#xkingron

Wotcher, Ron!

Hermione stirred and opened her eyes, looking over at Ron, who was still sleeping, then at Harry’s cot, finding it empty. She’d been sleeping in Ron’s room since arriving at the Burrow almost a week ago. Molly had set her up a cot in Ginny’s room, as usual, but after tossing and turning for hours the first night, she realized she couldn’t fall asleep without being around Ron and Harry and hearing their calm breaths and Ron’s occasional snoring.  She’d walked up the stairs to Ron’s Room without a second thought and found Ron was awake as well. She had looked over at Harry, establishing he was alive and well and then at Ron, who had lifted his bed covers without a word and let her sleep in his bed next to him. And that’s where she had slept for the rest of the week. None of them mentioned their sleeping arrangements during the day, none of them mentioned anything about the shift in their relationship during the day, or at night for that matter. Hermione sat up a little straighter and looked down at Ron, chewing on her bottom lip. There was no denying something had changed between them, they were more affectionate towards each other, holding hands and finding the other’s blindly, soft touches of the upper arm and brushing back stray curls. But they hadn’t kissed since that night in the Room of Requirement, or talked about what happened for that matter. Not that she could blame him, his family had to come first and she had to be strong for him. No asking about kisses or defining what they were. 

She sighed and brushed his hair out of his face. It had gotten long, his mother hadn’t sneaked up on him with a pair of scissors yet, she had other things on her mind. She sighed again as she studied his face, he looked peaceful and free of trouble while sleeping and she wished she could keep him like this, no pain, no worries and hers. She knew it was selfish to want clarification on the status of her relationship with Ron while they were mourning Fred, so she kept it inside and stayed by his side. She gave him one last look, pulled her hand away from his face and got up from the bed, walking down to Ginny’s room to get her towel and headed to the shower.

She always tried not to look in the mirror in the bathroom, but today she’d caught a glance and turned towards the mirror fully, lifting her chin to reveal the scar left there by Bellatrix Lestrange, then glanced down at her body. She had always been on the small side, but being on the run for months without proper meals had now showing her ribs. Paired with the bruises and cuts scattered over her entire body, it made her look unhealthy, something she hated. But the part of her body she hated most was her arm. She looked down at the limb she kept hidden beneath layers of clothing at all times despite the warm weather. She had never been ashamed of her heritage and blood status, but to have it branded in her arm, with big, messy letters was a different story. She had tried to heal it herself, but none of the spells she was familiar with had worked, so she covered up, not wanting anyone to know it was there, or for Ron and Harry to know it was still there and feel sorry for her. It was a tiny speck in the grand scheme of things and she didn’t want to attract attention to it. 

After her shower she got dressed and made her way downstairs, where Molly was preparing food in the kitchen and was handed a plate overflowing with eggs, bacon, sausages and toast. She had never been a big eater, especially at breakfast, but Molly insisted she’d gain some weight before the summer was over, so she obediently ate it all down to the last crumb.