V for the minific ❤️
V: An abandoned or empty place. (more prompts here)
Thank you, friend! I got some DH-era pinning for you!
…
The dilapidated house stood alone at the edge of Old St Mellons, on the eastern edge of Cardiff, Wales. It was a quaint little village comprising mainly of 19th-century buildings. When the trio arrived there at the end of February, the weather was still quite pleasant during the day if a little cold during the night, a welcome change from the chill, snow and frost they faced up north.
After having lived inside a canvas tent for months, the prospect of having a solid roof over their heads had seemed quite enticing for Harry, Ron and Hermione. But all three of them knew that it could be their ‘home’ for a precious few days before they had to move again.
The charms and protective spells had been put in place as a priority; it wouldn’t do for the villagers to find three ‘lost’ teenagers living in an abandoned house. Any and all trips to find food were planned for the night, and under the Cloak for added measure. Hermione thankfully had the better judgement to cast a Scorgify in one of the rooms for them to occupy. By the look of the building, Ron was sure there was quite possibly a tiny version of Aragog’s family living there. But once they had set up a temporary bedroom by placing their mattresses on the stone floor of what had presumably been a living room, and settled down, he couldn’t deny that it felt more homely than a tent that swayed and flapped its door and windows during the weakest of storms.
“We still have to take guard duty,” Ron declared as he bolted shut the windows, partly with the loose hanging latches and partly with magic. A storm was beginning to brew in the horizon. “Do we have enough food to last the night?” he asked, dusting his sleeves as he returned to their makeshift beds.
“A tin of biscuits and some weak tea at the most,” provided Harry as he Accioed out their meagre food supplies from Hermione’s beaded bag.
“And two apples,” added Hermione.
Ron looked up and for one brief moment, was suddenly struck by how beautiful she looked fresh out of a bath. And then her much-too-large jumper slid off her shoulder and he looked away guiltily. “You both should have one each in that case. I’ll go out foraging later in the night if the storm dies down.”
“We share whatever we have,” she declared firmly as she tucked the damp curls behind her ears, and picking up the small bag Harry had left on Ron’s mattress, dug in to pull out her hairbrush. “Most of the pipes have rusted off and there’s no water. I sorted what I could. I think we are good to go for the next two days as long as we remember to put everything back as it was when we leave.”
“You mean, damage everything again,” prompted Ron.
“Yes,” she chuckled. “But I won’t deny that a soak did wonder for my aching muscles,” she replied, as she walked closer and sat down next to him, brushing the tangles off her hair. The faint aroma of soap and shampoo hung in the air around them. It was blissful. Feeling strangely comfortable, Ron dropped himself on the mattress, face down, Hermione sitting mere inches away from him.
“Hey mate, d’ya think we can sort this thing and light a fire perhaps? What do you say, Hermione?”
Ron turned his head to his left. Harry was currently on his knees, peeping inside an enormous fireplace.
Hermione placed her hairbrush down and turned as well. “I don’t know, Harry! We won’t be able to hide the smoke, will we?” She turned at him, eyes barely holding back the anxiety that Ron knew lingered just beneath the surface anyway.
He propped himself up on his arms. “Yeah, we could do with Hermione’s Bluebell flames, couldn’t we?” he replied looking between his two best friends, “Better not have the old folks turning on us with their sticks and stones, eh?”
Harry shrugged and picked himself up, dusting his knees and arms. “Fine, I’ll draw myself a bath in that case, and take a nap after that. My turn to take watch, innit?”
“The pipes don’t have any water, so you’ll just have to use a spell,” Hermione told him as Harry began rummaging her bag for his clothes.
“Okay,” he mumbled, and having retrieved a tee and pyjama bottoms, went away.
With Harry gone, Ron flopped back, and somehow by a strange coincidence, landed with his head on her lap. For minutes, maybe hours even, they remained still, the silence of the surrounding broken just by the faint howling of the storm outside. Hermione had not taken her eyes off him. He could see her upside-down face, and feel her deep breathing in tune with his. He had apologised days before and he knew, they had come back to some sort of an understanding. But the details were still fuzzy, he still didn’t know where they stood, didn’t really have the guts to ask if she’d ever take him back- hoped she knew that he’d wait for an eternity for it if need be.
“I-” he began, struggling to phrase an apology, craving to blurt out a confession he knew he wasn’t allowed.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly, and then, as if straight out of his dreams, threaded her fingers in his hair. He closed his eyes in bliss. “This feels a bit like home, doesn’t it?” he mumbled lazily after a while.
Her fingers paused and he heard the softest of sobs; he was up in a flash, even before the heartbeat passed.
“Hermione?” he asked, and then, very cautiously placed his palm on her cheek, tilting her face up a smidge to meet her eyes. “What’s the matter?”
She seemed to struggle with the words for a while before she spoke. “What if, y'know, they attacked my parents’ place too?” she whimpered, “This is how my home would look, wouldn’t it?"
He exhaled heavily, his inner turmoil struggling to break free. "They are safe,” he promised, his thumb stroking her cheek, “You took care of them like no one else could, Hermione.”
“They’ll be okay, won’t they, Ron?” she asked again, as if begging him to assuage her fears, biting her quivering lower lip. He had visualised many situations where Hermione bit her lips; this didn’t come anywhere close. He ached to pull her into his arms, not that he was allowed.
“They’ll be fine, and we will be too, all of us,” he replied, with enough conviction to convince her as well as himself.
She sucked in a deep breath and nodded once. Slowly and reluctantly he pulled his hand away, fisting his fingers tightly, and placing it on his lap to avoid touching her. “Should I get you some tea?” he asked.
“Maybe later,” she replied with the faintest of smiles, her left hand playing with the hem of her jumper, the right resting next to her on the makeshift bed.
He quietly contemplated on his next course of action. What he truly desired was to stay close, wrap her in his arms. What he was allowed was pulling away before she initiated the distance.
“Get some rest,” he suggested at last and pushed himself back.
“Ron?"
"Hmm?”
“Mind if I, y'know…"
As he looked curiously she inched closer, and then, as if gathering all her strength, lowered her body on the mattress, her head resting on his thighs, the slightly damp curls sprawled over them. He sucked in a breath and met her eyes. There was a smile lingering on her lips. At that moment, she could have said those words, he knew instinctively, but she didn’t- she didn’t need to. Instead, she closed her eyes and snuggled deeper as she turned to her left. His fingers found their way into her hair, threading through the soft curls, and she sighed contently. So did he.
The house was broken down and abandoned for sure, but for Ron and Hermione that night, it felt like home.
…