Day Five
Hermione sits on the window bench, staring out at the sunrise. She takes a few deep breaths, reflecting.
Day five… she thinks to herself. How is it day five already?
She stares back at the bed, at the burrowed pile of Ron and Harry, their combined breathing gently moving the blankets. Ron stirs as if he can feel her stares, looking over his shoulder at her sleepily.
“Hi,” she whispers, smiling at him.
“You okay?” he asks, gently getting out of the bed, careful not to disturb Harry.
“Yeah. Potions mess with my sleep schedule,”
“I know,” he sighs. “Me too. Budge up,”
She scoots over so he can sit on the bench, and he pulls her into his lap. They haven’t had many moments, just the two of them, too busy taking care of Harry or sleeping. He wraps his arm around her, and she leans back, sighing.
“Do you need to talk?” he asks.
“No,” she glances at Harry. “Do you?”
He shifts behind her. “Not yet… not about anything bad,”
“Was kissing me so bad?” she teases, turning to look at him.
“Never,” he laughs, gently kissing her lips.
“You want to talk about…” she trails off, looking at Harry again. “That,”
He coughs awkwardly. “I- um, what do you mean?”
“Ronald,” she teases. “I know you, love. You’ve been a bit…”
“I’m just- taking care of him!” Ron protests. She shushes him, his raised voice threatening to wake Harry.
“I’m not mad,” she assures him. “Whatever you’re feeling… I think I’m feeling it too,”
“You are?” he asks, surprised.
“I mean, are we really that surprised,” she shrugs. “It’s always been the three of us. We just went through a highly traumatic experience. I mean, Harry died, for heaven’s sake. Of course, we might have some… realizations,”
“Do you think he…” Ron trails off.
“I don’t know,” she says, biting her lip. “Either way, I don’t think we should say anything until he’s better,”
“How much better?”
It’s a fair question.
“What do you think?”
She watches as he studies Harry’s sleeping form. She’s realized how much he thinks now since he made the rash choice to leave them. She knew he was analytical. He wouldn’t be so good at chess if he wasn’t, but to see it manifest in real life was a refreshing change.
“He should be able to go outside and talk to other people,” Ron sighs. “Just a little,”
“I agree,” She settles into him once more and pulls her hair over her shoulder, playing with a stray curl.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss on her now bare neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you enough,”
She blushes. “Who knew you were mister romantic?”
He laughs shakily. “I’m terrified, ‘Mione. There were days I didn’t expect to make it out of this, but we did. And for some reason, the thought of living the rest of our lives is even scarier. I don’t want to mess this up, not us, not again,”
“And that Ron,” she smiles happily. “Is why you won't,”
✦✦✦✦✦
Ron sits at the kitchen table, his leg bouncing. His family sits around him, and yet he feels so alone. It’s taking every ounce of his energy to not rush back upstairs and crawl in bed with Harry and Hermoine. But he knows he has to entertain his mum, pretend like she can take care of them, pretend like the three of them hadn’t gotten used to being on their own.
Ginny eyes him from across the table, nursing a butterbeer just like he is. Bill is sitting at the far end, talking to Percy. Charlie’s gone to take the dragons back to Romania but promised to return in a few days. George is nowhere to be seen.
“Here you go, Ron,” his mum says cheerfully, placing a plate of food in front of him. He stares at it, knowing he should eat, but he feels uneasy down here by himself.
“How’s Hermione?” Ginny finally asks. It’s the safe way to ask what she really wants to know.
“She’s doing fine,” Ron shrugs. Then, deciding to give his family a boon. “Better than Harry, I think,”
Ginny nods, her unspoken question answered. The room goes quiet, an anxious curiosity permeating the air.
“Ron,” his dad coughs. “Do you know... What- what happened? Exactly?”
He sighs. “I don’t know if he wants me to say,”
“Well, that’s just silly,” his mother scoffs. “He has to talk about it eventually,”
His fist clenches around his shirt hem. “Mum, just don’t,”
“It’s been five days, Ron. I think we deserve some answers,”
He snaps. “And what about Harry, mum? What does he deserve? Because he didn’t deserve what happened to him, what he had to do, so whether it takes five days or five years, I will not put him in a place to talk until he’s ready,”
“Oh, Ronald,” his mother scoffs.
“Mum!” Ginny exclaims.
“You’re all just children!” she continues. “I’ve had enough of you three pretending you’re not,”
He slams his hand on the table, making them all jump. “You’re wrong, mum. You have no idea how wrong you are,”
His mother scoffs again, and his rage increases. He huffs and stands from his chair, almost knocking it over.
“Ron,” his dad says gently. “We’re just trying to manage things down here, so you can manage things up there,”
“Arthur, don’t encourage him,”
His dad looks at him with pleading eyes, and he softens. “I’ll ask Harry-”
“Oh good, I’ll-”
“If I can talk to dad about it,” Ron finishes cutting his mother off. “And that’s all you’re getting,”
He turns and storms out of the room, stomping up the stairs. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself. Why can’t they just be patient? He opens the door to his room and stops in his tracks, smiling like an idiot at the sight before him.
Harry’s awake, reading a book, looking a little less pale and ghostly than yesterday. Hermione’s curls spill across his lap, her little snores echoing through the tiny room. Harry’s free hand is absentmindedly brushing across her arm.
“Hi,” Harry says brightly, looking up at him. “I heard you shouting, thanks for that,”
Ron’s face goes hot. “Anytime,” he mumbles. Harry pats the bed on his other side, a clear invitation. He grins stupidly, falling on top of the sheets, making sure his head doesn’t land on Harry’s bad leg. He throws his arm over, grabbing Hermione’s hand.
“What do they want from me?” Harry asks. Ron knows he’s trying to be casual, but it still frustrates him.
“Answers,” he sighs, “I refused, and Mum called us children. I finally agreed to ask you if I could tell Dad what happened, but mostly just to stall,”
Harry sighs, setting his book aside. His hand settles on Ron’s head, brushing through his hair. “I don’t think we can hide up here forever, mate,”
“I know,” Ron grumbles, burrowing a little further into Harry’s side. “But I’m feelin’ stubborn,”
Harry snorts softly, almost a laugh. “You’re always stubborn, Ron,” he says almost fondly.
“You seem a little better,”
“I am,” Harry sighs. “At least at the moment,”
“That’s good,”
“I was thinking…”
“Yeah, mate?” he asks, looking up at him.
“Maybe,” Harry takes a deep breath. “Maybe tomorrow we could go outside?”
“Yeah?” Ron asks excitedly.
Harry nods. “Barefoot, like we talked about?”
“Whatever you want, Harry,” Ron says earnestly. “Whatever you want,”