A/N: I am not JKR and own none of these characters.
The air puffed around him whenever he stepped foot outside of the canvas. He was transported to the fleeting days of snow during his youth, of Fred and George pretending to smoke cigars, of Ginny blowing snowflakes in circles with her hair trailing behind her, Percy frowning his disapproval. They seemed so far away to him now, mere ghosts.
The reality of their days was much starker. Since his return, Ron felt that his enthusiasm was the only thing keeping the three of them going. Harry had never been much of a talker at the best of times, but the Snitch had replaced Ron and Hermione in his affections. It no longer startled Ron to see him twisting the small sphere in his fingers, tracing its edges to try and find a way to pry it open. The clothes which had never come close to fitting Harry now hung even further away from his thin frame. The pewter of his glasses matched the darkening purple under his eyes. Hair stuck out at all ends.
Not that Ron's was much better. While he had had the reprieve of a few weeks of decent meals and Fleur to trim his overlong hair, being back with Harry and Hermione had robbed him of what little weight he'd put on with rich French sauces. Now pale cheekbones jutted out unnaturally against all his freckles when he looked at himself in the mirror. He often had to blow his hair out of his face when he bent down to fetch water, or stirred a pot of whatever measly ingredients could constitute a stew. The jeans he'd complained about being too tight before now fit rather well, and would soon only stay up with a belt into which he'd worked a few new holes. Still, both he and Harry seemed to be faring better than Hermione.
Plump was never a word he associated with Hermione. She'd never been curvy like Lavender, nor as lithe and sinuous as Fleur. More substantial than Luna, certainly, in that he never worried about a big gust of wind knocking her over. Whatever other people might call her, the fact was that Ron Weasley never cared. Every inch of her from her wild curls to her dainty feet was part of what made her so special, so beautiful to him. Now that they were a few degrees from starvation, he could finally appreciate how much he loved her healthy. It unnerved him to see the protrusion of her collarbones through her jumpers, the slight swelling of her chill-blained fingers. He only missed the flush in her cheeks once it was replaced with a mottled grey. Even the brightness of her eyes, always one of his favourite parts of her, had dimmed. Weeks had passed since they shared a smile, even more since she'd looked at him with warmth. Now any and all attempts to make things right on his part had been met with a smile that matched the air outside the tent, or a look of pained disbelief when he went to try and help her with something.
Due penance of course. He abandoned her. It was natural for her not to trust him anymore. This didn't stop him from trying.
She lifted her head to watch him as he left the confines of the tent, her curls dull and lifeless. Words took precious energy, and for the past few days, it seemed she had not wanted to waste them on him. But today would be different. Today was a special day. He'd kept careful track in a journal of each and every one that had passed since he heard her voice coming through the Deluminator. Today would be 51. Valentine's Day. He smiled to himself as he broke the ice on the frozen pond with his wand and plunged a bucket in for more water. For 51 days he'd kept something hidden, determined to give it to her when the time was right.
The wind whistled as he made his way back to the camp, Hermione watching him from where she sat on guard. He smiled at her as he passed. The corners of her mouth twitched, a spectre of her usual knowing grin. Into the tiny kitchen he went, putting the water next to the stove to prepare for Hermione to boil soon. Her magic made it hotter so much faster than either of the boys.
Harry lay sprawled on his bunk, tip of his wand illuminating the Marauder's Map. Ron assumed that Harry was watching Ginny. It looked as though Harry tried to hide this when Ron was around, as though Ron could really care less. Ginny had been devastated when Harry broke things off, but Ron knew that Harry was every inch as gutted. And he'd be a right hypocrite for commenting on it. Ron had spent hours listening to the waves at Shell Cottage, racking his brains to think of a way to get back to them until he was no longer sure whether the moisture on his cheeks was sea spray or tears.
The ping of an alarm alerted both Harry and Ron. Hermione sat up from the tent flap stiffly and tapped the wand beside her. Watch change. Her limbs were heavy as she entered, and Harry reluctantly stuffed the map back into his rucksack. Hermione made her way into the kitchen. Ron could feel the chill of her body as she passed him.
'Tea?' he offered, feeling a tear in his throat. It was the first he'd spoken all day. Hermione looked at him, eyes glazed like the shine on his mother's good plates. She shook her head.
'I'm going to shower,' she whispered, pausing to place her hands near the warm burner. Ron nodded, somewhat grateful that he would have a moment to prepare.
Her fingers slightly less swollen, she padded off towards the tiny loo. The second the flap closed behind her, Ron dove for his own pack. Harry had pulled on another jumper and was now sitting near the tent flap, watching the snowy landscape beyond. Ron ripped out some of his clothes, searching for the carefully wrapped package he'd hidden in his socks. There, covered in knitted maroon, he pulled out a small jar.
Blueberry jam.
Mum had sent it to Bill and Fleur for their first Christmas. Ron loved the stuff, loved the sticky sweetness of it, the way it spread so softly on his mother's doughy bread. Back before they cottoned on to her trying to get them out of the house, she used to send him and Ginny out to gather bushels of the stuff. Of course it was much easier to do by magic, but Ginny used to try and cram as many of the berries into her mouth as she could, daring Ron to try and beat her. His heart ached for his sister. One of these days he'd have to ask Harry if her dot looked okay.
Ron had swiped the small jar off the counter Christmas morning as he marched out of the cottage to the sound of Hermione's voice. He'd planned it as a peace offering, but Hermione hadn't seemed interested much in peace. So he'd saved it for a special occasion, keeping it warm and hidden in his socks. He was sure the sugar would drive them all a bit barmy, but anything had to be better than mushroom broth yet again.
"Twelve Fail-safe Ways to Charm Witches" had said you should give the witch you fancied meaningful gifts. And to Ron, this little bit of home was as meaningful as you could get out here in the godforsaken wilderness. He ran his finger over the label, over where his mother's handwriting lovingly detailed what was in the jar.
He walked back over to the table and placed it in the centre. Concentrating hard, he tried to remember the charm to create a ribbon. The magic that flowed through the borrowed wand felt foreign, and as he cast it the best that came out was a wimpy purple, frayed at the edges. Ron swore to himself.
'What's that?' A sudden rush of warmth hit him at the same time as her voice. Hermione was wrapped tightly in her dressing gown, a towel covering her curls. She walked carefully towards him and looked at the little jar with its sad bow. Ron swallowed, suddenly feeling unable to speak.
Hermione gave him a quizzical look as she tenderly picked up the container. Unwinding the ribbon with her stiff fingers, she too traced her hand over the writing. Ron saw the first genuine smile cross Hermione's lips since before he'd left.
'Happy Valentine's Day,' he managed to whisper through the lump in his throat. Hermione looked up at him in surprise.
'It's Valentine's Day?' she repeated softly. Ron nodded.
'Been keeping track. Since I…' he let the words die in his throat.
'And you've kept this the whole time?' There was no accusatory note in her voice. Only surprise, and something he couldn't quite make out.
'Wanted to save it for something special.'
'Like Valentine's Day,' Hermione murmured.
Ron felt the back of his neck turn bright red. What a stupid thing to do. He was a wizard, right? If he had really wanted to, he could have created a bouquet for her. Instead, she got a tiny jar of his mum's jam. He hadn't even made it for her. The wind whistled through the gap in the tent flap, sending a shiver of shame and ice down his back.
'Harry?' Hermione called suddenly. 'Could you come in here, please?'
It was hard to tell who was more surprised in that moment, Harry or Ron. Harry pushed his glasses up as he re-entered the warmth of the tent, and Ron gaped at her.
'What's going on?' Harry asked slowly. His voice was also hoarse from lack of use.
'We're going to celebrate,' Hermione told him, a little bossily. Ron felt his heartbeat quicken at the familiar sound.
'Celebrate what?' Harry looked entirely non-plussed. Hermione had turned towards one of the kitchen drawers, and pulled open the rough wood.
'It's Valentine's Day,' she informed him. 'And despite the odds, we're still alive, and that should be good enough don't you think?'
Ron looked at her, stunned. She turned to face the boys and handed them each a spoon, keeping one for her own.
'Yeah,' Ron agreed. 'that is a good enough reason.' Never mind that he'd saved the jam hoping for a moment alone with Hermione. If she was offering peace with the three of them, that was what he would take. Harry looked between the two of them, bemused.
Hermione moved over to the couch and curled up on one end, tucking her legs underneath her. Ron tried not to appear too eager as he moved to sit beside her, at what he hoped would be a respectable distance. At the very least, Hermione didn't try to kick him off this time. Harry moved to the chair next to them. With a snap, Hermione opened the lid to the jam jar.
'To us,' she announced, before dipping her spoon in. She brought it up to her mouth and closed her lips around it, shutting her eyes at the same expression turned euphoric.
'Are you sure we should be sharing food like this?' Harry asked, apparently blind to the joy Hermione was experiencing at that moment. She snapped her eyes wide open.
'We're in a tent in the middle of winter. I don't think sharing food is what will do us in.' She handed the jar over to Ron. 'But if you don't want to share, that's perfectly fine by me.'
Ron took the opportunity to pass his knuckles over her hand as he took the jar from her. Her skin was cracked and rough, but gave him chills nonetheless. He followed her lead and took a spoonful. It was every bit as good as he remembered. Maybe more. The hit of sugar sent warmth flooding into his extremities.
'Yeah, I want some,' Harry grumbled, reaching out his hand towards Ron, who passed him the jar. 'Did your Mum make this?'
Ron nodded. Harry cast his eyes downward. Ron knew Harry might still feel bad for the jab about his family, but Ron chalked that up to the Horcrux and this whole ugly mission they were on. Whatever negative thought Harry had disappeared with his first bite. HIs face lit up with joy at the first taste of the berries.
'Merlin this is good.' Harry mumbled to himself as he dipped his spoon back in for seconds.
'We're supposed to be sharing,' Hermione pointed out, reaching her hands towards him for the jar.
'Yeah, being the chosen one gets you squat in terms of extra jam, mate,' Ron chimed in, hoping he wasn't seeming too eager to side with Hermione. She sent him a tiny smile as Harry passed the small jar back. Ron felt a surge of victory. Harry gave Ron a knowing glance that Ron was all too happy to ignore.
'God, I didn't even realise how much I missed jam,' Hermione sighed, sticking the spoon back into her mouth as she gave Ron the jar.
'I'd kill for a chocolate frog right now,' Ron thought aloud as he took his next turn.
'Or Treacle Tart!' Harry added. They both smiled at the thought.
The tent flap flew open, bringing swirling flurries into their warm space. Harry held the jar in one hand and peeked out.
'Safe,' he called out. Ron noticed him taking an extra big spoonful, but decided not to say anything.
'I don't know how you managed to save it this long, but I'm happy you did.' Hermione didn't look at him as she said it, but dipped her spoon in for the third time. From the corner of his eye he watched her lips as she brought the jam up to them, now slightly stained with blueberry. All he wanted to do was reach over and kiss it off. But Merlin knew she might hit him if he tried.
'Certainly not the worst Valentine's Day I've ever had,' Harry pointed out, crossing his arms.
Ron frowned at him as Hermione passed over the jam once more.
'Quidditch practice?' Ron asked Harry, confused as to what his mate was talking about.
From beside him, Hermione let out a bark of laughter. Ron jumped. The sound was shocking-he couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. In surprise he nearly dropped the jam jar and quickly dove forward to pick it up.
'I'd completely forgotten!' Hermione said through giggles.
'Glad you did,' Harry chuckled darkly. 'I was pulling confetti out of my hair for days.'
'Confetti?' Ron asked, swallowing his mouthful of jam. It was his turn to be confused.
'Hogsmeade, 5th year,' Harry said, reaching to take it from Ron's hands. They were nearly two thirds of the way done now. 'Cho dragged me to Madame Puddifoot's.'
Ron remembered as Hermione continued to chuckle. 'Right. Well she was always a bit…'
'Teary?' Harry supplied.
'As I recall, you made her angry because she thought you were leaving to go on a date with me!' Hermione said, laughing hard once more.
'You told me to meet you!' Harry laughed, passing the jam back over to Hermione. 'How was I supposed to know to tell her I thought you were ugly?'
'Hermione's not ugly,' Ron immediately snapped.
The other two turned to look at him. Ron shuffled a little in confusion. 'What? You're not.'
'Thank you,' Hermione said, not meeting his eyes, 'but I told Harry he should have said that to make it clear to Cho that he wasn't interested in me.'
'Might have made my life a little easier too,' Ron thought miserably to himself. Harry was shaking his head at the memory.
'That's got to go down as one of the worst dates in history.'
'What would be the best one, then?' Hermione asked Harry. She passed the jam back over to Ron.
Harry frowned as he looked at Hermione.
'Are you asking me what my idea of a brilliant date would be?'
Hermione shrugged. 'We've been trapped here for ages. Might be good to remember that we're fighting for a life outside of this.'
Ron froze with his spoon in the jar. This was an area he decidedly did not want to venture into next to the person he fancied. The last thing he needed was another fight.
Ron went to pass the jar over to Harry but noticed that he was looking off into the distance with a small smile on his face. Ginny. Ron knew he had to be thinking about Ginny.
'A picnic,' Harry finally answered. 'Somewhere nice and quiet. Just…easy.' He shrugged.
Ron didn't know if Harry and Ginny had ever been on a proper date. Then he realized they might never have the chance. It was a sobering thought.
'Anyway, we all know what Ron's would be,' Harry continued, now taking the jar from Ron's outstretched hands.
'Oh yeah?' Ron countered. He could feel his heart begin to race under his jumper. Sometimes he thought about taking Hermione out to a fancy restaurant, the kind he assumed her parents would frequent. With white tablecloths and too many cutlery pieces, and he would wear nice robes while she was in a dress and she would look at him with admiration because she was so impressed. But he certainly didn't think Harry would guess that.
'Cannons match,' Harry told him matter of factly, sliding the last of his jam off of the spoon with a flourish.
Ron snorted. 'I'm not that obvious-'
'Where the Cannons win!' Harry added, gesturing to Ron with his spoon.
Ron blinked at him. Harry grinned, and it seemed strange on his face. Ron couldn't remember the last time he saw his mate smile like that.
Hermione erupted into laughter beside him. Full, belly shaking laughs. All thoughts of the jam in her hands seemed to be forgotten as tears began leaking out of her eyes as she struggled to contain her guffaws. Harry started to join in, and before Ron knew it, he was laughing as well.
There was a faint hint of hysteria in the laughter, a loosening of the tension alongside an awareness that it might be the last time they laughed together. They could all be dead tomorrow.
By the time the laughter died down, Hermione had taken her final spoonful of jam. There was barely some left at the bottom of the jar, just enough for Ron and Harry.
'Well,' Hermione said breathlessly. 'At least I feel sure you won't guess mine.'
'Library,' Ron muttered, stuffing the last bit of sweetness in his mouth..
'Museum,' Harry guessed. 'But one where you're correcting the guide every time they try to point out a historical fact.'
Ron snorted as he passed it to Harry. He could picture Hermione doing exactly that.
Hermione frowned at the pair of them.
'No,' she huffed. 'It would be at a bookstore.'
Harry and Ron looked at each other and the laughter returned. It was such a predictably Hermione response, that it warmed his heart.
'Oh stop it,' she snapped at the two of them. 'You didn't even let me finish!'
'What more could you do at a bookstore?' Harry asked, still laughing.
'You would take an hour, and try to find a book that your partner would enjoy. Something meaningful that you think they would like. Then you'd come together afterwards and talk about why you chose that specific text.'
'Your idea of a perfect date involves homework?' Harry asked incredulously. Ron merely blinked at her. That felt completely out of his depth. If she wanted a date like that, how the hell was he supposed to come up with a book?
'It's not homework,' Hermione growled, looking at Harry with a slightly surly expression, pulling Ron from his thoughts. 'It's wonderful. Haven't you ever come across a piece of writing that was so beautiful it moved you to tears?'
'No,' Harry and Ron replied in unison.
Hermione sighed impatiently, a sound that reminded Ron of countless evenings in the common room.
'I suppose I should have expected that. Flying with the Cannons is hardly Pulitzer winning material.'
'What's a Pulitzer?' Ron asked, confused. Well, confused, but also hoping to ferret out some important information. If Hermione was going to give him little nuggets of what the hell he was supposed to find for her in a bookstore, he was not about to stop the conversation.
'A muggle literary prize,' she responded quickly, not looking at him, but at Harry. 'Well, what about a love note? You never wrote Ginny anything?'
Ron stiffened in his seat. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing if Harry had written his sister any love notes. Moreover, he was reminded of the last time her name had been mentioned. The day he'd left them.
To his surprise, Harry chuckled.
'Hermione,' started Harry, with an air of patience. 'How many of my essays have you looked over?'
'Dozens,' she replied, not bothering to take a moment to think.
'And how many of those would you consider to be "well written?"
She paused.
'There's your answer,' Harry told her. 'Why would I go writing some shit to her that I'm not good at? It's not like she's good at it either, or have you forgotten her dwarf valentine to me in second year?'
The image returned to Ron with a vengeance, and a laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it.
'Probably the worst idea Lockhart had that year. And that's saying something,' Harry finished, crossing his arms and grinning at Hermione. She frowned at him.
'His heart was in the right place with the singing-'
'You're not seriously defending Lockhart,' Ron sputtered, staring at her. 'Surely you stopped fancying him after he tried to wipe Harry and my's memories?'
Hermiones eyes flashed to his. A moment too late, Ron realised he'd made a monumental mistake. Picking on her was probably not the best way to ingratiate himself. Her mouth formed a thin line, and he could tell she was biting back a retort.
'That's not what I meant-' Ron tried to backpedal.
'Sounds like it was,' Harry cut in, sending him a mischievous smile. Right, well it was all good for Harry, wasn't it? Hermione wasn't mad at him!
'Obviously I no longer fancy him,' Hermione spat as though it were the vile mushroom broth they'd eaten last night. 'But it's nice to imagine a world where people send lovely messages to one another. I'd certainly hoped I'd get a valentine before I…' she trailed off.
Ron felt even lower, if that were possible. Had she truly never gotten a valentine? His mum always sent them some. And last year there had been that revolting card from Lavender that reeked of her perfume. He'd ended up having to burn it just to get the smell out of his sheets. But he racked his brain, trying to remember if he'd ever seen Hermione with one.
'Didn't you get them in primary?' Harry asked her. Hermione shook her head. Her cheeks flushed, the colour stark against her pale cheeks.
'I wasn't particularly well liked in primary,' she replied softly. Her eyes flashed once more to Ron. 'You weren't the first to call me a nightmare.'
If the ground wasn't frozen solid underneath him, he could have sworn he'd sink right down into it. Why would she ever forgive him? Merlin, he'd been awful to her since the beginning.
'I'm sorry,' he muttered. He tried to convey a multitude of apologies in the one. She didn't respond. Silence descended upon them, broken only by the whistling wind outside the tent.
'Well,' Harry said, looking awkward. 'I could grab a piece of parchment and write "Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione" on it if it would make you feel better. Can't guarantee I'll sing though.'
She turned her head, and Ron felt sure she was giving Harry the full force of her beautiful grin. The one he'd give anything to see directed at him.
'That's perfectly alright, Harry. I appreciate the sentiment. I'd rather we make it out of this, and then you can buy me a proper card.'
'Deal,' He gave her a sad smile.
'I'll buy you one too,' Ron cut in. They both turned to look at him. Harry's expression was amused. Hermione's was hesitant.
She stared at him for a moment, and Ron tried to understand her expression. It seemed inscrutable. The two months he'd been away had robbed him of his catalogue of Hermione expressions. Or perhaps by leaving, he'd created new ones.
'Right, we should get back to business,' said Hermione in a no-nonsense tone, making it clear that the frivolities were over. She took the jar out of Harry's hands. 'I'll wash this, and you get back to watch.'
Harry nodded reluctantly, and made his way slowly to the tent flap. The mood in the air, which had been jolly only a few moments ago was now fraught with tension once more. So much for Ron's brilliant idea.
Hermione went into the kitchen. He could hear her turn the tap on and begin washing the jar methodically. Cursing himself, he looked in her direction. The stupid frayed ribbon lay on the table, where she'd left it. It gave him an idea. Something to hopefully salvage this plan.
She'd turned her attention to boiling the kettle, and seemed startled when he entered the kitchen area as well. It was tight with the two of them in there, but Ron was determined to say his piece. To not let her escape just yet.
He snatched the ribbon up with one hand and held it out to her.
'Now you have,' he said.
'Have what?' Hermione replied, voice confused and wary.
'Gotten a valentine.'
She looked at the ribbon he was holding out, and then back up at his face. Her lips were parted, as though she wanted to say something, but couldn't. He took the opportunity to say his piece.
'You're not a nightmare,' Ron continued. 'In fact, you're probably the best thing that ever happened to me.'
She scoffed, taking a step back, which was difficult to do. It sent her smack against the oven, with no further place to turn. Pans rattled slightly above them, making Ron concerned Harry was going to peek his head in to see what was going on.
'Seriously,' he said, clutching the ribbon in his fist. 'I doubt I would have made it through my OWLs without you. I know I wouldn't be alive without you.'
'There's no need to exaggerate,' she snapped. Ron shook his head.
'You saved me after I got splinched. Fleur said so.'
Her eyes widened. There hadn't been a moment to tell her since he'd been back. Apparently Healing courses were mandatory at Beauxbatons. One look at the swirling scar on Ron's arm, and Fleur had asked who had the foresight to put Dittany on right away.
Leave it to Hermione.
She still looked wary of him, eyes searching his. He took it as a good sign she was looking at him at all.
'I know I hurt you-' She flinched as though he'd sent a spell at her. 'And I'm really sorry for that. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I swear.'
Her eyes softened watched her shoulders drop, some tension melt away from them.
'Starting with keeping jam in my socks for two months.'
The corner of her mouth twitched, as if fighting a smile. He felt this was an encouraging sign.
'So when we get out of this, I promise I'll buy you a proper valentine. One that sings, if you want.'
All the positive signs she'd been giving him came crashing down at once. A veil went over Hermione's face. Dread rushed in to Ron's stomach. She dipped her head, giving him a perfect shot of the towel on her curls, rather than her face. It wasn't a good sign. Clearly he'd said the wrong thing. Again.
'Hermione?'
'Don't.' It was little more than a whisper.
'Don't what?' he asked, a note of panic entering his voice. Things had been going so well.
'Don't make promises you can't keep.'
The air flew out of his lungs. Ice flooded his veins, making him feel frozen to the spot.
'I can't go through it again.' It was said so quietly, Ron almost didn't hear her. Every piece of his heart seemed to shatter at once. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what else to do to try and make it right. His fist clenched and the ribbon made a squeak against the palm of his hand. Hermione's gaze went towards it.
'Thank you for the jam, Ron,' she said quietly, avoiding his eyes.
He didn't respond. He didn't think there was anything to say.
They stood there for a moment, neither saying a word. Ron felt like he was going to cry. The kettle whistled behind them, and Hermione turned to busy herself by making tea.
'If I could go back and stop myself from leaving, I would,' he said, voice thick through the tears he was trying keep at bay. Hermione stiffened at his words, and dropped her hands to grip the stovetop.
'I know you would,' she said softly, not looking at him.
The tears did fall then, racing down his cheeks. He'd thought this present would bring her closer to him again. Now he worried that she might never get close to him again. And it was his doing.
Hermione turned. Her expression was no longer wary. She looked…worn. Tired. Exhausted. Devastated. So many things and he wanted to embrace her and make it all go away. His arms, which couldn't seem to connect to his brain had even reached out for hers, ready to enfold her like he had so many times before. She brought a hand up to stop him.
'I need time,' she whispered. 'You broke…' she trailed away, leaving Ron to fill in the blanks. His promise? Her faith in him? Their trio? Their friendship? Her spirit? Her heart?
Merlin, if he'd broken her heart, he'd never forgive himself. He would live in a house full of Acromantula and do lines with Umbridge every day for the rest of his life and it would be better than knowing how deeply he'd hurt her.
Hermione sighed, interrupting his thoughts. 'I'm going to lie down.'
Ron let her pass without a fight. He was too upset to even enjoy how little space was between them when she manoeuvred past him. Hermione went to her bunk, pausing to remove the towel from her curls. The smell of her shampoo filled the tent and made Ron feel slightly weak at the knees. Without a look back towards him, she slipped under the covers. Bringing them tight to her chin, he watched her close her eyes, the bruises under them more apparent than ever.
He sniffed against more tears. If Harry's worst Valentine's Day had been with Cho, this one was certainly his.