Don’t Forget || Ron/Hermione || PG
A/N: So, today, @hermionewazlib asked @doveharper to draw Ron sheltering from the rain. While I was waiting impatiently for her sketch, I got out my phone and randomly wrote this bit of fic from mid-DH.
Hermione was wearing the locket.
He could hear her and Harry, behind him, arguing. The rain was pounding overhead, striking chords against a crumbled stone bridge, abandoned, just wide and tall enough to provide a temporary shelter. He was hunched slightly forward, clutching the collar of his coat round his neck. His arm still ached, the wind was whipping his damp hair into his eyes, and he was struggling to ignore the twisted knot in the pit of his stomach.
She huffed heavily, suddenly closer behind him than he’d realised, and then she was huddling up next to him.
“Damned locket,” she said roughly, tugging it over her head and clenching it in her fist with distaste, briefly closing her eyes.
“I can take a turn,” Ron offered, voice scratchy and barely audible amidst a cracking of distant thunder.
“How’s your arm?” she asked, ignoring him. And he was on the point of calling her attention back to his offer when he met her eyes, catching a glimpse of softness, concern. He swallowed and tried to shrug, but he felt too icy and hollow.
“S'alright,” he said noncommittally. “How’s Harry?”
“Frustrated. He needs a minute.”
She glanced out at the landscape beyond, overgrown grass and weeds flattened to the muddy ground as the rain intensified.
“I can’t tell you how-” she started, voice cracking. “Ron, I’m so glad you’re here.”
She hadn’t turned to face him yet, so he fixed his eyes on her profile, allowing himself to stare.
She looked so tired, bones of her face a bit more pronounced, shadows underneath her eyes. And he thought he had likely seen her nearly every way possible, every version of her. He’d seen her happy, in pain, disappointed, excited, empathetic, terrified… he’d seen her cry more times than he cared to count, not because he was afraid anymore, but because he couldn’t exactly cope with the concept of someone breaking her, most especially him, so many times.
He was too uncomfortable to think straight, stomach grumbling, and he was pretty sure the pebble in his right boot was working on a callous between two of his toes. So it didn’t really seem like much of a stretch to move a bit closer to her, dropping his coat collar to lightly reach for her hand, not making it all the way, but looping a couple of his fingers around a couple of hers.
She finally turned to look back up at him then, wet eyelashes sticking together. He licked his lips, clearing his throat…
“I’m really glad you’re here, too.”
Her lips curved into something like a small smile, and she leaned against him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.
“He doesn’t know where to go next, does he,” Ron stated blankly, not needing the answer she gave with a small shake of her head.
They were directionless, drifting in nothingness.
“I used to love thunderstorms,” she said quietly, after a while. “Now… well, I’d give up my whole Gringotts vault to apparate somewhere warm and dry…”
He laughed shortly, shifting his posture as she lifted her cheek from his shoulder and linked an arm with his.
“Hot cocoa,” he sighed, and she smiled.
“Hot baths,” she added.
“Hogwarts breakfasts.”
“Feather beds.”
“A new pair of socks.”
“What’s wrong with yours?” she sniffed.
“Last good pair’s got a hole in the toe,” he said nonchalantly. “But I’d forget the socks for the bath and the chocolate.”
She turned to grin up at him, clutching his arm with both of her own now. Her tiny fingers curled around his bicep, and he swallowed.
“We should make a list, of all the things we want to do when this is over,” she suggested.
Part of him was ready to say he felt it was unfair to give himself hope that he’d make it. But another larger part was sure that it didn’t matter. She only wanted to feel safe, for a few moments, and this was about the best they could do.
“Let’s do it when we camp tonight,” he offered, and she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.
When she opened them again, he couldn’t look away, staring at the way the misty light cast a gray haze across her pupils.
“We should go,” Harry called out behind them.
Please, not yet. For now, the rain was out there, away from them.
But it didn’t matter anyway. They couldn’t escape, only move onward, hoping each step took them forward and not sideways… not circling, never backward.
“Give me the locket, Hermione.”
She hesitated, not breaking his gaze for some time. Lightning flashed in the distance, glowing in a halo round her frizzy hair.
She slid one hand down his arm, about to let go, but he took gentle hold of her fingers again, the shortest of tiny squeezes as they parted and stood inches apart from each other. She reached into her pocket, where he hadn’t even seen her stash it… and she handed it over to him, eyes finally cast away from his, refusing to meet them again as he took it from her.
“Don’t forget,” she half-whispered, “we’re in this together.”
And he slipped the locket over his head.
