Candle
Ron sat in the abandoned home, doors slanting, foundation falling. What had once been a place of fear was now unwelcomed familiarity. Relief. The Shrieking Shack still stood, was still an outcast of society, just like all of them were becoming. But tonight, tonight it was refuge from the cold for him and Hermione as she lit candles around them, trying to bring in more warmth. Everyone else was gone, elsewhere in their flight to safety. They hadn’t even made a plan, there was nothing.
The snow was falling harder now.
“I never thought I would detest a white Christmas.” Hermione murmured making her way back to the shoddy bed Ron was resting on, curling into his side. The light of the candles cast gloomy shadows against the walls, as if telling the long history of pain and torment they had seen. That they would continue to see. Ron just pulled Hermione closer, his arms tight around her. This protection, this warmth he could offer if just for the night.