enduring brutal torture by the Death Eaters. Ron felt a distinct taste of nausea for what had happened to the Lovegood family, all because of Xenophilus' outspoken publication, and his daughter actively rebelling against Snape's regime. Despite his deep-rooted grudge against Xenophilius because of his betrayal, Ron felt overwhelming concern for the broken, wretched man they had met. Just like with the Cattermoles, their actions had put him in serious danger.
"I hope they're still fighting," he said aloud to the night. "Xenophilius and Luna." He felt Hermione move slightly beside him. Turning to face her and leaving Harry to his thoughts, he elaborated quietly, "It's just like at the Ministry. Frankly, I don't know if I could look into Luna's eyes when this war's over, and tell her that her father suffered a terrible fate because we came to see him and he made a mistake. Even if he was a backstabbing prick." Ron opened his mouth to say more but his breath hitched in his throat as a small, cold hand touched his gently. He couldn't precisely identify her facial expression, but whatever it was, it was intense and resembled the look she'd given him while he was fretting about the Cattermoles' fate. It simultaneously gave him a feeling of elation and scared him more than any giant spider. Suddenly, he was aware of how silent and still the night was around them.
"Parents will always protect their children, Ron," she whispered back. "It's just that some-"she glanced at Harry, his gaze still faraway- "are braver than others. Luna is philosophical, and she'll understand…assuming she gets out of Azkaban."
"True," Ron replied, wishing that his internal confidence matched his voice. He didn't know how longer he could talk about Luna and Xenophilius' potential fates, so he changed tack completely. "What's the bet Seamus, Ginny and Neville are giving them all hell?"
There was the rustle of a moving blanket against the grass as Harry shifted closer to Ron, having snapped out of his train of thought. Unexpectedly, he noticed Harry was grinning- a rare sight indeed over the last year. "Probably burnt the potions room to ashes, knowing Seamus," he chuckled. "And if you think Ginny isn't right now planning on distributing as many Wheezes to as many members of the DA as possible- assuming she can get them, of course- I'll marry Buckbeak."
Ron snorted at the totally ridiculous image that was forming in his head. Located in a marquee, just like the one that had housed Bill and Fleur's wedding, he could picture Harry dressed in his smartest dress robes, nervously bowing before his touchy new bride as the aforementioned Hippogriff's wings knocked into people's heads on his walk up the aisle, slashing the white lace to shreds. He now began heartily roaring with laughter, rolling sideways onto Hermione's lap, who blushed, but began chortling herself. He blanched as he realized who he'd be holding hands with in his imaginary Harry-Buckbeak wedding, and what object would be shining on his ring finger.
"The bet's on," she responded, wiping her eyes. "I've seen weirder programming on television. Talking of which, we really need to get Ron to watch some of it. What say you Harry?"
"Agreed," Harry smiled back as Ron's own smile widened. How often during the Horcrux hunt, had the three of them simply been able to laugh together? Most often, fun banter between him and Harry had been done out of earshot of Hermione, lest she hex him after his return. And as for Hermione, well, most of those moments before the Locket had been naturally without Harry in the picture.
But now, it was the three of them, warmed by Hermione's flames, wrapped in blankets and reveling in each other's company. Ron tried not to think of how long this moment of paradise in the Welsh mountains could last, but even a few minutes was more than enough.
As his mind flipped onto yet another previous point of tension- the Harry/Ginny relationship- he felt another sudden surge of warmth for his best mate taking so much pride in Ginny's ability to cause mischief. Right now, he wasn't even feeling particularly disgusted by the fact that the skinny, too witty for his own good idiot to his left had snogged his sister. Repeatedly.
At that, Harry let out a loud yawn, and began shuffling into a more comfortable lying position.
"Goodnight all," he yawned again.
"Goodnight mate," Ron replied. "Don't get any ideas into your head about marrying Buckbeak, or for that matter, Kreacher. Or my sister." Harry snorted weakly, and as he sank further into his blanket, Ron swore he could hear snatches of something along the lines of "Cauldron…kettle…black." Within a minute, his breathing had become low and steady.
Ron turned to Hermione who was beaming happily. "That was the first time he's ever had a proper conversation with us since last December," she whispered. Ron grinned back. "I know," he whispered back. "It actually now feels like we've got a third companion with us, for once."
As if he'd been listening all along, Harry suddenly let out a thunderous snore, and rolled rightwards onto Ron's lap, his mouth lolling open. Ron grimaced. Harry slobbering into his crotch area was not his idea of a comfortable night outside. Sticking his illuminated wand behind his left ear for safekeeping (one of Luna's old habits, he fondly remembered), he seized the snoring Harry by his right armpit, and dragged him up into a sitting position, awkwardly cradling him in his left arm. His eyes narrowed as he heard Hermione giggling- unusual for her.
"What?" he shot back. Struggling through her giggling, Hermione was able to formulate some form of reply.
"Is that normal practice in the boys' dormitories?" she asked, raising an eyebrow sardonically. This did nothing to quell Ron's irritation.
"Oh, ha, ha, ha. No it isn't, but I will say he's the worst snorer out of all of us."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. That first night in Grimmauld Place, I thought the ceiling was going to fall down." Ron poked his tongue at her. Frankly, he'd prefer to remember that night as being the night he'd fallen asleep with Hermione's hand entwined in his, rather than one that had resulted in him producing a cacophony of snores.
"I feel like a bloody babysitter though," he moaned. "I thought kids didn't need it still at the age of seventeen." He pointed at the snoring Harry, glasses still on his face. Thankfully, Hermione had finally gotten her ridiculous newfound giggling habit under control.
"Practice makes perfect Ron," she replied. "One day, you'll probably find it come in handy."
At that, Ron nearly choked on his own saliva, and before he could help it, he'd stared at Hermione in shock. Seemingly realizing what she'd said, she blushed fiercely, one that Ron was sure was matched by his own red face. After a seemingly interminable period of them frozen in place, staring at each other over the implications of what had slipped out, the air was split with what to Ron sounded like an almighty racket.
Beep, beep.
He tensed, ready for flight, but before he could do anything more, Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Stop Ron. It's the watch."
Saved by the bell, Ron thought, grateful for any distraction from the atmosphere that had previously permeated the air around them. Were he and Hermione going to keep on doing this all night? Talking of which, what time was it? He looked up. The moon was now about to set in the treetops in front of them. Given it was late February, Ron figured it must be just after midnight. However, he wanted a more specific time.
"Wazza time?" he asked Hermione, still trying to get his heartrate back to normal after the previous scare. She pressed a button on the side of her watch and the face suddenly lit up as though someone had cast Lumos. Pausing, she looked at the display for one moment, then looked up, smiling widely. "It's one o'clock," she whispered. Why on earth was she so damn happy about it being so late? Frankly, the pair of them should probably have already gotten off to sleep already. If they were to make any meaningful progress on finding out where the Horcruxes were, they'd both need to have their heads screwed on properly. Especially if Harry was, as was almost inevitable, going back to his obsession with all things Deathly Hallows the following morning.
"One o clock on March the First. You know what that means, don't you Ron?"
Ron's heart leapt. He had been eighteen for a whole hour, and he hadn't realized. Before he could say anything, Hermione had leaned over and hugged him tightly around the neck. "Happy birthday Ron," she whispered. "I'm just sorry that's the second year in a row I haven't got you a present."
Awkwardly trying to get enough air to breathe, Ron opened his mouth.
"I guess I deserved it last year," he chuckled. "But even without your present it was certainly eventful. Wish I could get some more oak-matured mead. Ow!" he suddenly cried as Hermione pinched the back of his neck.
"I'd rather not think about last year," she shivered. "It was way, way too close for comfort." Yet again, Ron's mind flicked back to a memory, this time, a pleasant one. Waking up from his coma to see not just Harry and Ginny, but a frightened, pale-faced and baggy-eyed Hermione all watching him intently, was worth more than a million snogs and inappropriate embraces by his clingy ex-girlfriend. Certainly it was a better present than Lavender's ruddy Christmas necklace. He closed his eyes, Hermione's hands still around his neck. It really did feel like the last cold stone barrier between them over last year's events had finally come crashing down.
"As for today," he continued, muffled somewhat because he was trying to speak through a mouthful of hair- "I had totally forgotten. It's not like I'd be expecting anything anyway." What he was most definitely not going to say, even under torture or hopefully Veritaserum, was that this night's events more than made up for no physical present. Because of course, he'd then probably do something rash like kiss her, she'd pull away, and the whole thing would noisily fall like a deck of Exploding Snap. Unless, of course, she reciprocated, but he didn't dare go down that track of thinking. It was completely delusional anyway- it wasn't as if he'd done something grand like announce plans to liberate all of Hogwarts' house elves…
"Shall we tell Harry?" he heard Hermione whisper from a very long distance away.
"Hmmph?" he inarticulately replied, jolting himself back to reality. "Oh, no, don't bother. Really, Hermione. It's fine." He pulled back somewhat from her grip to smile at her, communicating that he, Ron Weasley, was as satisfied right now as anyone could be.
Harry let out another loud snore. Ron silently cursed his best mate's ability to foil such moments, even while asleep. Reluctantly letting go completely, he yawned. "Long day tomorrow. We should get off to sleep. And speaking of which…" he pulled the orange blanket away from his now-dry knees, and offered it to her. She sat on her knees, biting her lip.
"No, Ron, it's fine. You need to keep warm too..."
"No, Hermione, I've got the flames. Just…just try and let me be chivalrous for once in my bloody life," he concluded, holding out the blanket to her.
"Thank you," she smiled sleepily in a way that Ron wanted to see more often as she wrapped it around her. He'd decided that sleepy Hermione was one of his favourite iterations of her. No nagging and no arguments, just quiet conversation. The atmosphere between the three of them had always been far more companionable if she was too tired to whip them into action on their essays. His smile grew wider as Hermione, eyes closed, snuggled sleepily into his right shoulder, closer to the all-powerful warmth of the flames. "By the way," he heard her mumble into his shoulder- "you've definitely been chivalrous more than once Ron. Just remember that."
Another day of this, Ron reckoned, and he'd have to be locked up in an asylum, as his right arm slowly folded round her middle.
"And Ron?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're here."
No, forget that. Ron had officially lost his marbles, or else he needed to have his hearing checked at St. Mungo's, because there was no possible way Hermione could have ever said that. Not after the glares, frosty rebuttals and cold-shouldering that had happened ever since his return. An aloofness that he'd most definitely deserved for being the most disloyal git on the planet.
"So am I," he whispered, wondering if she was asleep. A tell-tale movement in the blanket now pressed up against his right hand side indicated that she wasn't, although it was only a matter of time. He scanned round their clearing, still illuminated by the beam from his wand, stored behind his left ear for safekeeping. With a jolt, he realized he was still on watch.
"I'm sorry I can't put the lights out," he added. "I sort of need them." A muffled snort came from the now nearly asleep Hermione.
Yes, sleep was not a luxury he could afford right now, he thought, as the sounds of the night gave way to steady, slow breathing from Hermione, punctuated by noisy snores from his best mate, still resting against his left arm. He wondered if her ability to fall asleep so quickly while practically in his lap meant anything at all. Did that mean anything in a friendship, especially one as long, deep and complicated as theirs, one that had been morphing into something yet more complicated since at least Fourth Year? Did she ever do this with Harry? Somehow, even with his past suspicion about the pair of them, he doubted it.
No, Ron. Focus on your watch.
So Ron sat, cradling both his best friends as the light from the moon slowly faded as it set. He was starting to wonder how much more of this monotony he could take when Hermione suddenly stirred in her sleep, leaned into his chest, and began snoring gently. Instantly snapped out of his negative train of thought, he stared at her. Already, he'd decided that this, far from awkward or bizarre, felt decidedly natural and wonderful, even with the slight irritation of her bushy hair getting into his eyes, tickling his cheek, or otherwise distracting him. Hopefully, this could happen again under more comfortable circumstances. At that, memories of his bed in the Burrow, currently occupied by the pyjama-clad ghoul, came back to him. How many more months- if ever- would it be before he could return back to the Burrow?
Once again putting the negativity behind him, Ron resumed his examination of the sleeping Hermione. She looked perfectly content right where she was, so close to him. He could even swear her lips were turned upwards in a smile. What would it be like if they were to meet his and…
He snapped out of it. These were dangerous things to be thinking about at the best of times, not least when their bodies were in such close proximity to each other. Grumbling silently to himself, he resumed his watch, even as he grew sleepier and the problems of the world seemed to fade away…
The dew on the grass was now freezing, and a biting northerly was beginning to rustle the leaves on the trees, but nevertheless Ron sat now quite happily, warmed by the bluebell flames hidden in the space between him and Hermione, and with her and Harry pressed on each side. Before he could stop it, he found his eyes closing, his head now lolling onto Hermione's shoulder. Smiling to himself, he accepted defeat, and snuggled deeper into the all-invading warmth radiating from the body to his right.
….
A tap on the shoulder. Ron's eyes shot open in a flash. A spectacled, dark-haired face loomed in front of his eyes. He felt Hermione stir, mumbling unintelligibly, before turning her face away from his and settling again.
"I'll take the watch," came Harry's voice. "You need a break." It was hard to tell, but Ron thought he could hear the smile in his voice. It was a welcome change from the Harry he and Hermione had seen a wee while beforehand that night.
"Right," Ron mumbled, nodding his head in gratitude. His eyes slit shut almost immediately as he flexed his now-free left arm, while still cradling Hermione with his right.
At least there was still one thing right in this world, he thought. Too tired to even think how awkward it would be waking up in this position in the morning, Ron let sleep wash over him again.
However, if Ron had been conscious at the crack of dawn, he would have felt some movement as someone to his right slipped free of his arm. He might then have felt a few strands of bushy hair fall on his face as the same person softly brushed their lips against his cheek. Then, he'd have heard words that he'd long wanted to hear spoken by this particular voice.
"Welcome back Ron."
AN2: A very late happy birthday to Ron Weasley! I hope that Hermione, Harry and the kids spoiled you rotten. Yes, this was another birthday fic, and I decided to not mention this because it would somewhat ruin the plot twist. By the time you have read this, I will have probably already turned 19 myself. I hope everyone enjoyed this one. hpkiwi out.