I wrote this as three separate one-shots for the Shell Fest on Tumblr hosted by the fantastic callieskye and decided to post them here so they could live together happily ever after, as imagined. Hope you enjoy!
I own nothing.
Ron could just make out Harry's silhouette as he looked out toward the beach from the cottage's front window. The sea breeze ruffled his best friend's hair as he sat alone on the sand - making it even more unruly than it usually was. The house was quiet, almost too quiet for any living quarters associated with a Weasley, but just now that was absolutely alright with Ron. Quiet meant that there was, at least, a temporary peace. It meant no one was being tortured.
The mere thought had echoes of screams ringing through his ears and he jerked to his feet, just as he'd been doing all morning. Fleur was in the garden, Bill was checking in on the family, Harry was brooding on the beach, Luna and Dean were Merlin knew where and Hermione was resting in her room just as Olivander and Griphook were.
Which left Ron alone and restless in the house with nothing but the ghosts of the last 24 hours to haunt his thoughts as he made his way to the sofa by the fire and dropped wearily onto it. He'd literally repeated the same cycle for the last hour. He'd sit down, get lost in thought, drum up some sodding bit from the hell they'd just escaped and then he'd jump to his feet for a good pace until he'd find a new spot to sit in so he could do it all over again.
Staring down at his hands, he willed himself to try and relax. They were all safe for now. If he didn't get his shit together and focus, what good would he be when it was time for them to go back out to find the rest of those bloody horcruxes? With eyes that had already seen far too much, he took in just how banged up his hands were. He'd torn three fingernails down to the quick, had newly forming scabs on every single knuckle and cuts of various sizes peppering his palms and fingers. Just looking at them brought back every agonizing second of how they'd come to look that way. Brought back the unyielding stone he'd tried to claw through and the razor sharpness of shattered chandelier crystal clinging to frizzy, overlong hair.
Closing his eyes, he willed himself to take a deep breath. She was safe. Despite everything that had happened and all of the 200 ways it could have gone terribly wrong, she was upstairs right now with a belly full of potions and a body wrapped in bandages and poultices. He rubbed his hands wearily over his face, concentrating on the warmth of the fire and the soft couch beneath him. He had to stay in the moment, keep his head in the game, or he'd never stop feeling the dread he'd felt in that basement that the last time he'd ever hear her voice was through screams of pain. That bossy, brilliant, barmy voice that had found it's way from annoying him at every turn to sounding so deep in his heart that he couldn't imagine a beat without it there.
What he wouldn't give to hear her tell him off about something right this sodding minute. He knew it was utterly insane, but he'd happily stand back and let her rip him to shreds over leaving his pants all over the tent or his snoring - anything, as long as he could just hear her voice. God, he loved her so much that it would have scared him had he not learned only a day ago that there were things to be far, far more afraid of.
"Ron?"
For the space of a breath, he thought he'd finally gone entirely off his nut. But then he snapped his eyes back open and, as if his thoughts had summoned her, there she was standing unsteadily in front of him.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second to let his mind catch up and then he was on his feat in a heartbeat.
"Hermione, what the hell are you doing out of bed?"
He was sure her eye roll was supposed to put him in his place, but instead it did crazy things to his insides. Her mind was whole and sharp. His know-it-all. His love. "I'm not an invalid."
"Yes you bloody well are, you've just been tortured to within an inch of your life."
She drew herself up, though he could see with every passing second what the effort was costing her. "Thank you Ronald, I hadn't been aware of that. I suppose that means that I can't use the loo and get a drink of water on my own?"
He held his smile in check. Her stubbornness made him want to throttle her and he was never so grateful for such a feeling in all of his life. "Alright, I stand corrected." Taking a deep breath, he decided to change strategies and gestured to the couch. "Sit with me a minute then? I'm going mental out here by myself."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but he could see that her breathing had shallowed from the pain she still had to be in and he could almost see her decide to let his thinly veiled ruse to get her off of her feet slide.
Walking slowly, she made it the few feet that separated her from the couch and she sat gingerly down on it - unable to hide the wince the action drew from her. Ron's eyebrows lowered as he took a seat beside her. He had no desire to hack her off again by suggesting she go back to bed, but the idea that she was suffering was doing his head in. He couldn't watch that and do nothing. Not ever again.
"What can I do?"
The softness in his voice drew her eyes to his and she was momentarily stunned speechless by what she saw. He was gazing at her with such concern, such unmasked - dare she interpret it as affection? - that the tough-as-nails response she wanted to spit back died on her lips.
"I'll be alright. I just need some time."
He held her gaze for a breath, then another, before he settled back against the sofa cushions and looked into the crackling flames of the fire. "I suppose that could be said for all of us right about now."
She nodded, but didn't respond, instead following his lead and staring into the fire too. It was funny, she thought absently, that the warmth coming from the man sitting beside her was doing more toward making her feel safe and comfortable than the flames in that hearth ever could.
They sat in companionable silence, the quiet of the house punctuated only by their breaths and the occasional crack and spark of the logs in front of them, as Hermione realized that this was the first time that she'd allowed herself to be well and truly alone with Ron since before he'd left. Not only was she allowing it, but if she were brutally honest with herself, she had sought it out.
From the moment that Bellatrix had pulled her away from him, all she'd wanted was to bury herself in his big arms, against his lanky frame and let him protect her. She wanted to smell his musky, woodsy, masculine smell and listen to his good natured laugh.
The memory of his muffled screams from the basement as Bellatrix had cursed her over and over rang through her mind. She couldn't deny that she loved him in those moments as she yearned for him with every cell in her body and she couldn't explain away the agony she'd heard in his voice as her name tore from his lips over and over.
Somehow, holding a grudge didn't really seem like a worthwhile way to spend her energy anymore.
"Thank you."
The tiny, almost humble sound of her voice was a stark contrast with the bravado she'd gone with just a few moments before and Ron turned to look at her, his eyebrows lowered in question, just in time to see a light blush color her cheeks.
"You saved my life. Fleur told me that it was you who pulled me out from under a chandelier and apparated me here with Dobby."
Ron turned to face the fire again, his heart slamming in his chest. She'd pretty much acted like he was a slug in the garden for the last few months since he'd come back and he was more than willing to accept that for what he'd done.
Now she was sitting so close to him that he could smell her hair, with a blush pinking up her cheeks until she looked so beautiful, so alive, that it nearly broke his heart. And she was thanking him. Sincerely.
She was thanking him for saving her. As if letting her die wouldn't have killed him too.
He sat in silence for a moment, his voice soft and low as he finally responded. "I'll never let anything happen to you. I couldn't stand it."
He saw her quick intake of breath at his response from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze steadfastly on the fire. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the constant fear and stress. Maybe it was living through something that should have killed all of them. Probably, it was almost losing her forever. Suddenly, he wasn't able to guard his words the way he was used to. Suddenly, he sort of didn't care.
"You're important, Hermione."
He watched her nod slowly. "We all are. If anything happened to any one of us, this entire mission goes from improbable to impossible."
She didn't understand what he meant. Riding the wave of bravery that had chosen now to wash over him, he slowly slid his hand from it's place on his thigh over until he was gently covering hers. It was small and cool under his own as he squeezed ever so softly. She stayed stock still, staring ahead as he was, but she didn't yank it away so he couldn't help but find that to be a good sign.
"That's true. Harry needs all the help he can get and we each have a part - I see that now. " He cleared his throat, the pounding of his heart almost making him dizzy. "But, I'm not talking about the mission. You're important, Hermione….to me."
He turned to look at her then and, as if drawn to him, she followed suit. The surprise in her eyes at his words was plain, but he could also see something else. Was it hope? Then, he felt her hand shift under his and his heart skipped an entire beat as he realized she was gently turning it over until they were resting palm to palm. His breathing picked up speed slightly as he laced his fingers with hers and she gave his hand a little squeeze in turn. They were properly holding hands before a crackling fire and gazing into each other's eyes.
If that didn't spark a bit of bravery, he didn't know what could.
"I'm not going to lose you. I don't know how all of this is going to end up, but I promise you this. I'm not losing you."
She was searching his face as if looking for some other meaning to his words and he decided there was no better chance than now to make it perfectly clear how he felt.
His voice was soft and quiet, but utterly sincere as he held her gaze. "I love you."
Her eyes rounded completley as her voice came out on a thready, shocked, burst of air. "Really?"
All he could do was nod, his heart in his throat. But not from fear at the revelation of the deepest secret he'd ever had. It was there because her face was slowly splitting into a smile instead of a mask of horror and her eyes were filling with wonder as opposed to revulsion.
Maybe, just maybe, she didn't hate him anymore after all? Maybe, dare he hope, she felt it too?
He watched as she slowly began to tilt her head toward his, her small tongue darting out to wet her lips and it was his turn to let his eyes go impossibly wide.
Holy shit, was she was going to kiss him?
She inched slowly closer, his own head leaning automatically in response. She was. She was going to kiss him and every dream he'd had since he was fourteen years old was about to get blown neatly out of the stratosphere by the real thing.
She was a whisper away, her eyes fluttering closed as he stopped breathing entirely - his eyes riveted to her face. "Ron, I-"
"'Ermione, there you are. You must go back to bed, I 'ave been looking for you everywhere. You need more rest and it 'eez time for your potions."
They sprang apart as if lightning had struck the couch between them and looked up at Fleur who'd appeared silently in the doorway. If there was ever a time that Ron was utterly immune to her veela side it was right now. It took every ounce of self control he had not to confund her right on the spot and send her wandering around the garden for about three hours.
Giving his hand a final squeeze, her face full of regret that helped reassure him, Hermione began to rise from the sofa. Ron jumped to his feet to help her, the effort causing her breath to go shallow from pain and the pink flush she'd had to drain away.
Fleur was over to them in a second, reaching out to Hermione. If she noticed what she'd interrupted, she didn't let on - her focus solely on her patient. "I will take 'er upstairs, Ronald. I need to redress her bandages too. I'll be down in a while, you can help me prepare dinner." Ron nodded, putting his hands in his pockets as he watched them make their way to the stairs.
Just as she reached the bottom step, Hermione looked back at him over her shoulder and their eyes locked. A small smile tipped the corners of her mouth up and he couldn't help but return it before Fleur was moving her up and out of sight.
The house was quiet again, but unlike the haunted silence that had threatened to suffocate him only moments before, this silence was filled with something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.
Hope.