A Small Gesture
Author's Note: Originally published on February 24, 2019
The exhilaration of their near escape from the Lovegoods had all but faded, replaced by the dreary, damp days of late winter. The grey stillness weighed on them all, the days unchanged from one to the next as the weeks dragged on, no end in sight to their perilous mission.
Ever since he'd returned, he tried his best to be positive and do as much as he could to help Harry and Hermione. To prove that he could be of value to their efforts.
If he was being honest, things looked bleak, even to him. Harry's obsession with the Hallows clashed with Hermione's insistence that the Horcruxes should be their focus. The tension between them was palpable, and he was truly stuck in the middle—maybe for the first time since they'd become friends.
When he'd destroyed the locket, Harry had said that there were days when he and Hermione had barely even spoken to one another, and they'd seemingly fallen into that pattern again, being on opposite sides of a crucial argument. It was a far cry from the nightmares that had plagued him while at Shell Cottage, of their love blossoming while he was absent.
He didn't want to go against either of them, even though he was leaning towards Hermione's viewpoint... And it wasn't because of how he felt about her.
Could it be that they really did need him? He'd wrestled with that question in those fitful mornings at his brother's place, the darkness in his thoughts occasionally interrupted by the crashing of waves on the seaside.
Ron shook his head, pushing away those thoughts. He was back with his friends, and he was determined to help. He'd even found himself taking a leadership role, desperately trying to find something, anything, to move their mission along.
He'd been the one to get away for a bit and clear his head, after all. His two best friends hadn't had that luxury, and they seemed worn down. It was time for him to pick up the slack.
The only advantage of the rift between Harry and Hermione was that it gave Ron time and space to try and repair the tattered bonds of his relationship with Hermione. He was pleased to note that by taking her side, which he also believed was the right one, some of the anger she held toward him had abated.
Hermione had expressed her private frustrations at the likelihood of the Hallows being anything but a fairy tale, and Ron had agreed, while trying not to make it look like he was taking sides. If he took a stronger position, he knew Harry would feel like the two were ganging up on him and would shut them out even more.
Ron looked over at this mate, who was sleeping fitfully, clutching the invisibility cloak in his hands. He'd kicked off his coverings earlier. As the black-haired teen tossed and turned, Ron could see that Harry's face was screwed up tightly. Walking over, he pulled Harry's blanket up and tucked it around him, just like his mum used to do.
He sat there for a few moments, his presence calming his friend, until Harry's breathing finally evened out and he stilled, his features relaxing. Harry whispered something which sounded suspiciously like his sister's name, which Ron chose to ignore.
Ron silently stood up. Now that one friend was settled, it was time to check on his other best friend, though that title seemed rather paltry compared to how he really felt about her.
She was on watch, just outside of the tent. The overcast day had settled into an early evening of sporadic showers and gusts of wind, making for an uncomfortable experience. Ron knew it would just get worse overnight, which is why he'd volunteered to take the next shift. That way, Harry and Hermione would be able to avoid the foulest conditions.
Ron pushed aside the opening flap, shivering from the sudden chill, and peered out. He took the rare opportunity to just watch her for a moment. There were times when he was gone that he didn't think he'd have such an opportunity again.
It was still bright enough that he could see her huddled against a tree, reading. She was a grey lump, but there was a girl in there somewhere. Wrapped in a blanket, her knees were pulled up to her chest, weakly shielding her from the elements. The occasional burst of wind would wreak havoc with her bushy hair, which was as thick and long as he'd ever seen it.
Her cheeks were pink and her hair wild, but she was beautiful in his eyes. He was used to the pounding in his chest when he saw her, but it had somehow become deeper when the Deluminator's light had brought him back to her.
He grinned as the breeze pushed a strand of hair into her mouth, causing her to cough and sputter. A sudden thought struck him, and he turned back into the tent. Scrounging around his bed, he found his battered rucksack and stuck a long arm in, careful not to make any noise and wake Harry. He finally located the small items and clutched them in his hand, proud that he had the foresight to get them.
He took a deep breath before venturing outside, unsure of how Hermione would react to his offering. Though they seemed to be in a better place, he knew she was a long way from truly forgiving him.
He stood over her for a moment, his shadow falling across her page. "Mind if I sit?"
She shook her head no, her nest of hair even messier up close.
He crouched down and splayed out, their shoulders touching as the wind swirled around them.
She spoke out a minute later, her voice hoarse from a lack of use as her eyes rapidly scanned the book in front of her. "How's Harry?"
Ron pushed down a pang of jealousy. He knew Harry's feelings toward Hermione, but he still feared that Hermione may feel differently. "He's alright, settled down into a nap."
"Good. Did he say anything about the Hallows?"
"Nah, but he was keeping the cloak close."
Hermione grunted. "We need to do something, Ron."
"It's why I've been trying to find the next Horcrux. I'm hoping it'll force him to forget about the Hallows, for a little while at least."
She nodded, before pushing her hair out of her face and returning to her book.
Ron shifted onto his knees on the damp ground, so that he was to her side.
"I have something for you."
Hermione looked over at him for the first time since he'd ventured to her spot. "For me?"
"Yes, for you. Who else?"
Her face remained impassive.
"Hold out your hand."
She gave him an odd look, before fishing her hand out from underneath the covering and sticking it out in front of him, palm up.
He stared at it, before reaching up and grasping the underside, as if his hand had a mind of its own. She gasped quietly.
Ron continued looking at his hand, holding onto hers. "Your hand is cold."
"Yours is warm," she said, the slight tremor in her voice causing him to meet her eyes.
He cleared his throat. "Right. I got you these."
Ever so slowly with his other hand, he stretched out a plain black hair tie and slid it around her fingers, gently pushing it up. His fingers brushed her finger tips, then her palms, before he paused, the thin rubber resting on her wrist.
"What are you—"
He repeated the action again, this time with a second hair tie, which was purple and slightly thinner than the previous one.
"I've seen you do this a thousand times. I know you like to keep two hair ties here, in case you need one, and a spare of course."
She blushed. "I never knew you kept such a close eye on me."
He shrugged, his casual demeanor betraying the loud thumping of his heart in his chest. "Kinda hard not to."
"What do you mean?"
Emboldened by the question, he carried on. "Well, I notice a lot about you. Probably more than anyone. Y-You mean a lot to me."
"Oh."
She stared at her wrist for a moment, taking in the sight of the gesture. His hand was still holding hers, warming it up. She looked back up at him.
"Where did you get these?"
"I got them when I... I was away. I asked Fleur for them, hoping I'd have a chance to give them to you. I guess she always keeps a bunch handy, 'cause Bill steals them."
Ron spotted the sudden frown on Hermione's face.
"Fleur's actually quite decent, in a sisterly way."
Her lips twitched and turned slightly upward. Ron knew it was the right thing to say to alleviate her fears.
"That was nice of her, but I could have just conjured some."
"You said you didn't want to do magic for frivolous things. I know you misplaced your last one months ago."
"You remember me saying that?"
"Of course. Like I said, I do pay attention to what you say... Even if you think I don't."
A sudden gust of wind again caused Hermione to sputter from the long brown locks landing on her lips.
Ron showed her that he had one more hair tie, a navy blue one. "May I?"
Hermione's eyes bugged out of her head, as she bit her bottom lip nervously. "I... I guess."
He gestured for her to scoot forward so that he could sit behind her. She stared up at him, indecision plastered on her face.
"Don't you trust me? I promise I won't mess it up."
She nodded, her lips pressed together, and moved forward. He awkwardly stepped in behind her and slid down. His back was now against the tree, and she was leaning lightly against his chest, the layers of clothing and jackets acting as a barrier. Despite that, it was the most intimate moment they'd shared since his return.
"This... This alright?" He asked, his voice low.
"Yes."
Her words betrayed the tenseness of her body.
After a moment, Ron's fingers began running through her hair, tentatively at first, but then with more confidence as he combed out some of the tangles. He was almost holding his breath in that moment, his concentration deep in the task at hand. He held the strands with such reverence and treated them as gently as he could.
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, shifting around. "My hair must terribly dirty! I'm sorry, I didn't even think of it. I haven't taken care of it in forever. Ron, you can stop—"
"It's fine, I really don't mind." His voice a bit shaky. His hands slid down to her shoulders for a moment, stilling her fears before returning to the task at hand.
He continued combing through her hair. He felt her relax against him, and couldn't help but smile, careful to contain his giddiness. As he gently massaged her scalp, the wind carried away her groan.
"Where did you learn to do this?"
His breath was hot against her ear. "Dunno, never done it before. Mum used to ask me to comb Ginny's hair when she was busy, but every time I tried, she threatened to tell the twins to prank me so I never did it."
Hermione let out a quiet chuckle at the antics of the Weasley family. It was the first time he'd heard her laugh in ages.
"You're good at this."
"Thank you. Must be a natural talent."
"Whatever it is, keep going."
"I wonder if it's because..." He trailed off, afraid he might say something that would jeopardize the moment.
"Because?"
He blushed and continued.
"Maybe it's because it's your hair. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about you. I always thought it was cool. There you were, a little perfectionist, and yet your hair was always a bit wild and out of control. Anyway, I've always liked it."
"Thank you, Ron. And I was not a little perfectionist."
Ron snorted. "Ha! Perfect clothes, perfect grades, and of course, as Flitwick once said, perfect attitude and acumen."
She genuinely laughed, warming Ron's heart. "I was so different back then."
"Not really. You just apply your perfectionism in different ways now."
"I am far from perfect, Ron."
"Maybe to some."
His daring words hung in the air as he tucked some of the long strands behind her ears, before gently tugging the mass of bushy brown hair backwards, gathering it behind her shoulders in a bundle. His fingertips brushed the sides of her neck, causing her to shiver.
"Cold?"
"No."
He stretched out the blue elastic tie, securing her hair and finally getting it out of her eyes. He did one last check, letting his fingers linger against her neck for a moment. His hands found her shoulders and rested there again, slowly rubbing up and down.
"There, it's all under control."
She reached up and gently patted her hair, before her hand found his, giving him a gentle squeeze.
They didn't need words to communicate everything that was going on between them. It was a game they'd been playing for years and they were both excellent at it. After a few moments, the breeze began to pick up, swirling around the two cuddled up teenagers. The cold wind stung their exposed cheeks, causing them to get even closer.
Ron cleared his throat and whispered in her ear. "As much as I hate to move, why don't you head into the tent? I'll start my watch early."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. You're cold and I want to warm you up. I... I mean I want you to warm up."
Ron silently rebuked himself for his mistake, fearing he'd just ruined all the progress they'd made. He felt rather than heard her giggles, which filled him with a sense of relief. He was quite sure he resembled a tomato.
He reluctantly untangled his long limbs, giving her space to get up. She did so slowly, handing him the blanket and standing over him for a moment.
She brushed a hand through his fiery red hair, letting it linger briefly, before bending down and kissing him on the cheek. It was like fifth year before his first Quidditch match—though quite a bit closer to the corner of his mouth this time. "I notice a lot about you, too... And I'm glad you're back. Good night, Ron."
Despite the stunned look on his face, he managed to reply. "Good night, Hermione. Sweet dreams."
As the night closed in around him, his smile failed to falter. He thought about how low he'd been a couple of months before, stuck at Shell Cottage with only his guilt. One of his countless ideas to get back to them was to send his Patronus, but as much as he tried, his heart was simply too broken to produce anything but some faint silver wisps.
As he touched that sacred spot on his cheek where her lips had touched him, he realized he'd be able to conjure his feisty little terrier at the drop of a hat, knowing that he still had a chance with the girl who was his everything.