for Sophie, my love
word count: 840
"Are you naughty or nice?" Lavender appears in his tent, a wicked smile on her scarred face.
Ron swallows dryly. He shouldn't look at her, shouldn't entertain these whims that she has. They tried being together, and it didn't work out. Of course, that was a lifetime ago. That was before Voldemort was victorious, before Harry and Hermione died, before Ron was left with so much loss and heartbreak.
With a smirk, she pulls out a bottle of wine. In the back of his mind, Ron almost wonders where she found it. He doesn't ask because, really, it doesn't matter. It's something that can make him forget how fucked up the world is.
"It's very cold out there," she says. "Did you know you exchange body heat better if both parties are naked."
"Lavender," he whispers because he feels like he should protest this, like this shouldn't happen because they're both hurting, and that loneliness has only grown with the holiday season around the corner.
She's desperate. That's all this is. The freezing winds are howling, and she just wants someone to keep her bed warm. Maybe that's all, and somehow Ron really doesn't mind.
"A drink after," he says because he wants to remember this, wants to feel, wants to touch and taste.
She sets the bottle aside and moves closer, her hands grazing lightly over his arms. Ron's breathing hitches. Part of him screams that this isn't right, but he doesn't care tonight. What's left for him, anyway? His best friends are dead, and his family is falling apart. Doesn't he deserve a little relief? Hasn't he earned this right?
Her lips find his, and he can taste the desperation on her tongue, the unspoken need. They are both broken and want to feel whole again, even if it's an illusion, even if it doesn't really mean anything in the grand scheme of things.
He pulls her jeans down, gripping her thighs and drawing a soft moan from Lavender's lips.
"You're sure about this?" he asks because it's only polite.
She laughs, but it's a dry sound, bitter and without humor. "You talk too much," she tells him before pushing him onto his back and straddling him. She grinds against him, over his jeans, a satisfied grin on her lips.
Ron swallows dryly. Yes, this is very much wrong. They broke up for a reason, and he needs to remember that. Except he really doesn't care. What's the point anymore? His old life is gone, and there's no harm in doing something else, in finding his own way. The world is fucked up, and he needs something to get him by. They both do.
His thumbs hook in the elastic of her panties, and he looks up at her, silently asking for permission. Lavender nods, and that's all it takes. He rolls over so that she is beneath them, pulling her panties away and leaving her exposed. His heart races at the sight of her. She is so beautiful, and he could stay like this forever, eyes hungrily exploring her soft, unblemished skin, drinking her in. The throbbing between his legs reminds him that he wants to do more than just look, and he pulls away the final layers that separate their skin.
"I've never done this before," he admits.
"I don't care."
And with that, he pushes himself inside her.
…
"Thank you," he says when they've cleaned up, and they're both still flushed and breathless.
"You don't have to thank me," she says. "I was looking out for myself. Not you."
Maybe so, but Ron can't help but to think there's more to it than that. Lavender could have had any boy in the camp. He's seen the way Seamus looks at her, after all. And yet she chose him. He doesn't want to think too much about it, but it has to mean something more.
"We still have the wine," he says, reaching for the bottle and twisting off the top.
"I really can't stay."
"I wish you would." He swallows dryly. "It really is cold out there."
He can hear the wind whistling through the branches as if to drive home his point. Lavender tips her head to the side, considering in silence.
"I'm not here to fall in love, Ron. That Lavender is gone," she tells him, but she sits beside him and takes the bottle.
"We don't have to be in love," he agrees because, truth be told, he doesn't think that love has a place in this dark new world. "But we don't have to be alone either."
Her lips quirk like she wants to smile. She takes a sip of wine. "I guess we can be… whatever it is that we are," she says.
As the world continues to fall apart around him, twisting into an unrecognizable hellscape each day, Ron supposes that will have to be good enough. In the end, at least having someone by his side will make it a little easier to get through the day.