Author Note: This title is, in part, inspired by the lockdown, what with the spread of COVID-19. It's a scenario that's been done to death on here - the apparent hand-holding scene the first night of the Trio's stay in 12 Grimmauld Place.
He stepped back inside a most familiar location – a white marquee. To Ron, it felt like he had been here before….just hours ago. Deja-vu, all over again, he thought wryly. And then his eyes fell upon Hermione. Dressed in a dress of elegant white, a smirking Ginny dressed in red behind her. Fred and George were catcalling, judging from their mischievous glint in their eyes, but to Ron, it was as if he was underwater. Harry was there too, as were his parents, Charlie, Bill and Fleur and countless friends. Hell, to make things better, the Bloody Bulgarian himself was nowhere to be found. Hermione opened out her hand to him in a beckoning gesture. Oh, Merlin, I'm going to make a fool at my own wedding dance.
There was a sharp, violent retort, as cloaked, ominous figures Apparated squarely in the middle of the dancefloor. He heard shouts from the Twins, Ginny and his parents, as they proceeded to leap into the fray, casting jinxes wherever they could get a clean shot. But the tide was not in their favour. The Death Eaters were seemingly not bothering to kill or hurt most of the wedding-gatherers for the moment….but himself, his family, Hermione's parents and Harry were a different matter. "Ron!" came a sharp cry from behind him. He turned back to see Hermione, looking disheveled, fierce determination tattooed across her face; her wand was at the ready. He rushed towards her, but she shook her head. "Get my parents out of here!" she instructed him. "I'll be fine, as long as we can grab Harry before they do." Ron nodded in understanding, but turned just in time to see with a stab of horror Hermione's mother felled by a flash of green from Antonin Dolohov. He felt rather than heard his own bellow of pure rage and pain, co-mingling with Hermione's own instinctive cry. But he had no more time to react….a blinding flash of red overwhelmed his vision…he was falling, spiraling away…..
He came to in a flash….to find to his considerable horror, Bellatrix Lestrange's drooping eyelids hovering over him. Her tongue was idly wetting her lip in gleeful anticipation.
"Excellent, Greyback! The Weasley scum can now see what we have in store for the Mudblood! I guarantee you – it'll be an unforgettable Honeymoon," she crowed, strutting to where a small, quivering bundle lay in the grass in front of the bundle.
Hermione. He moved his mouth, trying his hardest to call out to her, offer some reassuring words.
"Don't worry, Weasley," came the icily debonair voice of Antonin Dolohov from somewhere behind him. You don't need to worry about Potter. We have him in a nice, secure spot, for whenever the Dark Lord decides to pay a social call to congratulate you and the Mudblood."
No….not Harry as well. Anything but this situation right now.
Even under the Full Body Bind, Ron could still adjust his eyeballs around slightly….and his drumrolling heart went into yet more vibrant palpitations….he was now burning up…..
A dozen other Death Eaters stood in front of the Burrow. Loud calls came from within. Just then, the uppermost window opened, and his mother's ghost-like face appeared….crying out his and Hermione's name desperately.
"The Dark Lord has decided," continued Dolohov mildly, "to demonstrate what happens to those who pick the wrong team. Bella, do the honours." Bellatrix cackled, and with a whirl of her wand, the house was engulfed in flame. Shouts of alarm emanating from the house overwhelmed him, gradually escalating into a cacophony of pain and desperation, from his mother, his siblings, Neville, Seamus…
"RON! RON!"
"No, not Hermione as well!"
"GET BACK, GET BACK! THE STAIRS ARE IMPOSSIBLE TO USE!"
"Aguamenti!"
"Keep trying, damn it!"
"We're burning up in here! HELP!"
Skipping happily away from her carnage, looking for all the world like the demented schoolgirl she once undoubtedly was, Bellatrix kicked Hermione's whimpering form, and she rolled over to face Ron. Already bruised badly and with tears of fear, grief and humiliation pouring down her face. She tried to slowly, painfully get to her feet, but Bellatrix's shoe crushed her and pinned her neck back to the earth, as the sadistic woman unsheathed her wand once again.
Hermione's eyes met his…he could see her mouth the words "I know" to him as he heard the incantation that signaled, slowly and excruciatingly, the end for her.
"Sectumsempra!"
"HERMONE!" he bellowed…..except once again, no sound had escaped him, and his attempt to run over to her, shield her from the mad-woman, kill Bellatrix and Greyback….anything, but this – was for nothing. Tears erupted onto his cheeks as Bellatrix hit her with the vile curse again, scarlet droplets spraying over Bellatrix's wand hand. She disdainfully wiped the blood away as Fenrir Greyback, hideous in appearance, and still human, came barreling over to Hermione's feebly stirring form, several spots of scarlet now staining her dress…
….
He lashed out, and grabbed something reassuringly solid and warm…his eyes flashed open.
"Hermione?" he croaked. The memories came flooding back to him: Bill and Fleur's wedding, the dance, Krum, the escape, the café battle, Grimmauld Place, the Dumbledore figure…
She was staring at him with considerable concern, her pale visage eerily let up by the yellow halogen street lighting, giving her a sickly appearance.
Sheer relief overwhelmed him, instantly augmented by fear for his family, under the Death Eaters' careful eye. He hadn't let her down. Not so far….
More tears trickled down his cheeks as he turned away, taking deep, calming breaths as he turned away to steady himself, as she leaned over from her elevated position on the sofa, shushing him softly as his back was soothingly rubbed. One of her tendrils of hair fell onto the bare skin just above the top of his t-shirt and he turned ever so slightly to breathe in the faintly exotic scent from her perfume applied prior to the wedding. Neither had the Sleakeazy hair potion's effects entirely worn off – though the elegant effect had come slightly undone in the duel in the Tottenham Court Road café.
She was alive.
"You're okay, Ron," she whispered huskily. Ron recognised the tell-tale roughness in her voice. He turned and his suspicions were confirmed. Her own face was puffy and there was evidence of tear-tracks down her face. How long had she been awake, crying by herself, with neither him nor Harry to comfort her? Still, it hadn't stopped her from reaching out to assist him in his own time of need. Now it was necessary for him to do the same.
"Don't worry about me," he whispered, gently patting and cupping Hermione's outstretched hand resting on his shoulder. "Just a bad dream." Hermione stared back at him – Ron felt the unusual feeling of being x-rayed, like with Dumbledore or Snape, though neither had been as attractive…
"About what?" she enquired, crossing her legs and adjusting herself with a sigh to face Ron more fully.
"Death Eaters," he muttered bitterly, wiping his streaming eyes and now refusing to make eye contact. "Death Eaters, including Bellatrix and Greyback….doing things….doing things to the person, er, people that I love."
"Ron…" Hermione's expression was inscrutable as she leaned forwards slightly. "Look at me," she coaxed. "Who did you…."
"My family," he said, with a bitter finality. Well, it was sort of true, he reasoned to himself; Hermione and Harry were basically family to him after so long. Hermione let in a sharp intake of breath – and Ron cursed his tactlessness when discussing families. Of course this was what he shouldn't have said – he remembered how devastated Hermione was right after she'd modified her parents' memories. It was a miracle she'd managed to Apparate cleanly to the Burrow right afterwards. "I'm sorry," he hastily added, squeezing her hand as she removed it from his shoulder. "Here we are – you've had to cope with what you had to do, and here I am getting upset over a stupid dream." But Hermione shushed him by raising a single finger to his lips– he involuntarily closed his eyes and shivered at the gentle contact. "Ron, I understand," she promised, though her eyes still looked watery as she let out another sniff and wiped any moisture away. "My family – I…I believe, are no longer in danger. They're nicely set up in Melbourne – even to me making sure Crookshanks travelled on the same plane. The Death Eaters are wanted criminals outside Britain, and both Australia and New Zealand have some of the toughest Auror forces on the planet. So they're not in danger."
"Thank Merlin," Ron muttered, resting his arm comfortingly on the knee of Hermione's pyjamas. "Honestly, woman, your brilliance will one day be the end of me. Hopefully, it'll also be the end of Voldemort as well."
"Oh shut up," she shot back with a faint, watery chuckle, but she blushed coyly all the same. Ron, realizing Harry could easily be woken, promptly cast Muffliato. His best mate really had a terrifically loud snore when his mind wasn't being occupied by Voldemort. "That's better," he whispered back. "Harry doesn't need to be woken, and we sure don't want that miserable Elf to suddenly turn up and shoot his mouth off to them, again."
It was perhaps a measure of the gravity of the situation that Hermione did not immediately launch into another SPEW diatribe as she nodded in recognition. "We surely can't be this lucky forever, Ron, I agree," she whispered. "But your family will be fine – given that Ghoul's moved into your room by now, and even though you're considered Blood Traitors, surely your Pure-Blood status will help a bit? And your parents know how to be discrete. Your father spent almost twenty years working in the same building as Lucius Malfoy - and he still managed to avoid being carted off to Azkaban for murder."
Ron snorted and squeezed her knee. "I'd have been the first to congratulate him for disposing of that preening, greasy git." She scowled at him – but she was betrayed by the quiver of her lips. "Moving away from thoughts of murder, is there anything else keeping you awake?" she asked. Ron smiled back and shook his head. "No – not anymore." He gently exhaled, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. It was just like in the wake of his horrific flashbacks in the wake of the brain attack in the Department of Mysteries. Corny as it sounded, midnight talks with his perhaps-more-than-a-best-friend really were fantastic therapy. They could discuss matters on those occasions they'd never consider raising if Harry was present.
"So much we've all seen and achieved," he mumbled, as a small worm of guilt began eating away at his gut again. She'd done far more to help him over the years than he'd done to help her. Then there were the rifts which, looking back, he'd done the most to ignite. Crookshanks, the Yule Ball – and worst of all, jealousy over Krum propelling him onto Lavender's all-too-willing lips. "And all those petty squabbles. Just why we entered some of them, I wonder. Like Crookshanks, I mean. Why did I almost throw our friendship away….all for a traitorous little rat? Besides, the mangy old furball isn't too bad once you get to know him better. I think he's only scratched me about a hundred times since then." Hermione faintly grinned, but her expression grew more sombre – her brown boring into his blue. "You don't need to apologise for that, Ron," she said with a quiet determination. You helped me out with the case information on Buckbeak – that was worth more than fifty 'sorrys.' Just like when you helped me convince Harry to set up the DA, in spite of…"
"Yeah, well, he was acting like the biggest git this side of Percy," Ron added heatedly, now well accustomed to suppressing the swoop of anger and wistfulness when he thought of the family's black sheep (was Percy keeping himself safe?) He knew full well that it was wrong to get annoyed at Harry over the lingering trauma of witnessing Voldemort's rebirth, and the unwelcome explorations into Voldemort's mind, but that didn't mean Harry's conduct from that period didn't still rankle him a bit. Especially when it came to biting Hermione's head off every five minutes that year.
"Point is, Ron," Hermione continued while ignoring Ron's jab, "you've been there for myself and Harry so many times before. And I know that will be what you do for as long as it takes."
Yet another reason to love her, Ron mused. Here she was, her nights interrupted by grief over what she'd been forced to do, and she still had enough energy, time and patience to not only save their collective backsides just hours previously, but also build up his self-esteem and comfort him after his nightmares. He only wished that someday, he could return the favour in spades.
He was simply content at this moment, to drink in the mere sight of her. Matters between them, he felt, had fallen into a sort of undeclared limbo ever since he'd comforted her during Dumbledore's Funeral – and since she'd arrived at the Burrow, they'd become closer than ever - tantalizingly. Then there had been Bill and Fleur's wedding- and surely he wasn't just hopefully imagining things when it seemed her eyes were gleaming in anticipation as they danced? One desperate escape and one potentially lethal café duel later, and she was still alive. No longer in a graceful lilac number, hair no longer elegantly pinned back and rendered sleek and shiny – all in all, beautifully unkempt. Most importantly – very much alive.
He'd gotten to the point where Fred, George and Ginny's swipes and suggestive jokes no longer bothered him much because – he grimaced – they'd been uncannily good in seeing where things were going. Especially with that book, which he'd be sure to thank Fred and George for if – when – they got out of this mess.
Ron" came Hermione's voice. "Why are you looking like that?"
Crap.
He'd leaned forwards instinctively – he was half-way to kissing her on the forehead. Great work, Ronald. Here she is, upset, and you go off trying to snog her without even realising it.
He grimaced - faking a back twinge might have been incredibly lame and transparent if anyone else had been witnessing this charged moment, but it would suffice. "Back twinge," he lied. "Probably from that café battle." Hermione sardonically raised an eyebrow.
"Well, if that's the case, you'll have to get yourself into shape, Won-Won," she teased, causing Ron's cheeks to burn. That pet name from his sodding ex-girlfriend…..
"Well, I'm sorry I can't be more like McLaggen," he hissed back, a little of the bitter jealousy from eight months previously surfacing once more. He instantly felt a surge of regret. (What was he thinking, bringing up that sleazy tosser now, of all times? Hermione didn't even like the moron.)
"Oh please," whispered Hermione, wrinkling her nose in a most adorable way. "Devil's Snare could teach McLaggen lessons on etiquette. And calling me 'Mione' right afterwards was the final straw."
"Okay," whispered Ron, relieved at this de-escalation and enjoying the banter now – "can we all agree that I don't call you that, as long as you never again use that nickname? Or bring up that hideous necklace she gave me."
"Deal. Besides, Ginny and I have already agreed to take out a contract on poisoning him. Never since her first year have I seen her so terrified as when Harry came off his broom." She let out a shudder. "It was…horrible. But I guess you never realised how shaken she was."
Ron nodded. Admittedly, he was probably too busy to appreciate his sister's terror, even when she visited him and the unconscious Harry right after her row with Dean, given:
a) He was himself worried about the unconscious Harry's condition.
b) He was fantasising about the punishment being doled out to McLaggen by his teammates.
c) He was eagerly anticipating Hermione's next visit.
d) He was dreading the next visit from his then-girlfriend.
After all, the fact he was in a relationship hadn't stopped him from often reimagining the events of that first infamous evening if he hadn't been such a jealous arse. Or if only he hadn't heard from Ginny about Krum's snogging activities. It was far more pleasant to imagine if every kiss and caress had been delivered by Hermione instead. After all, he had never been interested in going beyond lip-locking with Lavender, anyway. It was funny how although Hermione's mood-swings could unnerve him, his deeper emotional drive to be near her wasn't diminished by her being upset. While seeing her in so much pain weeks beforehand was terrible, he hadn't been deterred from providing some emotional support. He knew that this was where Harry at times struggled with, through no fault of his own.
"Speaking of Ginny," he whispered, "I'm glad both she and Harry saw sense – before all of this." Much to his surprise, Hermione glared at him.
"Ron, you know full well that Harry did the only logical thing by breaking up with her – back at Dumbledore's funeral," she hissed. "She'll be of age in just over a year – and I know you're particularly protective of her after what happened to her with the Diary, but it's no-one's fault that they're head over-heels for each other."
"I know," Ron sighed. "Hermione, you have no idea how much I wanted to apologise to Harry right afterwards but….but part of me thinks that Ginny still is clinging to the idea that Harry will prance off, slay Voldemort without difficulty, and then she'll be able to end up marrying him. We have no idea how long this Horcrux hunt is going to last….it could be years." He did not elaborate on the obvious qualification that came with that statement – if they were ever successful at all…..
"I know," Hermione responded wanly, idly tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. "But you're wrong about Ginny, Ron. Given the conversations you had with her since Dumbledore's funeral, you should know that. Saying goodbye was so….so important to her - and she hasn't forgiven you for ruining it."
"That's true – but that doesn't excuse Harry for going with that, just to satisfy…."
"Listen to yourself," she sighed. "Harry would never take advantage of her like…that. Ginny was in the driver's seat on that occasion, and always will be – you know how Harry is!"
"I'm not worried about that," he whispered, his ears heating up in irritation at the insinuation. "Yes, I'm terrified about what might happen to her back at Hogwarts – if she can go at all that is – and particularly if the wrong people find out about their relationship. Yes, I'm ticked off that she's suffering a heartbreak through no-one's fault but Voldemort's. But more than that, I'm worried about my best mate. He's amazing, but we want him focused on this hunt –remember how distracted he was by what Malfoy was up to? Even though he was right on that occasion….I'm still scared for him, Hermione. He shouldn't have to face this burden."
Hermione was looking at him with an odd expression, one that made him feel as if he could take flight like a balloon. It was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. He muffled his surprised intake of breath when she leaned towards him.
"It's a motivation for him," she whispered. "Just like it is-" – she gulped – "just like it is with me being able to see Mum and Dad again. I know that you think it's different for you, but…" – her gaze bore into his – "is it really?"
At this, her hand touched his – and for a moment, Ron had a fantasy of capturing her lips with his, holding her, whispering reassurances and declarations of undying love in her ear….words that he knew were meaningless in the current context. Yes, he was irreversibly in love with his best friend - something that should never have happened, and especially not in the middle of a new war for the soul of the wizarding world. But he couldn't forgive himself if he lectured Harry on this, then promptly disobeyed it himself. Neither did he have the energy to tell Hermione she was wrong – because she was absolutely right. Pithily arguing that he was different to Harry was especially ridiculous, given the way Hermione increasingly popped up in his thoughts while asleep. Sometimes the dreams were amusing, sometimes they were outright nightmares like just previously….other times like three nights previously, he had been unable to meet her gaze for two whole hours after breakfast. He didn't know how much Hermione knew about the turmoil inside his mind as he stared back at her, or to what degree she felt it herself, but as with countless times before, he instinctively felt they understood each other completely.
"I guess not," he whispered, cursing his hammering heart as his fingers locked with hers – he heard her exhale gently, and let out a deep shuddering breath. We'll find them," he said bracingly. "Together."
"Do you mean my parents or the Horcruxes?" she asked, her eyes shining once again. "Hopefully both," he replied, rubbing his finger against the back of her hand as she gave a bittersweet beam, let out a solitary sob, and wiped her eyes to compose herself.
"Think how much we've been through," she said shakily. I should have known you two were in trouble right from the get-go."
"Well, I think the Troll incident set the mood for our friendship," he replied with a weak chuckle. "And Ginny's had her moments too." The moment he raised his sister, he regretted it, as he was transported back to seeing the blood-like message announcing her abduction and murder, of witnessing those spiders, of seeing Hermione lying unnaturally still and ice-cold to the touch – eyes frozen open. Not to mention the time she had been hit by a curse from Dolohov, also rendering her unconscious and frightfully still. He remembered the excruciating wait before Madam Pomfrey had contained the curse's effects and stopped the internal damage from slowly spreading further, waiting for her to regain connsciousness. It was with a surge of fury that he remembered Dolohov had almost done the same thing again just hours beforehand. If Hermione had been seriously injured, he would not have spared Dolohov or Rowle….
Never again would Hermione come within one mirror reflection or one wand-flick of death. It was a promise he intended to keep.
"I won't let anything happen," he said aloud to the night.
"Sorry?"
Ron jumped at Hermione's voice. "I won't let anything happen to you," he elaborated. "Not a single one of those black-cloaked bastards are going to harm you, Hermione. Or Harry – I mean it. I've had enough of it over the years."
Ron," she began, concern etched onto her face in the form of a frown, but Ron held up his spare hand to stop her.
"You heard me, Hermione. I want you and Harry to be able to finish this. Even if it means throwing myself in front of Noseless himself so you can…"
"Stop it," she snapped, nostrils flaring. "This isn't a game, Ron. It's not like that chessboard five years ago – if you lose on this…we'll never see you again. I need you alive." Her voice quavered, and Ron squeezed her hand comfortingly. But he wasn't going to budge.
"I…I'll do my best not to." He swallowed nervously. "But if it means keeping you and Harry alive….there's been too many times when you've been so lucky. Even in our Second Year! I was ready to murder Malfoy when he….after I saw you….looking like that…." Hermione leaned towards him, rubbing his back once again. "It won't happen," she said with a firm finality. "But Ron….I need you to promise me that you won't do anything rash, or anything like what you just said you'd do. I need you." The hairs on Ron's arm erupted in goosebumps at that emotionally loaded statement and the wobble in her voice. "We both need you alive." He swallowed the lump in his own throat, turned to face her, and stroked the cut on her face, put there by a fragment of shrapnel from their table during the café duel. "I promise," he whispered, but deep down, he knew full well that if push came to shove, he would do anything that was necessary. The sad fact was, they were irreplaceable, and he wasn't.
He could appreciate their bizarre predicament from the first day they met. He, from a loving, close-knit brood of Weasley children, and her: a single child, bossy, chip on both shoulders, and as he later found out one night in the Hospital Wing in Third Year, a history of being bullied and isolated at her Muggle school. Now….he would rather be force-fed live spiders than to confess his fantasies about getting on one knee, and marrying the number one source of irritation in those first weeks of attending Hogwarts. He'd never get old of the routine that he fervently hoped was his future reality: waking up to her tangled hair on the pillow beside him, her smiles, scowls, bickering and teasing every morning, kissing her, touching her, undressing her…..
Hermione was right. Motivation. Motivation to build a better world for themselves and their family would be their source of energy going forwards in this endeavor. They would get through this period of isolation from everyone else day by day. It would be stressful; it would be extraordinarily dangerous. But just maybe, there would be moments of levity he could share with his two friends – maybe even with the next generation of Potters, Weasleys or Grangers.
"Shall we take stock of our situation tomorrow morning?" suggested Hermione with a yawn. "Including Horcruxes."
"Good idea," whispered Ron, letting go of Hermione's hand. "But Hermione…..are you okay sleeping? I mean….I could always shift my sleeping bag out into the corridor or another room if you need…."
"I wasn't," she admitted sleepily, her head falling against the cushion at one end of the sofa. "But I will be now. Thank you for everything, Ron…..I don't know how well Harry and I could go without you. And I hope you meant what you promised before – about staying safe…."
"Of course," he breathed as he got back into his sleeping bag, though this was only half-true and he knew full well what she actually meant. No more talk of noble sacrifices. "Sweet dreams, Hermione." How so much had changed since the sun had set. He thought back to the wedding, of the promise of hope epitomized by Bill and Fleur, so rapidly shattered. He thought of the dance they'd shared….
"Thank you for the dance," he whispered.
"Hmmm," she mumbled sleepily.
"I'm glad we did that….It was fun," he finished lamely, plucking up his nerves to elaborate further.
"Me too," she mumbled. Seriously, Sleepy Hermione was one of his favourite iterations of her. He wetted his lips nervously.
"And…." He paused, taking advantage of the moment to lift the Muffliato charm before turning back to Hermione. "You looked beautiful. I…I should have said that before."
Hermione raised herself from her cushion, blinking blearily. "Why?" she queried, as Ron felt his cheeks flush.
"Because….because I suck at compliments. I've lost track of how many times you must have heard me call you a know-it-all, or that you were bossy, or that you were smart, but you've never heard…..that," he tapered off, ears burning. "Not from me." In the gloomy yellow illumination from the street lighting outside, it was hard to decipher Hermione's expression. But Ron did not expect that her hand would reach out to touch his collarbone from her bed above.
"I'm glad you're here, Ron," she said quietly.
"So am I," he whispered, swallowing nervously again as her hand traced down his arm, and he moved to cover it with his.
"Is….is this okay?" he queried hesitantly. She nodded slowly, then rearranged herself with a sigh, tightening the grip on his hand as her eyes fluttered closed.
Although Hermione's soft snores began co-mingling with Harry's louder ones from his left within a minute, Ron remained very much conscious.
Their world had imploded, but a modicum of control and hope remained. The three of them, together alive, and ready to fight out a day-by-day survival strategy.
It was only a year beforehand that thinking about her like this, dwelling on the tension in their relationship, had terrified the hell out of him. Now, focusing on that was the only way he was going to be able to fall asleep this particular evening. Far more comforting than thinking of nightmares, of Horcruxes, or fears about his family's safety. But he wasn't so pure in thought as to not register a slight, smug twinge of pleasure. Viktor Krum had never gotten to fall asleep like this…..
Was it really only a few hours beforehand that he was stewing in petty jealousies spawned three Christmases previously, eyeing up a snog….or even something more as the wedding wrapped up?
One of the main constants was Harry, still beside him – whom he now loved every bit as potently as his genuine siblings, who were all hopefully staying safe.
But yet more importantly, so was Hermione.