J for the mini fic..... just waiting for the angst!! PS I love you
Requested also by @shadefulbash
I’m sorry it took me so so long, guys! (Jenn, you know I love you loads, don’t you?)
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J: When Words Aren’t Enough
Hermione could sense Harry moving around in their kitchen area, the faint light from the candle seeping through the canvas curtain that separated their ‘bedroom’ from the dining area. She and Harry had decided to take shifts to keep watch, and Hermione knew that in a couple of hours it would be her turn. She knew she ought to grab some sleep but she couldn’t.
It was hard to say if the sun had set already. From the faint light entering through one of the bedroom windows, she could see that it was beginning to get dark, the cacophony of the birds too had ceased to be replaced with the sinister silence of the forest. A little later she heard the rustling of dry leaves and twigs followed by Harry’s movements. Soon there was the crackling of a fire outside and the faint rays of light seeped in through the canvas.
It was almost impossible to imagine that they had woken up at the Grimmauld Place that very morning, broken into the Ministry, managed to grab one Horcrux, gave away the location of their hideout and … almost lost Ron.
Dread forced it’s way up and choked her in the process. Heaving, she pushed herself off her bed and walked over to the bunk bed where Ron lay. Hermione concentrated on the slight rise and fall of his chest before she collapsed silently on the floor next to his bed. Ron still wore the same blood-soaked shirt she had ripped off partially. His face had regained little colour and his skin appeared ghostly white, standing out starkly in contrast to his hair and the blood-stains on his shirt.
She wiped off the tears that escaped and just about managed to cut back her sob. The run-in at the Ministry has made it clear than ever that the Horcrux hunt was far more dangerous than anything the three of them had dealt with so far. It was no longer an adventure from the security of their school. A tiny mistake would cost them their life- her mistake today has almost cost Ron his life.
She wasn’t prepared this time. Neither for the war and definitely not to lose him.
It was harder to hold back the cry that escaped and she quickly hid her face in the crook of her arm and she bit down on her skin lest she woke Ron up.
…
His senses were a lot more alert albeit extremely exhausted. Ron shifted slightly, wincing at the stinging on his left arm and sensed rather heard her muffled sobs.
Carefully, Ron turned a smidge to his left and placed his right hand tenderly on hers.
She looked up in shock and even in the faint firelight seeping in through the canvas, Ron could see Hermione’s tearstained face.
She appeared to be struggling to hold back her whimpers and he tugged on her arm for the stiffness of his left shoulder made it hard for him to pull himself up. Hermione scooted closer without meeting his gaze and then slowly gripped his hand and pressed her face to it, grazing his skin with her tears. Ron’s heart twisted painfully; he hated to be the reason for her tears. She didn’t quite have to voice out for him to know the reason for her anguish.
Disregarding his sore arm, Ron pushed himself off the bed, unable to hold back, however, the involuntary gasp that escaped him. She was beside him in a snap, supporting his back and sat beside him as he placed his feet down on the ground to sit at the edge of the bunk bed, his torso bent at an odd angle to avoid hurting his head on the bunk above, breathing erratically with the small effort. He had to get better soon, he told himself sternly, or he’d slow them down.
He turned to face her, but Hermione had already left the room.
She returned moments later, her small beaded bag clasped between her fingers. Hermione lit a lone candle, and as he watched, she pulled out a few of his clothes from it before retrieving an old checkered buttondown.
She approached him and even before she could ask him to, he left the bed to kneel down on the floor. Hermione knelt down in front of him and wordlessly began unbuttoning his shirt. Ron watched her bit her lip struggle with her breathing as she carefully removed the torn and blood-stained shirt off him. She pulled out her wand, wordlessly conjuring a bowl and some warm water and a washcloth. With the silence broken only by her muffled sobs, she wiped off the dried stains of his blood from his arm and shoulder. He didn’t stop her, knowing well that they both needed the cleansing of this wound.
Finally, she disappeared all the paraphernalia and with even more care she helped him put on the fresh one, leaving it unbuttoned at the front. Her frazzled hair lay limp and despite the state of his undress and the emotions these situations usually gave rise to, he couldn’t think of anything apart from how broken she appeared.
He knew why. Ron would’ve never forgiven himself if any mistake of his had endangered her life, and although Ron would gladly take an Avada to keep her safe, he knew how guiltridden she’d be currently. Finally, Hermione pulled out her wand again and cast a warming spell on him.
When she was done, Hermione paused and met his gaze, unshed tears pooling in her eyes.
He didn’t break her gaze. There were things that were not to be worded out between them, not yet, and he hoped she would read them in his eyes. He hadn’t learned to live without her- and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
After many long minutes, he placed his right palm on her cheek and pulled her close, just a smidge as they couldn’t cross that last threshold yet- no matter how much he ached to. He placed his lip to her forehead, knowing that she heard his heartbeats, heard the words he couldn’t speak, yet.
