A/N: Hello there, fellow Romione shippers! I'm new here (have been lurking for about a month), and while this is my first Harry Potter story, it's actually my second go-round with fanfiction. I used to post quite a bit in Avatar: The Last Airbender when I was a teenager, but then abandoned it for about a decade and am just now getting back into it after re-playing the Lego HP games with my boyfriend, of all things. I'd like to think my writing has also improved quite a bit since then, and planto publish a few one shots here and there. I've been reading a lot and have noticed that there are some very talented writers here on this part of the site, so I hope this measures up. Hope y'all enjoy! Let me know what you think.
With Harry now outside the tent and out of earshot, Hermione turned her full attention to Ron, who still looked pale and unwell, even his freckles looked more bluish-purple than their usual pink.
"Does it still hurt?" She asked in a hushed voice, hovering anxiously over her friend. Ron shook his head sluggishly.
"My arm 'sokay. It's everything else that feels like rubbish." He croaked, but, seeing her wince, added, "but I reckon I'd be a lot worse if it weren't for you. How'd you manage to patch me up, anyways?" Hermione gave him a wobbly smile and felt herself relax slightly, simply happy that Ron was talking. Now that they were out of any immediate danger, she allowed her eyes to linger on him a little longer than usual, checking him over for any other injuries. Injuries, yeah right. Her inner voice scoffed at her. You know perfectly well why you're staring. Hermione blushed and turned away slightly, hoping Ron didn't see the color that had rushed to her face. She knew it was silly and vapid and stupid, but she couldn't help the warm feeling building in her belly as her eyes skimmed his bare chest and arms. She'd seen him shirtless before, more than once after he and Harry had practiced quidditch, but that had usually been at a distance, and this was close. Extremely close.
Stop it. She chided herself. This was no time for her to get caught up in some girlish fantasy, after all. They were on the run, on a mission to destroy the world's most dangerous wizard, and the last thing she needed was to be distracted by daydreams of her shirtless crush. Her lack of focus had already cost them dearly and it was the reason they were now in the middle of the woods instead of safe and well-fed at Grimmauld Place. She could not afford to be thinking like this. They could not afford to be thinking like this.
"Hermione?" Ron prompted, reminding her of his seemingly forgotten question. Hermione shook her head to clear it, snapping herself back into focus.
"Dittany." She answered "I packed it when we were still at the Burrow, thought it might come in handy." Ron's clear blue eyes met hers.
"You were right. As always." He favored her with a weak grin and she felt herself blush.
"I'm not always right." She said hastily, deflecting the compliment. "I just ruined our plan...it's my fault we can't go back to Grimmauld Place. If I'd just...if I'd been smarter, we wouldn't be here." Even though she was doing her best to hold them together, literally, inside, she felt badly shaken by her mistake. What if Yaxley had gotten them? What if Ron had lost his whole arm in the splinching? As though he'd read her mind, he reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. His palm was cold and clammy from the blood loss, but his touch still sent a pleasant tingle up her arm and through the rest of her body, causing her to sigh involuntarily.
"That's impossible." He murmured sincerely. Hermione chewed her lip.
"What?" She asked. She wasn't clueless, she knew what he meant, but she needed to hear him say it. To know what he saw in her.
"For you to be smarter." He answered, using his free hand to tuck a limp curl behind her ear. The motion required him to sit up slightly, causing the blanket he'd been under to slip further down his chest, exposing his abdomen. Thump thump. Hermione heard her heartbeat in her ears and wondered if Ron could feel the heat radiating off of her. He was so tantalizingly close. How she longed to reach out and trace his creamy skin and feel the taughtness of his well developed muscles underneath. Her "crush" had at least been manageable until around fifth year, before hormones had wormed themselves into the mix of her already complicated feelings. She privately marveled at how insistent they still were now, in a time like this. Shouldn't her brain be more focused on surviving? Or maybe it knew that they could be caught and killed any day and was trying to convince her of the urgency of acting now, like an insect that only had one day to mate before the end of its pathetically short lifecycle. The thought disgusted her, and she used her revulsion to reign herself in and regain her composure.
"I just wasn't thinking." She said softly, pulling her hand out of his and immediately feeling colder. Apparently, Ron felt similarly, for he caught her wrist as she withdrew, tugging her back.
"Hermione." He said, his voice low but insistent and meant only for her. "You're brilliant. We'd have all been killed a hundred times already if it weren't for you." Hermione felt a rush of gratitude and affection for the young man before her, and smiled her appreciation, before releasing gently pulling her hand away again. There's no time for this. She reminded herself. Even at Hogwarts, the most engaging, fascinating place she'd ever been, thinking of Ron could easily eat up half of her day if she'd let it, leaving no room for lessons, or books or anything else. Now of course, the stakes were even higher. She thought then, of Harry's decision to break things off with Ginny. As much as it had hurt both of them, Hermione couldn't help but privately acknowledge that it had been the right thing to do. Voldemort and the Death Eaters would have very readily targeted Ginny to get to Harry if she'd continued to be known as his romantic interest. Who was to say they wouldn't similarly try to split up the group by targeting her or Ron to get to the other one?
It was too risky. She wasn't stupid. She knew that Ron felt things for her beyond just friendship, and there was no doubt that she did as well. If they started to show those feelings, to truly act on them, it could mean trouble. It was entirely possible that it already did.
It's obvious, isn't it? Ginny had said to her in a private conversation before they'd left. Come on, Hermione. Don't tell me you haven't noticed the way he looks at you. She had noticed. Did Ron notice the way she looked at him? The way she'd just been looking at him now?
And if he did, maybe it was worth sharing her feelings anyways, because of the danger. They could easily die on this mission and the idea of dying or losing him without him knowing how she felt was unbearable. A light, warm puff of air against her skin startled her from her musings, and she looked down to see that Ron had dozed off, his blue eyes closed lightly, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed.
It occurred to her that she had done all she could for him now. She didn't need to be here, inches away from touching him, but she couldn't step away. Surely, it couldn't hurt to enjoy this moment. Who knew when they'd have anything resembling quiet alone time again? With a shaking hand, she reached out to brush his shaggy red hair off his brow. She froze when he twitched slightly, but did not withdraw her hand. He'd always been the heaviest sleeper of the three of them, and he had extra reason to be exhausted today. She could now admire his slumbering form in peace. Hearing his regular breathing and seeing his chest rising and falling calmed her. Ever so carefully, she allowed her fingers to trail down the line of his cheek and jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble sprouting from his chin, basking in the relief that, at least this time, he was okay.
Emboldened by his seeming unconsciousness, she allowed her fingers to trail lower, down his neck and then his collarbone and chest, which, after the warm summer, was a shade lighter than the rest of him. She lightly traced the outline of his muscles, her fingertips slipping into the slight grooves in his abdomen. He fidgeted, a small smiling curling at the ends of his lips. Hermione imagined the way his laugh would sound if he were awake now, if they were in a world where she could touch him like this whenever she wanted without any awkwardness or hesitation. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to feel his bare body flush against hers, to touch the parts of him that she'd never seen, what she would say, the way he'd look at her then and whether he'd already given that part of himself to Lavender. The unwelcome thought made her stomach turn and she shoved it away. It didn't matter now. Lavender was far away, and last year's jealousy was nothing compared to the trouble they were in now.
"Hermione?" Ron's groggy voice wrenched her back to the present and she jumped, her hand flying away from where it had come to rest on his chest.
"Ron! I...I was just…" She had nothing. Ron was wearing a guilty looking smile, like a child who had managed to successfully sneak an extra piece of candy without his parents noticing. "I…" Her cheeks burned. How could she explain herself? She didn't have to. Before she could utter another word (or part of one), a yell sounded from outside the tent. Hermione sprang to her feet, darting away from Ron, who looked mournfully after her. Over her shoulder, she gave him a fleeting glance, feeling the urge to apologize even though she wasn't sure exactly what for. The moment, whatever it had been, was over. Even as Hermione felt the cold breeze from the entrance of the tent, however, she felt as though a piece of her heart was still at Ron's bedside, left behind like the chunk of his shoulder at the ministry. Harry needed her, needed them, and this was no time for some silly romantic fantasy.