if you haven't done it: "I can’t trust you" + romione. I'm really curious to see what you do with it :)
Thank you for this prompt! I seem to have forgotten what “drabble” means lately because this is 1200+ words but in any case, I hope you like it! 💕
***
Shell Cottage was beautiful, and tranquil, and best of all, safe - as safe as a house could be these days - but it could barely contain all of its houseguests. Hermione would never be able to adequately express her gratitude to Bill and Fleur for their hospitality, as she was dreading the return to life in a tent, but that didn’t change the fact that Luna talked in her sleep, mostly in languages Hermione didn’t understand (though once she was positive it was Mermish), and sharing a room with her meant that Hermione lately was not predisposed to much actual sleep. Most nights, it was just as well. Closing her eyes meant she felt a knife against her neck, a curse ripping through her bones, Ron screaming from below, so close and yet dreadfully far.
It was just past one in the morning when Hermione determined that she’d had rather enough of tossing and turning in bed, and tiptoed down to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of ice water would be all she needed to ease the whirring in her brain, the constant rumination over the floor plan of Gringotts, the logistics of impersonating Death Eaters, the sheer absurdity of trying to rob a bank - or maybe not, but a change of scenery couldn’t hurt.
When she crept down the stairs, though, there was a light flickering in the doorway. She stepped inside to see Ron at the wooden table with an enormous carton of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans in front of him and a lantern lit in the corner.
“Oh, hey,” he greeted her, a soft smile on his face. “Did you want a midnight snack too?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep.” She crossed the room to fetch a glass from the cupboard, using her wand to fill it up. “And it’s well past midnight, you know.”
“Yeah, well, it was midnight when I came in here,” he replied, gesturing for her to join him at the table.
“You’ve been sitting here for a whole hour?” asked Hermione as she seated herself across from him.
“I reckoned I could lie in the sitting room and stress out, or come in here and stress out, and at least here there’s food, look what I found,” he said with a little laugh, gesturing to the candy in front of him. “You want some?”
“No,” Hermione answered with amusement, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you eat those not knowing if you’ll get one that’s good or repulsive or-”
“I’m an expert now, though,” Ron explained with a mirthful note in his voice. “I can tell what’s what now, I’m highly skilled in candy identification.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah, here, I’ll prove it.” He tipped over the carton so that beans poured out over the surface of the table and studied them. “Try this one,” he said, using his pointer finger to slide a bright green one over to her. “It’s lime.”
Briefly, Hermione thought of what her parents would think of eating candy in the middle of the night, but then shoved that notion out of her mind. They were Monica and Wendell now, and they were in Australia, and she was here with Ron to try to accomplish this task that seemed more insurmountable by the day. And if it helped, even a little, to play along with him, she would.
Tentatively she popped the candy into her mouth, instantly grimacing as she bit down.
“That tastes like grass,” she sputtered, choking it down and trying to pick the sticky remnants out of her teeth.
Ron merely quirked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked freshly cut grass.”
Hermione’s stomach flipped: he had remembered. They’d been studying for their Potions final late last year, during those lazy afternoon hours when Harry had been otherwise occupied with Ginny, when Ron had asked Hermione what Amortentia had smelled like to her. “New parchment, freshly cut grass, and - and spearmint toothpaste,” she had lied, because there was no way she could tell him that she’d smelled him in the potion. And when she’d turned the question back his way, he had just laughed, said “mostly chocolate”, and turned their book to the page on Felix Felicis. But more and more lately - and especially since Malfoy Manor - she suspected that he too had not been entirely truthful.
“To smell, not to eat,” Hermione retorted, recovering quickly. “That was disgusting.”
“Okay, try this one, this one’s coffee,” Ron said as he dropped a brown one into her palm.
“Are you sure?”
“Mmm hmm,” Ron nodded, the corner of his mouth crooking upward.
Eyeing him warily, Hermione took a small nibble off the end and almost gagged. “I think it’s meant to be beef.”
“Oh, sorry,” he grinned, plainly not apologetic at all, as Hermione’s jaw dropped in indignation and she leaned across the table to smack him on the arm.
“You’re such a prat,” she reprimanded playfully. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Course not.” Scanning the mess of candy on the table, he selected a bright red jelly bean and presented it to her on his outstretched palm as though it were on a silver platter. “This one’s strawberry. I promise.”
“No, no, I’m not eating that,” said Hermione, “it’s probably something like blood or chili pepper or something, I can’t trust you!”
The kitchen fell silent, her haphazard declaration ringing in the air. Ron froze, his mouth half open, and then withdrew his hand.
“Right,” he mumbled, averting his eyes to the brightly decorated carton on the table. “Right.”
“No, Ron - I didn’t mean - I was only joking,” she rushed to explain, “because you’ve given me such bad flavors so far-”
“You can, though,” he said quietly in the general direction of his hands. “You know. Trust me. I mean, I understand why you don’t, and I wouldn’t either, and I don’t expect anything to be how it was, but…” Moonlight slanting across his features, Ron fixed his gaze on Hermione. “I am never going to hurt you again.”
She reached out one small hand and placed it over his, squeezing lightly. At her touch, his expression softened, some of the tension seeping out of him.
“I know that,” she whispered, her heart rate accelerating as he turned over his hand and let their fingers lace together.
“And I’ll promise you something else, too,” Ron added seriously.
“What’s that?”
With his free hand, he pointed to the abandoned red jelly bean. “That will not taste like chili peppers.”
“Let’s give it a try, then,” Hermione said, silently grateful that he’d broken the tension. Still clinging to his hand, she picked up the candy and popped it into her mouth.
“What is it?” asked Ron warily. “Tomatoes? Cinnamon? Blood?”
“No.” Despite it all, Hermione smiled at him, her first genuine one in what felt like months. “Strawberry.”
Ron laughed. “I made you a promise, I kept it.”
***
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