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Hermione was late. Again. Though Ron knew she never meant to be.Â
She once explained when she was little, her parents said it was always the excuse of âjust one more chapter.â At Hogwarts, sheâd lose track of time studying in the library. And now, with no windows to help her gauge the time of day and a clock inconveniently placed behind her workspace, Hermione was probably too absorbed in her case files to realize it was time to go.
If it was any other night, Ron wouldnât care, but they were supposed to see each other tonight. He only had twelve hours leave from Auror training, and she promised theyâd spend every minute of those twelve hours together.
A loud crack drew his attention from the window he was staring out of.
âIâm sorry! Iâm so sorry. I was elbow-deep in parchment and I thought I had enough time to finish the report, but then I hit a snag andââ
âSave it, Hermione.âÂ
He didnât want to fight with her, but if heâd known she was going to choose work over him, he wouldnât have bothered with getting the time off in the first place. She froze, halfway to him with outstretched arms and frowned.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âYouâre two hours late.â
âI know, and I said I was sorry! I didnâtââ
âHave you ever thought that maybe sorry isnât enough? Bloody hell, Hermione, this isnât the first time this has happened. Do you even know how much trouble I went through to get this twelve-hour leave to see you? And youâve fucking wasted two hours because you donât know how to check the time!â
Hermione flared her nostrils and set her jaw. âSometimes I have things I need to finish. It was either get the report done tonight or have to leave early tomorrow to make sure it ends up on Montagueâs desk in time.â
âWhat? Is the trial tomorrow?â Ron scoffed.
Hermione stamped her foot in frustration. âStop being ridiculous! I supported your decision to join the Aurors even though I knew itâd mean weâd be separated from each other for the better part of three years. The least you could do is support me in my own endeavors!âÂ
âI do! But not when we make arrangements to see each other and you canât even bother to owl me that youâll be late! I could have had dinner with my parents. But no, Iâve been sitting here for the past two hours, bloody starving, waiting for you to show up!â
âOh, sure, thatâs the reason youâre upset! Merlin forbid I interrupt your meal schedule!â Hermione let out a derisive laugh and threw her hands in the air. âWell, Iâm sure itâs not too late if youâd rather spend the evening with your parents. Then I can go back to the office and get a headstart on next weekâsââ
Ron leapt out of his chair and grabbed Hermione by the arm in one swift movement. âDonât you bloody dare.â
âWhy not? Iâm clearly not everything you hoped for in a girlfriend.âÂ
She tried but failed to shake her arm free. Tears shone in her eyes but her gaze didnât back down from Ronâs. And just like that, his anger melted into guilt. His tone softened as he pulled her closer.
âThatâs not what I meant and you know it. I love you just the way you are.â
âEven if Iâm late sometimes?â
Ron sighed. âYeah, but Iâd prefer it if you werenât.âÂ
âYou do realize thatâs not loving someone just the way they are if you want them to change, right?â Hermione burst into laughter.Â
âIâm not asking you to change. Just set some limits when it comes to work. When Iâm finally done with Auror training, Iâm not going to want to share you with paperwork on the nights we have off together.â
Hermione smiled as she trailed her fingertips up his arms, sending shivers down his spine. âI think that can be arranged.â
âI love you.â Ron leaned in and pressed a long-overdue kiss to her lips.
âI love you too. Now, what do you say we make the most of your remaining time off?â
Wishing a very happy birthday to the lovely @mina-roman !
Sorry in advance for any Christmas songs you may find stuck in your head
đČđđČ
A Thing For Lumberjacks
âLetâs pop in here,â Hermione says, tugging at Ronâs hand to pull him towards the holiday shop. âI need a new tree, mineâs gone out.â
Ron chuckles, but lets her drag him along without resistance. âYou mean your lights have gone out.â
âWell, yes.â The bell over the door chimes their arrival, but the soft tinkle goes unnoticed in the low, constant hum of the shop. âBut theyâre twisted up in the tree, you know. So many of the artificial trees are pre-lit now. The lights fail, and then you have to replace the whole thing. Itâs quite a racket, really.â
âPre-lit?â Ron echoes, following her through the crowded shop as she searches for trees among the myriad decorations available for purchase. âArtificial?â When she turns to look at him, heâs clutching his heart as if sheâs said something horribly offensive. âNo, no, youâve got to get a live tree. Itâs the only way to go.â
Artificial trees had been the only type to ever grace the Grangersâ living room as she was growing up, and she tells him so. âBesides, I wouldnât have the faintest idea how to care for a real one. Theyâre a fire hazard once they dry out.â
âGood thing your boyfriend was raised on a Christmas tree farm,â Ron retorts, drawing out the words.
âOh, stop, no you werenât.â They had enough mutual friends at uni to have met on multiple previous occasions, but theyâve only been seeing each other properly for a few weeks, since reconnecting at Susan Bonesâs Halloween party. Even so, Hermione is sure she would know by now if Ronâs family farm raised Christmas trees as its main crop.
âYes. I was.â
She halts her search and looks up at Ron, scanning his face for any sign that heâs joking and finding none. âAn actual Christmas tree farm?â she questions. âThatâs what Weasley Farms is?â
Ron laughs, and the sound warms her down to her toes. âYeah. Whatâd you think it was?â
âWell, I donât know, I suppose. Not Christmas trees.â
He wraps an arm around her shoulder and steers her to the back corner of the shop, where a variety of plastic pines and firs stand glowing and blinking with their pre-installed lights. âGo on, then. Pick out your artificial rubbish, and then Iâll take you out to Devon next weekend so we can get you a proper tree.â
đČđČđČđČ
Hermione had no idea what to expect, really. A Christmas tree farm. But sheâs sure, had she tried to envision Weasley Farms, her imagination would have fallen far short of the reality.
A perfectly curated forest of evergreen stretches out before her, and Ronâs hand entwined with hers staves off the chill that nips at her nose. Behind them stands a sprawling farmhouseâRon grew up with six siblings, after allâthat maintains its charm despite its size, and beyond that is a small tool shed.
âItâs not much,â Ron says with a shrug, âbut itâs home.â
Hermione turns to gawk at him. âAre you serious? Itâs beautiful here.â
âWell, yeah, I meanâŠI think so, butâŠâ He trails off, and a smile spreads on his lips. âCome on, let me show you around.â
The house is surprisingly quiet, though Hermione supposes itâs not too unusual as all the kids are grown, and Ron notes that his parents have probably gone into town.
âThey know weâre coming,â Ron says as he leads her to the tool shed. âMumâs probably at the market prepping a feast for twelve.â
The hinge creaks as the door swings inward. Itâs dim inside, but Ron seems to know exactly where to go as he paces a straight line down the front wall and grabs something from near the floor. As he returns to Hermione, she realizes that what heâs holding is an ax.
Giving the tool a puzzled frown, she asks, âWhat on earth are you going to do with that?â
Ron laughs as he latches the shed behind them. âWeâre getting you a proper tree, remember?â
âIââ Hermione stops, lost for words. It seems silly to ask; even if she had gotten a live tree in London, it would have to come from somewhere, but sheâs never before considered the logistics. âYouâre going to cut it down yourself?â
âYeah, of course.â He smirks at her. âUnless you want to give it a go?â
Hermione snorts. âNo, thank you. We both arrived here with two arms and two legs, and I would like to leave the same way.â
Ron slips his free hand into hers as they make their way to the trees. âAlright,â he says, stopping at the edge. âPick one.â
âPick one?â Hermione repeats. âJust like that? Arenât you going to give me any pointers?â
âWell, whatâs your preference? Thereâs tall trees, short ones, thicker branchesâŠDo you need a solid stem up top? How heavy is your tree topper?â
âI can honestly say Iâve never given so much thought to a tree before.â Hermione begins a slow walk down one of the rows, letting the needles sift through her fingers. She expected them to be tough and pointy, to prick her hand, but theyâre actually quite soft, and the scent of pine wafts into the air from her touch. âI donât know. What sort do you like?â
Ron takes her all through the farm, showing her the different types of trees and explaining the benefits of each. She finally settles on a type that Ron deems the most low maintenance, terrified that sheâll forget to water it properly, and stands back to watch him cut down her selection.
He shrugs out of his coat, tossing it carelessly to the ground beside him, and pushes up the sleeves of his jumper before he raises the ax. Hermione watches the muscles of his arm tense as he chops into the tree with practiced strokes, cutting it down in no time.
As it tips to the ground, he turns and grins at her. âThere you go. Your first real tree.â
Hermione approaches him, ignoring the tree as she laces her arms around his neck. âHow long do you think we have before your parents come home?â she murmurs.
Ron laughs as he leans in to kiss her. âI had no idea you had a thing for lumberjacks.â
âMm, neither did I, butâŠâ Her eyes flicker to the tree, and the ax still in Ronâs hand, before landing back on his piercing blue gaze.
His lips meet hers eagerly, and she doesnât bother finishing her sentence.
We canât get enough of #fakedating! Enjoy this take from @mina-roman!
Fic Title: Not a Last Resort
Author Name: Mina_Roman
Selected Trope: Fake Dating
Brief Summary: Hermione tells a fib when she gets asked to the Slug Clubâs Christmas Party
Word Count: 2,771
Rating: G
* * *
Part I: The Lie
As Hermione perused the aisles of the library, running her fingers down the leather spines of books, she became lost in her own thoughts. After an early rise this morning, sheâd finished the ten inches for Defence Against the Dark Arts, revised her Ancient Runes translation, and gotten started on her Arithmancy readingâand she would still be able to meet Ron and Harry for a late breakfast in an hour. Finally, her eyes halted on the copy of New Theory of Numerology, Vol. II that sheâd been looking for. Pulling it off the shelf, she flickered through its pages, absorbing the information as her fingers hovered over key names and theorems until a shadow caused the words to disappear.Â
Hermione looked up and frowned at the sight of Cormac.Â
âHey, Granger.âÂ
âHi.â
âI thought Iâd find you here. You always have your nose in a book. Or your hand on one.â Cormac flashed her a pearly-white smile as if heâd taken lessons from Professor Lockhart. âSo, the Slug Clubâs Christmas party is around the corner. Iâm single, and I know you are tooâŠâ When Hermione didnât reply, he added, âCome as my date.â
âNo.â Realising how curt she sounded, she forced a small smile. âI canât.âÂ
It wasnât the first time sheâd been asked to a dance by someone she hadnât wanted to go out with. When Viktor had asked, Hermione hadnât processed that he was asking her as his date. Lost in the moment, sheâd stuttered out a yes though her heart had cried out against it. Then Neville had also asked, but turning him down had come easily because she already had a date. Ron asking was different. Her stomach had squirmed with the admission of the truth and how much she wished it werenât the case. But still, she knows now that her pride wouldâve kept her from agreeing as he never had truly considered to even ask.Â
For todayâs second fic, enjoy a brilliant Hunger Games inspired Fuck or Die from @voldemorts-tap-shoes!!
âââââââââ
Fic Title - The Games
Author Name - @voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl
Selected Trope - Fuck or Die
Brief Summary - Forced into a brutal competition that pits purebloods against muggleborns, Ron and Hermione encounter an unexpected obstacle in the arena.
Word Count - 4335
Rating - E
Any Trigger Warnings - mentions of non-character death and wizarding prejudice, explicit sexual content
***
If she lived to be a thousand years old, Hermione Granger wouldâve never expected to be here again. Traipsing through these dense woods, stripped of her wand and fighting for her life. Not that sheâd been given a choice either time that her name was drawn for the Games.
The competition was different this time. There were, of course, a few of the purebloods who were hungry for another victory to notch in their belts, but the general feeling among the victors that had been plucked from their plush post-Games lives for a special anniversary clash was one of resentment. Why us? Why now? Why again?
The underlying discontent had forged a loose alliance among the majority of the group, an idea that maybe they werenât their own worst enemies. The Games were, for the first time, the tributes versus the Ministry and not each other.
Of course, that only went so far in practicality, with the more avid purebloods still on a violent quest to be the last one standing. They thrived in this environment, which was why the Ministry continued to include them in the annual Games, and why Hermione was currently hiking through the forest, looking for a place to hunker down for the night. Her legs and lungs burned from the added exertion of the extra weight she was supporting, from her injured ally: pure-blood Ron Weasley.
He wasnât like the others; their paths had crossed before, as there was no denying a request from the Ministry when they wanted their victors to make an appearance. A muggleborn, even the few like Hermione who managed to win their Games, was still a muggleborn, and most of the purebloods gave her a wide berth at Ministry functions. Not Ron.
The first time she met him was at the victory celebration for his Games, just the year after hers. His had been one of the shortest on record, ended by the early elimination of all the muggleborns rather than by having a single victor. There was absolutely nothing about the event that Hermione felt like celebrating, other than the passing of the torch that meant she was no longer the reigning winner of the Games, and when Ron had cheerfully introduced himself, she had brushed him off. He was a pureblood, after all, and they were all the same. Or so she had thought at the time.
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Hey :) if you are taking requests Iâd love if you could write something cute for romione in Deathly Hallows when (I just have this headcanon but itâs obviously canon because it doesnât make sense otherwise) Ron and Hermione slept in the same room together while Harry slept at Siriusâs (I mean Hermione didnât want to sleep alone and the fact that Harry wants to sleep by himself doesnât change that yk?⊠I mean you get it lol) so yeah anything with a lot of fluff. Iâll love anything youâd write anyway ;)
This is a lovely idea and I've ended up writing something Hinny/Romione related with a bit of guy love too, since I've written so many drabbles already that feature around someone being in bed.
Hopefully, you'll still enjoy this one!
---
Grimmauld Place is empty, devoid of all the noise that made it one of Harryâs favourite places. Heâs sure thatâs why the smallest creak of the floorboards from the level below forces him out of bed, even though itâs barely morning. After grabbing his wand, and igniting it with a quick Lumos, he stumbles out of the room towards the stairs.
It had been too difficult to sleep anyway, and as soon as he stepped into Siriusâ old bedroom, Harry regretted telling Ron and Hermione he preferred to be alone. But his best friends had been too consumed in something else and Harry couldnât handle the oppressive loneliness that sunk over his heart.
Ron emerges from the second floor bathroom as Harry reaches the bottom of the steps. Not noticing the wand light, the redhead creeps towards the bedroom Hermione picked out yesterday.
His loneliness forgotten, a swell of pride fills Harryâs heart. Although their timing could be better, and the bubble of jealousy still simmers low in his stomach at the realisation that his best friends are getting something still well out of his grasp, Harry is glad Ron and Hermione are finally on the right track.
Clearing his throat, he grins as his best friend spins around, his own wand now raised in defence.
âHarry!â Ron whisper-shouts. âYou scared the fuck out of me! Why are you awake?â
Harry lowers his wand before replying, âCouldnât sleep. I thought you were crashing in our old room?â
The tips of Ronâs ears shine pink through the darkness, and the gangly git shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. âYeah, I am. Iâm just checking on her.â Before Harry can speak again, Ronâs rambles continue, âAlright, she didnât want to sleep alone. But I promise thereâs no funny business. We wouldnât not whilââ
âRon,â Harry interrupts with a laugh. âIâm not Molly. Itâs fine, I promise. Not that you need my permission.â
âBut sheâs like a sister to you, and I know I gave you shit about Ginny.â
Ginny. Harry canât let the grief from his missed love take over, or heâll never survive the hunt. Instead, he chooses to get a little more joy out teasing Ron.
âMate, Iâm just glad the two of you finally sorted your shit out. Itâs been a fucking nightmare being caught in between you the past six years.â
Ronâs blush shifts from his ears to his cheeks and he stares at his feet briefly before lifting his gaze to meet Harryâs. His eyes sparkle with excitement, taking Harry by surprise. Another surge of jealousy flips Harryâs stomach, but he bites back the bitter taste.
âYeah,â Ron says, rubbing the back of his neck. âReckon itâs been a bit hard for you. Sorry.â He glances towards the door once more before adding, âCheers Harry, see you in a bit, yeah?â
âYeah, alright.â
But despite the good news, sleep is out of Harryâs grasp. With a small smile, he heads down to the basement kitchen to get on with his plans.
Just a friendly reminder and PSA for those who engage in fanfic & art of all fandoms:
For Fic Readers:
Please remember we do this for free.
Writers are always thankful for kudos, notes, and reviews!!
BUT when you send us requests asking when something will update, that can be stressful and can turn us off from wanting to provide an update.
We are no longer writing and outputting fics as fast as we could during quarantine. Lives are resuming, and we don't have as much writing time.
We love your support but please support us by sharing your reactions and excitement when we ARE able to update (not by asking when because honestly, we don't know any more than you do most of the time).
Seriously, we love that sort of interaction.
Please be patient with writers because again, we do this for free.
For fic writers:
It is OKAY to take a step back from writing if you need it.
It's okay to take as long as you need for an update.
You don't owe anyone speedy updates.
You are loved and appreciated (even in the responses that include nothing above a 'more please').
Keep on keepin' on, but only if your heart is in it!
Valentineâs day Illustration! đ§Ą This time, the cute/awkward moment between Ron and Hermione from Harry Potter and the prisoner of Azkaban. Hope you like it!
CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS you truly deserve it and way more I just love you writing so much whenever you post something new it just always makes my day đ
Can you write a drabble of Ron and Hermione when Molly ask them to do something (some chore, cooking or something) before harry comes to the burrow in deathly hallows and theyâre blushing a lot because theyâre fcking in love and so cute
tysm<3
Thank you so much lovely anon. Your ask actually sparked TWO ideas, so here's one story now and I'll be posting another on the 21st! I hope that you enjoy them both! <3
---
The laundry basket rests on the edge of Ronâs bed, and Hermione sighs as she digs out another item and blindly folds it. Although the monotony of the task allows her the brain space to run through the plans and lists of things she, Ron and Harry might need when they leave the Burrow, she canât help feeling that itâs wasted time.
Adding the folded top to the growing pile, she reaches in again. She loops her fingers around it and pulls it out, but sheâs distracted by the bedroom door swinging open.
âWhat the hell are you doing with those?â
Ronâs shout makes Hermione jump out of her skin, and if her hands werenât already full, she might have reached for her wand to hex him. Instead, she glances down at the bright orange material in her hands. The Chudley Cannons logos emblazoned all over the boxers confirms that yes, they do belong to Ron.
âHermione, what are you doing with my pants?â
The tips of his ears are pink as he glares at the offending item, unable to meet Hermioneâs eyes. His reaction gives her a strange sense of glee as she waves them in his face.
âTheyâre only boxers, Ron,â she says with a laugh.
âBut theyâre mine. Give them back!â
âWhy?â
âBecause I donât want you manhandling my pants. What are you doing with them, anyway?â
Hermione scoffs. âYour mum asked me to sort the laundry, so thatâs what Iâm doing. But now I'm looking at them, I should add these pants to my âto-packâ pile because these are the least holey Iâve spotted.â
âSo youâve looked at more?â Ron is incredulous, and now his whole face is red.
A wicked thought grasps hold of Hermione, and she smirks at Ron as she asks, âDonât you want me looking at your pants?â
âWell, yes, maybe.â Heâs so flustered, heâs struggling to get the words out. âNot like this.â
âNot like this?â
Ron gets close enough to yank them out of her hands, and he holds them close to his chest, like a dragon defending itâs eggs. âLook,â he spits out. âJust leave packing my pants to me, okay? Or Iâll head downstairs to Ginnyâs room and have a nose at yours!â
Dread fills her body, sending a shiver down her spine. She doesnât want Ron looking at her pants! âYou wouldnât dare!â
Heâs more confident now, and he quirks an eyebrow at her as he challenges, âWonât I?â
Before she has a chance to grab hold of him, he leaves the room, his feet thundering down the steps like a stampede of Hippogriffs. He still has his own pants with him, but now sheâs worried heâs going to look at her knickers.
And if he finds them in her bag, heâll spot a whole wealth of other things she doesnât want him to see.
âRon Weasley!â she shouts from the top of the stairs, a serious look on her face. âGet back here right now!â
Hiiii @cynthia-granger thank you for the ask. As soon as I saw it, I knew what I had to put down. I hope you enjoy it! <3 I know the moment at the Shrieking Shack is movie!canon, rather than book!canon, but I couldn't resist exploring what might have happened if Malfoy and his goons hadn't turned up.
---
Itâs cold in Hogsmeade today, but I havenât turned into an ice cube. Although my breath fogs the air and thereâs a hole in my gloves, my body is warm.
It could be because of the person standing next to me. Ron radiates heat all of the time, but Iâm not complaining about it for once. My heart pounds as we peer at the Shrieking Shack. Iâm not sure if itâs my imagination or the stories weâve been fed about the place, but Iâm sure I can see the building tilting and wavering in the harsh winter wind.
A howl sounds from across the valley, sending a shiver down my spine. Weâre here alone. Itâs the first time weâve ever done something only us two, and itâs strange, but not all together un-welcome. Thereâs a relief I wasnât expecting on discovering we can maintain conversation without Harry, and that Ron and I get along fine.
âDo you want to move a bit closer?â I ask, even though itâs the last thing on my mind.
âWhat?â
Itâs like my words have snapped Ron out of a reverie and he peers at me, one eyebrow cocked in confusion.
It takes me a moment to work out why heâs perplexed. Although weâre close enough that I could stretch out my pinky and touch his hand on the wire fence, there is still the slightest of gaps between us.
Iâm aghast by the insinuation. Itâs not that Iâm grossed out by Ron or anythingâfar from itâbut, Iâve never considered him that way ever before.
Okay, that might be a lie.
I tilt my head towards the building thatâs still swaying and groaning in the wind. âThe shackâŠâ
âOh.â Pink heat floods Ronâs face, from the bottom of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. âNo thanks. Iâm fine here.â
A moment passes between us as we maintain eye contact. My body betrays me as my gaze slips to his lips. Theyâre cracked and dry from the frozen tundra blowing around us, yet still they invite me in. Without registering whatâs going on, I step closer, and my hand finds its way to the zipper of Ronâs coat.
I lose control of my body, stretching on my tiptoes to press the softest of kisses against his lips. Itâs so light, itâs almost like it barely happened, yet fireworks explode as our lips make contact.
As I pull away, I spot a strange look on Ronâs face, as if a rogue bludger has hit him on the head. He touches his lips with his fingers before a massive lop-sided grin breaks over his face.
âUhm, thanks.â
âYouâre welcome.â
Itâs awkward as hell, but what do I expect from inexplicably kissing my best friend? With a sigh, I turn back to watch the Shrieking Shack, but he shifts close enough for our shoulders to touch, and I smile to myself.
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Hello you! Your writing is beautiful and makes my day anytime I read it đ It's not in your list, but please could you write a piece post-DoM about Ron dealing with the brain tentacle trauma? đ„ș I enjoy having my heart ripped out. Thank you!
iya pal, thank you so much for suggesting this, and giving me IDEAs but encouraging me to read stuff I wouldn't normally. You're one of the best people in my life (you and the Circle Crew) and I know how much you enjoy your heart being stomped on.
So here's your drabble, I hope you cry! <3
Before anyone reads, there's a massive TW for angst and PTSD here. You can all have your hearts broken, but please be safe about it.
My ask box is always open, whether you want to request a story from my prompts list, or just need to chat.
Almost Broken
Ron knows when Hermione is around, but he hasnât always.
Itâs a feeling thatâs been growing for a while. Her presence sets every hair on his arm on edge and sends his pulse racing. Sometimes, itâs hard being in the same room with her, but he tries his best anyway.
Heâs not surprisedâtheyâve spent almost every waking hour together since the age of eleven, studying and hanging around. And since McGonagall made them Prefects last September, their closeness has only grown.
Maybe heâs just used to her being there.
This morning, the sun is low, barely poking its head over the top of Stoatâs Head Hill. Ron isnât usually awake this early, but Mum promised the rays would help with the scarring on his arms. But he isnât sure he wants anyone else to see yet. So he comes out to the garden at the crack of dawn to bask in the morning light.
Itâs easier to hide at this time of the day.
Ever since Dumbledore delivered them back to Hogwarts, and to the safety of the Infirmary, the adults have been asking questions. âWhat happened? Why did you go to the Department of Mysteries? Why did you accio the brains?â
He doesnât know. He canât even remember what spell the Death Eater hit him with. All he can recall is finding everything far too funny, and the tightening grip around his neck as something tried to choke the life out of him, and then nothing until the Headmasterâs booming voice woke him.
Footsteps sound in the gravel behind him, and Ron scrambles to pull down the arms of his sleeves before Hermione can see them. He doesnât even get them to his elbows when she mumbles, âDonât,â before plonking herself on the blanket next to him. âYou donât need to hide them from me, Ron.â
âYes, I do. Theyâre disgusting.â
This is the way their conversations are now. Stark and honest, with no pleasantries before them. If Harry were around, theyâd be acting differentlyâmore civil with over the top banterâbut while itâs only the two of them, theyâre more open with each other.
Hermione tuts and Ron turns his head to look at her, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. How often have they exchanged this back and forth since she arrived at the Burrow five days ago with her own bandages, a pale face and deep purple circles under her eyes.
Theyâre both concerned about each other, although neither of them will admit it.
âWould you say that about mine?â she scoffs, tilting her head back to expose her own wounds.
A white plaster pokes from the collar of her t-shirt, protecting the spot where Dolohovâs curse hit her. The healers are stumpedânone of them can work out what he usedâbut thankfully, Hermione seems to be healing okay.
At least outwardly.
âNever,â Ron replies. Itâs a simple statement, but itâs one thatâs loaded with far more that he longs to say. Your scars make you even more beautiful. Youâre ferocious, amazing, scary as fuck. And Iâm proud.
She rests her hand on his arm, being careful of the jagged circles of pink flesh, still raw and hurting. Itâs an automatic action, yet the sensation of skin on skin sets off a riot of revulsion in Ronâs head. Because itâs her, he manages to keep a slight grasp of control to stop the sickness from overcoming him. But still, he pulls away from her touch and winces at the hurt look spreading over her face.
âI said donât.â
Hermione sighs and moves her hand back to her lap before staring out at the garden as it wakes. The Gnomes are already out and about, getting on with whatever business Garden Gnomes have to do whilst trying to avoid the yellow-eyed glare of Crookshanks. The trees in the orchard wave their greetings to each other in the light summer breeze, and everything looks hopeful and fresh and new.
âThoughts leave deeper scars than almost everything else,â she finally says. âAt least thatâs what Madam Pomfrey says. Donât you remember anything aboutâŠâ
âNo,â Ron sighs out. âNothing. I wish I did. I wish it hadnât happened, so I could have protectedââ
âRon. Stop.â
She touches his cheek as if to stop the words from spilling out. Although he braces himself for the flinch, it doesnât come. The heat that spreads from Hermioneâs palm spreads across Ronâs pale skin, distracting him from the voice screaming to knock her hand away. His chest heaves and a tremor passes through him as the war inside still rages on.
But on the outside, he rests his head against her hand and closes his eyes.
After the attack, he wasnât sure if he would ever be the same old Ron Weasley. The brains and their tentacles left behind far more than the scars running over his arms. And although itâs been a month since their failed mission at the Ministry of Magic, the nightmares still haunt him, each one worse than the last, as if theyâre building up to one final explosion.
But it never comes.
They seep past the dreamless sleep, the worried whispers of his mum as she tucks him into bed despite his age. Theyâve gotten so bad, Ron has considered stopping trying to sleep altogether.
If he were old enough, heâd have hit the Firewhiskey hard. Maybe that might numb everything he feels.
Ron came close to losing everything he lovedâHermione, Harry, Ginny, his friends. Heâs not sure how he would have coped. They all survived, so why is he so fucking fucked up?
Well, almost everyone. A wave of guilt crashes over Ron as he remembers Harryâs devastation at losing Siriusâhis best friendâs one hope of a proper family. Yet the Death Eaters got away scot-free.
Itâs so unfair.
âItâll get better, I promise,â Hermione whispers, her thumb caressing a circle over his freckles.
He blinks away the tears burning behind his lids, the tips of his ears heating up in shame. Ron has never felt so exposed before. Hermioneâs gaze burns into himâitâs as if she can see inside him and right through to his deepest fears and desires. Yet sheâs not running away.
Ron risks a glance at her face and, instead of judgement, only sees kindness and concern. And perhaps something else? He shakes the idea away. Thereâs no way someone like Hermione would fall for someone like him. Especially now heâs so damaged. Girls like her donât go for monsters like him, with his inability to sleep and body covered with scars.
Why would she want someone who canât even handle anyone touching him? What kind of relationship could he give her?
That door has been closed for good.
But maybe sheâs right. Perhaps Ronâs head will eventually get better. He has to believe in something to get him through the darkest of his thoughts, so he nods.