Winter Warmth

Ron/Hermione

She needed to have a steady mind. After all, they were only alone for the night, then the rest of the Weasleys would be back and the house would be full again. She wouldn't have to be alone with that goddamned adorable Ronald Weasley.

Hermione Granger pitched forward as a snowball hit the back of her head. She turned on her heel. "Ron Weasley, I swear-"

Another snowball hit her neck. She angrily wiped it away with her coat sleeve and saw Ron doubled over laughing. She scooped up two handfuls of snow, and, smiling devilishly, murmured a spell. The snowballs leapt out of her hands and hurtled into Ron's face. He instantly looked up, his blue eyes suddenly wide and surprised. He tapped his foot and smirked. "So that's how you want to play it, huh, 'Mione? Okay!"

He whipped out his own wand and flicked it above Hermione's head, saying Aguamenti Friguis at the exact same time Hermione cast a Protecting Charm. The freezing water he poured above her bounced harmlessly away.

Ron cursed good-naturedly, and Hermione shivered. He strode over to her. "Should we get inside?"

Glancing up, she nodded. Heavy winds were beginning to howl, and all the weather reports had warned of the coldest, heaviest snow of the year. Ron stuck his hand in his pockets. "I'll cast a quick warming spell to last until we get back to Shell Cottage."

With a quick mutter, the two of them were instantly toasty. She smiled at Ron. "Let's go."

Ron rubbed his hands together. "Let's."

They got into the cottage just as the snow started to pound down and the winds picked up. Ron struggled to close the door as the wind beat on it outside. Hermione walked over and pushed it closed for him. He grinned sheepishly at her, and Hermione felt a wave of dizziness overcome her. His freckles were prominent, even in winter, and his smile was lopsided. His hair- well, his hair defied description. If Hermione could, she would just-

"Come on, I'll light a fire," Ron said, striding over to the little fireplace set in the wall. Hermione followed him, clearing her head. Even though it was just the two of them in the cottage, she needed to have a steady mind. After all, they were only alone for that night, then the rest of the Weasleys would be back and the house would be full again. She wouldn't have to be alone with that goddamned adorable Ronald Weasley.

She watched as he tapped the fireplace with his wand. "Incendio."

The wood remained dry.

"What happened?" he asked, hitting his wand against the fireplace. He said the spell again. Nothing.

"You're not doing it right," Hermione said critically. He glared at her with those clear eyes. "I am too doing it right."

"Then why isn't it lighting? Here, let me do it." She tapped the fireplace and said clearly, "Incendio."

Nothing happened. Ron smiled triumphantly. "See, I told you!"

Now it was Hermione's turn to glare. "Maybe it's the spell. Succendo."

The spell she cast, which should have instantly caused flames to erupt, merely produced a few weak sparks.

"What's wrong?" Ron was concerned now. Hermione glanced worriedly out at the snowstorm, biting her lip.

"You know, don't you?" Ron asked, poking her. "Why aren't our wands working?"

"It must be the cold. In extreme cold and extreme heat, the magic can dry up, leaving only some residual magic until the temperature clears up. We must have used up the last of it on the warming spell back outside."

"That doesn't happen. Wands can't be frozen," Ron said dismissively. Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me, but have you ever read A History of Magick and Wandlore?"

"No, but I've seen the movie," Ron deadpanned. Hermione ignored him.

"We have to find some other way of staying warm."

"At least we still have electricity," Ron said, gesturing to the newly rigged up electric lights. Hermione had been there to help Arthur Weasley set them up. It was harder then it sounded, especially because he kept on trying to disassemble the lightbulbs.

As if on cue, the lights began to flicker on and off. Ron jumped back. "What's happening to the lights?"

"It's the snowstorm," Hermione sighed. "Power lines- they're what carry electricity to houses- get knocked down. Power goes out."

Suddenly, the lights went completely off and the house went essentially dark, except for the dusk light coming through the windows. Hermione heard a whisper.

"Lumos."

"Ron, our wands aren't working."

"Right."

Hermione thought quickly. Her fingers were beginning to tingle and feel numb. "Do you know if Bill and Fleur have any matches?"

She could see Ron's outline against the window as he walked over to her. "Are those the little stick things with the red tips?"

"Yes."

"I think they have some in the drawer beside the bookcase."

Hermione got up from her spot beside the fireplace and opened the drawer. Squinting to see, she could make out a small box. She pulled it out, but upon closer examination, it was empty. No- there was one small match inside.

"Didja find anything?" Ron called from across the room. She turned to look at him.

"Yes, one match. I'm going to try to light it."

They met at the fireplace. Hermione crouched down, the cold stones around the fireplace scratching at her palms. She flicked the match at the matchbox, and sat back in pleasure as a flame began to dance on the tip.

"Ron, can you get me a newspaper?"

Ron was back in a second, bringing a heap of old Daily Prophets. Hermione tossed them in the fireplace and lit them, watching in satisfaction as the stark black type got swallowed up by the fire. Ron was looking at her. If she were to look back at him, would she see the fire reflected in his summer-sea eyes?

She did. It was.

His eyes were dark and mysterious under his eyebrows. They were thrown into shade and light by the sunset outside and the fire beside them, and she could see the curve of his thin eyelashes.

"Um… we should put some more paper on, don't you think?" he asked, quickly and awkwardly breaking eye contact.

"Yeah," she agreed hurriedly, anxious to start the conversation up again. This fire wasn't good for her, it was giving her illusions. As soon as this blizzard was over, everything would be the same as normal. She and Ron would be friends and nothing more, and the Weasleys would come to Shell Cottage, and she wouldn't have to be staring at the owner of those beautiful ginger eyelashes.

"I'm cold," Ron complained. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So am I. Maybe it's because we're stuck in a freezing house in the middle of a blizzard with only a blanket and a fire to keep us warm."

"Yeah, maybe," Ron said, with a smile in her direction. Hermione continued to warm her hands against the fire. She felt a pull on the bedsheet they were sharing, and a sudden chill. She looked over and saw that Ron was wrapped comfortably in the sheet.

"Ron!" she scolded, tugging it away from him. He pulled it back.

"I told you, I'm cold."

"You're absolutely insufferable!"

"That too."

"Give it back!"

"Can we trade off?"

"No!"

She gave the sheet a final tug, and the two of them tumbled back across the floor, Ron burritoed in the sheet. Hermione whipped it away from him and draped it around her shoulders like a cape. "Ha."

He pouted like a small child. "'Mione, please?"

"My fingers are numb." She proved her point by wrapping a fold of the blanket around her fists.

"So are mine," he pointed out, edging a little closer to her. He was close enough now that she could see those exasperatingly gorgeous lashes rimming those infuriatingly blue, blue eyes.

"My whole hand is numb." Her hand drifted across the dusty wooden floor towards his.

"Both of my hands are numb." His hand brushed hers, a tiny little spider's touch. Barely more than a flutter. She could see a warm blush on his freckled cheeks. She knew he wouldn't- she couldn't- they shouldn't-

He kissed her. Ronald Weasley, immature, snowball-thrower, bedsheet-stealer, joker, adorable. She kissed him.

It, Hermione reflected later, was stupid. A wishing-kiss, a kiss of a cold winter night when both of them were simply drunk on their alone-ness. But nevertheless, they were kissing and their lips fit somehow, like the Muggle jigsaw puzzles Ron could never figure out. And she was realizing the beauty of the cold and the magnificence of the winter and the loveliness of thin ginger eyelashes.