Title: Letters To You
Author: chromatic.daydream
Chapter Two: Inside Looking Out

Authors Note: Only another eleven days until HBP! Oh, I'm nervous with anticipation. And to make it even better, I'm going for an interview Thursday at Coles! I'm very excited; I could get a discount on the new book with any luck. But extremely nervous too, I've never gone for an interview before. Wish me luck and review! And thanks to all my lovely reviewers, I'll mention you all in the third chapter. But for now…here is the next chapter! Enjoy!

And this is dedicated to the lovely Muff-Muse. For the idea, and for always being there for me.

…
He was tired of being locked up inside of the school, leaning against the cold brick beside the windows. Outside there was a light snow, falling daintily down on the grounds, basking them in the surreal glow of Christmas. It was begging for Ron to come down and play in it, throw snowballs at Harry and get Hermione once again to teach him the art of making snow angels.

But no, the snow was almost tormenting him at this point, the youngest Weasley boy looking around his dorm room. Dean and Seamus were down in the Common Room playing Exploding Snap, Neville was off somewhere, probably talking with Luna in the Great Hall about plants or something of the such, and Harry had disappeared in the morning to go 'talk to Dumbledore' but Ron knew that was almost code now for meeting Ginny.

He didn't mind though, much. What Ron minded more was the Hogsmead trip being cancelled, and all without cause. Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew there was cause, as Hermione had rationally explained to him in front of the glowing Common Room fire, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.

It didn't seem fair to Ron that you-know-who was getting what he wanted. That he was taking the things they loved in life away from them. That's what he wanted, didn't he? He wanted to make them scared, to ruin what they had, to break them. And Ron for one was willing to admit that the arse was doing a good job of it.

The snowy white owl looked up at him with her huge brown eyes, sticking her leg out with a hoot. For a moment he was confused, Hedwig was Harry's owl after all. And he couldn't think of a person who would be writing him, unless it was his Mum, and she used Errol or Pig.

"I'm going!" Ron muttered when the owl gave another hoot, "Don't get your feathers in a ruffle."

The breeze coming in from the one open window was chilling, but dressed in his year old maroon sweater (which didn't exactly fit anymore) Ron was comfortable enough, breathing deeply. Almost as good as being outside. Almost.
…

…
Ron,
Where are you? I'm in the library, but, oh. I don't know. I feel like I can't concentrate on anything, and I'm only reading Hogwarts: A History! What's going on with me, Ron? The snow outside looks lovely, and I can just imagine how badly you want to be outside. This is silly. Absolutely silly. Why does Dumbledore not see he's giving you-know-who what he wants? I know it's dangerous, but still! Keeping us all locked inside?

Write back if you're not busy.

-Hermione
…

…
His head raced, spinning with the thoughts of what could be wrong. Hermione not being able to concentrate on Hogwarts: A History? Her favorite book? The thought seemed unthinkable, Ron holding her note tightly in his hand. His feet paced back and forth upon the wood floor, spare hand running through his hair.

"What do I do? What do I do? Bugger!"

He wasn't at all adept at these situations, but he knew something had to be wrong. Very wrong if she was writing him from the library about her concentration, or lack thereof. His hand was just pushing on the door to sprint down to the library, when his conscience stopped him.

It seemed a bit irrational to just go running down to the library. Besides, he was banned from the library for getting into a row with Hermione over a letter she received from Viktor, and if he remembered correctly, there were still another three days left in that.

So Ron sank back down to his spot in front of the window, wrinkling up his nose in concentration. He was still worried, something was obviously wrong with Hermione. But to get a letter to her in response, he would need an owl. And he had an owl sitting beside him on the windowsill.

"Miss. Granger?"
"Madame Pince?" Hermione asked, looking up.
"I need to leave the library for a moment, will you keep a watch on things?"
"Certainly."
"Thank you, dear."

She smiled courteously at the woman before turning her attention back to the book lying on the desk in front of her. Her eyes skimmed the line again, and again, and again, but Hermione still couldn't figure out what it was saying. Sighing in frustration, she tucked a strand of lose hair behind her ear, rubbing her temples.

"Wha- Hedwig?"

She unrolled the scrap of parchment that was tied to the beautiful owl's leg, flattening it out atop her book. The scribble was hard for her brain to read at first, but slowly Hermione was able to make out the words.
…

…
'Mione!
What do you mean you can't concentrate on Hogwarts: A History? You love that book! Are you running a fever? Are you cold? Do you need me to come and escort you to the hospital wing? Do you want me to do anything? I'm bloody worried over here. It's not like you at all.

In other news, I am sitting in my dorm room. Right beside the window. Looking longingly at the snow. OUTSIDE. Where we should be. But no. Stupid bloody you-know-who. Arse.

I know it's dangerous, like you know it's dangerous and- wait. You know it's dangerous out there but you still want to go out? Are you SURE you're feeling alright 'Mione?
…

…
Ron,
I am fine. No fever, no chills, and I don't need you to come escort me to the hospital wing. I am quite fine. From the sounds of your letter, suffering from the same thing as you are- Feeling insufferably restricted. I love Hogwarts just as much as the next, but being inside is becoming tedious. And as sweet as you are for worrying, please relax. I am fine.

And Ron, how many times must I remind you? Language! It's very unbecoming. And rude. Even though I agree with you whole-heartedly. Yes, I know it's dangerous and still want to go outside. We've not been outside the castle in months! Months, Ron! I'd even take a Quidditch game if it meant being outside.

Do you know where Harry is?
…

…
Her letter made Ron smile, lounging now on his bed with a pot of ink balanced precariously on a textbook, quill in hand. It was warmer inside his hangings, and Hedwig seemed to find a contented purpose in ferrying letters back and forth.
…

…
I think Harry is off with Ginny. As usual.

Thanks for reminding me about Quidditch, 'Mione. As if I didn't have enough to be depressed about today. Bloody Voldemort wanker. You know, if Harry doesn't kill the prat soon I'm going to go nutters.

Are you SURE you're fine?

-The amazingly depressed about lack of Quidditch
…

…
You're so dramatic, Ron! Qudditch isn't the end of the world; although I know to you it must seem like such. If I had the energy, I'd lecture you again about your language (Even if it is you-know-who, that's not reason to swear all you want), but it never sinks in does it? You're as hopeless as getting Harry's hair to lie flat.

And you mean to tell me you're not already nutters?

-The mildly annoyed about cursing and such
…

…
The giggle that escaped her lips was very un-Hermione, but it felt lovely to laugh. Laughter seemed to be something missing in the past few weeks as tensions about being locked up rose to an all time high.

Her quill rocked back and forth between Hermione's fingers, starting out the window with interest. It felt so odd to be anticipating Ron's response back every time she sent him a note. More so, it felt odd to be writing to Ron while they were in the same school, and writing normally, joking almost with one another.

But to say they hadn't grown closer in the past year would be an understatement; Hermione grinning widely as Hedwig came flying back. With Harry sullen and tending to stick to himself, or Ginny, it seemed only natural that Ron and herself grow closer with the increased time they spent in one another's company.
…

…
I am not dramatic!

And I am not nutters! No more nutters that you, Miss. Granger! Is the comment about me being hopeless really necessary? It hurts.

And you never answered if you were SURE you were fine.

-The horribly insulted and put out
…

…
He smiled to himself scribbling the last part, tying the parchment onto Hedwig's leg. Ron's mind had drifted far away from the snow, from the cancelled Hogsmead trip, and from Harry and you-know-who and everything else negative in his life. Now he was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, envisioning Hermione sitting in the library receiving his note; the way her eyes would roll, the way her laugh would be as quiet as a whisper, the way she would tuck the lose strands of hair behind her ears as she began to write him back.
…

…
Of course you're not dramatic, Ron. 'The horribly insulted and put out'? Honestly. You're worse than Pavarti and Lavender sometimes! And it might not have been necessary, but it was funny. I can just imagine you now, glowing red. Deep breaths, I'm only kidding. I am quite fine, Ron. I'm sure. 100 positive. Still no fever, still not cold, still not needing you to escort me down to the infirmary. I promise you, Ron. If I feel even the slightest bit ill, EVER, you will be the first I call.

…Do you realize we've been writing each other for well over two hours now? It feels odd, seeing as we are only a five-minute walk from one another. But it's been lovely Ron, really. It's so nice when we can get along together; I think sometimes our fighting is what puts Harry in one of his 'moods'. Not to say that he should be taking things out on us, but you know how it is. He's under pressure, and… we probably don't help much by constantly being at each other's throats.

Anyways, I do think I'm going to come back to the common room now. I haven't gotten a thing done all afternoon other than talk to you, so not much point in me being here. But, I'd still love to go to Hogsmead. I've nearly run out of parchment and my quill is cracking. Oh well. Maybe I could borrow your spares, seeing as you'll never use them? Thanks, Ron. Talk to you in a few minutes.

-'Mione
…

…
For once she had no books in her arms as she made her way down the corridor, they were all shelved back carefully in their designated shelves where they had come from. Not to say that she didn't have a pile of books waiting her in the dormitory, smiling at the thought of being able to see Ron once again after their afternoon chat.

"Hello?"

The shuffling noise stopped the moment her voice broke out, Hermione speeding up slightly. She was quite certain she had heard something, eyes scanning for the source of it. Yet she didn't see anything, and she didn't even see anything as someone grabbed her into another corridor, hand over her mouth.

"Someone help m- RON!"
"Bloody hell, Hermione! Keep it down!" The red head whispered, the invisibility cloak now resting on his arm.
"What are you doing? I thought- Honestly!"

He just grinned at her, the lopsided smile that Ron knew Hermione was impossible to resist, looping her arm through his as he pulled her down the hallway.

"Come on, 'Mione. I got your owl, and since you were taking so long to get back I figured I could come escort you."
"Escort me where exactly?" The brunette asked, eyes narrowed.
"To Hogsmead, of course."
"Hogsmead? Ron! Are you out of your mind?"
"I am nutters, remember?" He teased, "But, no. I borrowed Harry's cloak, and the Marauders map. We'll get you your parchment and ink, take a stop at the bookstore, and get back all before anyone even notices we're gone."

Her mouth hung open slightly, eyebrows raised at the man in front of her. This wasn't the same Ron was it? The Ron she knew would never have thought about sneaking out with her to get parchment and ink, or ever suggested they stop at the bookstore as well. Ron wouldn't be guiding her along by the arm, or looking at her with worried eyes, or fumbling with the cloak in his hand, ears red.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Are you sure you're Ron?"
"No, I'm a Death Eater," He laughed, "Why?"
"No. Nevermind. You know how to get to Hogsmead?"
"'Course. I wouldn't take you if I didn't know how to get there safely."

His ears tinged darker red at the last comment, hoping Hermione couldn't see right through him. But she didn't seem to notice his nervousness; nodding her head a couple times before looping her arm though his once more.

"Alright then," She paused, "Lead the way"