Author's Note: Originally written for the prompt "sunburn" on the Scribbulous drabble forum at Checkmated. :)
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The air was thick in the tent that they'd set up in a small clearing in Godric's Hollow. Harry, worn out after a sleepless night, had passed out in the next room.
Which left Ron and Hermione alone. And there was a problem.
Oh, God! I should tell her.
Hermione sat across from Ron on the squashy armchair she'd conjured, head bent in study.
I should really tell her. I'm an arse for not telling her.
She stretched languidly, arching her back and raising her arms above her head.
Tell her! Tell her before she finds out!
Ron shifted in his chair and stole another glance. He swore inwardly, and glanced again. He couldn't stop looking. He was surely going to be caught. Hermione turned and kicked a leg over the arm of her chair. Ron thought he might implode.
Say something! Say it!
But he couldn't bring himself to do it. The book on his own lap felt like lead and he fidgeted with it, trying to pull his focus away from the problem. It was no use.
Just then, Harry walked into the room, sleepily scratching at the back of his head and Ron froze. He watched in petrified horror as Harry glanced at Hermione. And saw.
Harry choked and spun on his heels. "Hermione! Your shirt—"
Hermione looked down at herself and squeaked, hurriedly fastening the button that had slipped out of its hole. She looked up at Ron and he cringed, preparing for the worst. His face was on fire, as though he'd been sunburned, and he gave her a look which he hoped was apologetic.
"Sorry," she said quietly. But somehow, as her gaze burned back into Ron's, she didn't look all that sorry.
Ron couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.