AN: Romione Week, Day 3: Traits & Trinkets

The deluminator has more than just one use. Ron wonders what else it may help him, and Hermione, with.

It doesn't take much to rouse Ron from his sleep nowadays.

There was a time when he slept so soundly a thousand rampaging Hippogriffs couldn't wake him. His mum used to joke that it would take the world falling apart before he'd so much as lift an eyelid earlier than he needed to.

Ron liked his sleep.

But over the past year, he's gotten used to falling asleep to the sounds of leaves rattling against stone, of twigs and small animals scratching against a canvas tent or the quiet babble of nearby streams. The silence that followed, when the creatures of the woods they were temporarily occupying had gone to bed, was deafening and his ears soon became attuned to all of the goings on around them.

Now he's back in his old single bed, under his worn and beaten Chudley Cannons duvet, he wakes with only the smallest of noises. And the Burrow is never quiet. It's always been alive with noise, even at night, but this is now amplified a hundred times over after the silence during their year on the run.

Aside from Harry's snores—which Ron has gotten used to over the seven years they've bunked together—the ghoul in the attic likes to wail its discontent about the unfairness of its world, every wooden step creaks. The house shifts and groans as if it's overstuffed from all its occupants. There's also the constant low murmur of conversation radiating through the many floors of the house.

After all their loss and suffering, none of the Weasleys sleep anymore. At least, not properly.

Tonight, though, it's the screech of the hinges on the kitchen door that wake Ron, high-pitched, like fingernails scraping over a blackboard. It doesn't matter how many people tell Dad to oil it; he never seems to get around to it. There is a pause when the silence creeps back in, and Ron almost falls back asleep when the screech startles him again. This time, it's followed by the click of the lock as the door shuts, and then the house is quiet once more.

Who the hell is leaving at this time of night?

The thought is enough to yank him out of his half-asleep state, his pulse quickening, throbbing hard at his wrists. It must be late, the room is full of the darkness that comes just before dawn, yet it forces Ron into action. He shoves his feet out from underneath his cosy duvet, ignoring the chill of the air as it dances around his bare ankles, where his pyjama bottoms don't quite fit.

It only takes two steps for Ron to cross to the window and only one second for his fingers to find the edge of his orange curtains. He pushes the bright material back and squints across the deep, dark garden.

The location of his bedroom provides the perfect view across the dark garden. For a moment, he wonders if he might have made a mistake until he spots a shape moving between moonlit patches. He recognises it straight away, and concern fills his heart, opening a bag of flobberworms and sending them wriggling through his stomach.

Where the fuck is she going?

Hermione reaches the edge of the garden and passes through the invisible safety barriers at the boundary, still in place even though the war is over, before disappearing in a flurry of bushy hair.

"Shit."

His heart pounding against his ribcage, Ron fumbles for his wand and lights the room before hurrying to pull on clothes. He has no idea where she's going or why she even has to leave the Burrow in the dead of night, but he knows he has to find her. Although Kingsley has assured them time and time again that they're safe now, there's a handful of Death Eaters still on the lam, and the Auror department is still providing an escort for Harry wherever he goes.

Hermione can probably handle herself, but Ron doesn't want to take the risk anyway.

Without a clue where to start looking, his mind drifts to the long, skinny device lying in wait in his bedside drawer. He's forgotten about it since the last time he used it. After leaving Harry and Hermione once, he vowed never to do it again. But what if there's more magic in that small device? Maybe it can help him now.

Desperation taking over, Ron yanks open the drawer and searches for the magical tool, sifting under years of discarded paper and toys that no longer work. Eventually, he finds it, and he plonks himself down on the edge of his bed, twisting it around his fingers as he contemplates what to do next.

He speaks to the Deluminator low and fast in his urgency. "The last time I used you, you activated without me even asking. But I'm sure wherever Hermione has gone, she won't be whispering my name tonight. I have to find her, you're my only hope. Please help me out."

Closing his eyes, Ron pushes his panic and concern out of his mind, trying his best to focus only on Hermione and all the love he feels for her. He holds his breath then flicks the Deluminator open. Behind his eyelids, there is a bright flash of light before a hook takes hold of his stomach and whisks him away.

⁂

When Ron finds his feet again, he's in a street full of Georgian houses, illuminated by the shine of yellow light from the lamppost above him, and he hurries out of it in case a Muggle spots his sudden appearance on the road.

Frowning, he turns to the nearest house. He's never been here before, but it looks familiar. Although he can't quite put his finger on the reason why the expansive windows and well-kept front garden put him at ease. The white gate is ajar, and a ball of light floats above the door.

"Here goes nothing," he whispers to himself as he ignites his wand and follows the orb into the house.

The first thing he notices is the photos on the walls of the hallway. Every frame features a middle-aged couple, but something or someone is missing from them. The pictures don't move, cementing Ron's suspicions that he's in a Muggle home, but nothing in the first room he explores feels right.

It's clear nobody has lived in the house for a long time. A smell of decay and mould fills Ron's nostrils every time he takes a breath, and there's a thin layer of dust.

Footprints mark the steps through the dirt, and Ron's heart pounds as he follows them up the stairs, across the first-floor landing and to the nearest door. He frowns as he takes in the name carved into the middle of the wood, the letters curving in the script that's all too familiar to him now.

Hermione.

The realisation hits Ron like a bludger to the head. This must be her family home. As his ears tune into the silence in the darkness, a quiet sob comes from behind the door. Sighing, he opens it and steps over the threshold, being careful not to startle her as he says,

"Hermione, love."

She whips her head around, eyes wide, puffy and red as she gawps up at him. "H-how did you find me?" she stutters. "I didn't know that you had my address."

"We're magical, Hermione." Ron settles next to her, letting the Deluminator roll into her empty hand before kissing the top of her head. "Looks like Dumbledore had other uses for this. I have two reasons to thank him now. Why are you here?"

"I miss them. When I was on the run, I didn't have time to think about them, because I knew they were safe. And now the war is over, and despite my research and going to the Ministry every day to try and work out how to get them back, I'm no closer to finding them. I want my parents back."

He reaches up, wiping away the tears that have settled on her cheeks before holding her head to his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You, your family and Harry have been brilliant. I didn't want them thinking I was being selfish or ungrateful. Especially with everything you're going through."

"It doesn't mean we don't have time and space to look after you too. I'm sorry if we've been distracted." Ron traces a trail of kisses down the side of her face, from the crease at the corner of her eye down to her jaw, before pushing her head towards him so he can kiss her properly.

"We can do more searching," he says as he pulls away, cupping both her cheeks in his hands and staring into her wet brown eyes. He wants nothing more than to make her happy again, to ease the ache in her heart. He knows how that feels.

"Like what?"

His eyes drop to the Deluminator, still resting in Hermione's outstretched hand. A spark ignites in his head, and excitement bubbles deep within him. The Deluminator led him to her twice now, the person he loves the most. Maybe it can help them find her parents, too.

"Let's go to Australia."

Hermione raises her eyebrows, but before she can open her mouth to interject, Ron continues, "I'm serious, 'Mione. We have weeks before you go back to school. Let's give this a try. Please."

A small smile fills her face, sending a tingle of joy straight to his heart.

"Okay."