Belated Entry to the Challenge
Author: pili204
Title: Holding Hands
Requestor: shyshutterbug
Claim: Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands." The events from the night before that led to Harry being able to draw this conclusion.
Rating: PG
Pairings (if any): Ron/Hermione
Summary: Ron is feeling worried and frustrated over his family being in danger, over the possibility of Death Eaters following them, and over what they should do next. Can Hermione help him overcome some of those frustrations and worries?
Author's Notes: This is a Missing Moment from Deathly Hallows, Chapter 9: A Place to Hide. Many thanks to my friend and beta, belovedranger for helping me get this story ready for publication.
I'd like to apologize to the community's moderators and to shyshutterbug for not being able to submit the fic in time.
“Harry, do you want your toothbrush? I’ve got it here.” Hermione hoped he would open the door and she could check to see if he was all right.
“Yeah, great, thanks,” he said in a muffled voice. Hermione let out a small sigh of relief. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal a pale-faced Harry. There were drops of sweat sliding down his face, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. Despite his appearance, Harry was trying very hard to make her believe he was all right; as if she didn’t know he was battling with the pain in his scar.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked while handing him his toothbrush, concern filling her voice.
“I’m sure.”
But Hermione was not convinced. “Harry, are you really sure? If your scar is hurting, you know that⎯”
“Hermione,” he cut her off, “I’m fine. I’ve told you that already. Thanks for this,” he said, holding up the toothbrush. “I’ll clean up and be right out.”
“Okay, we’ll start setting up the sleeping bags.”
“Right, er, thanks,” he said, giving her a small, placating smile.
Hermione headed back to the drawing room where all three of them would be sleeping at least for tonight. She knew that she would never be able to get any sleep, or even a little rest, if she were alone in one of the creepy rooms of the house. It would make her feel better if they all slept together and she could be watchful of Harry and his scar. He must think I’m an idiot! she muttered to herself, shaking her head in annoyance.
As she turned the corner to go into the drawing room, Hermione saw Ron sitting stiffly on the couch; his brow was furrowed, his gaze lost, and he was anxiously tapping his leg with his fingers. His lips were mumbling words that Hermione could barely make out, but she had a feeling that he was either expressing his relief over his family being safe or his disbelief and anger over having been followed.
It briefly crossed Hermione’s mind that she should perhaps turn away and step away to give him some privacy. His mind must be reeling over leaving his family behind in the midst of the unexpected chaos from their escape during the Death Eaters' attack.
Mr. Weasley’s Patronus had helped to give her, Harry, and especially Ron a much-needed sense of relief. It almost felt like the silvery weasel had brought them the air they'd needed to finally breathe again. It hadn’t been until then that Hermione realized how truly worried all three of them had been since they hastily left the wedding celebration.
When they’d Disapparated from the wedding, her main concern had been to find a suitable, safe place. It had happened so suddenly that the only place she’d though of had been Tottenham Court Road⎯she couldn’t help but felt guilty that it had ended up being a place where the Death Eaters had been able to locate them so quickly and apparently so easily. She couldn’t quite stop thinking… how did it happen?
The silvery weasel not only brought them good news, but it had also served as a calming distraction from trying to figure out how the Death Eaters had found them; before its arrival they were making themselves mad with speculation after speculation, especially when they couldn’t come up with a logical answer.
For Ron, it had to also be a reminder that he wasn’t with his family during these dangerous times; it couldn’t be something easy to live with. All of the Weasleys were known targets; it was no secret that they were identified as a blood-traitor family. It had to be hard for Ron to know all that and be so far from them, especially when they couldn’t even communicate for fear of being detected and spied on.
With one hand on the doorframe and her body half-hidden, Hermione was rooted to the spot. She couldn’t⎯no-she didn’t want to move. Her eyes demanded to be fixed on him, on what he might need… it might be something from her? Comfort? Reassurance?
She wanted to walk up to him and just hug him. She could easily hold him tight… give him time and a shelter to let out his fears, his frustrations, his grief. But, would she be welcomed or would he brush her off, pretending to be okay? Earlier, he’d reached for her hand, had squeezed it tightly. But it had been spontaneous and even brief. It was never something he’d planned on doing, or was it?
With Ron it wasn’t always easy to tell. At times, she felt that after years of friendship she could read his every move, his every intention… but then, he would turn around and do something completely surprising. Just like he had done only hours before when he’d stunned her by pulling her to the dance floor at Bill’s wedding. When had Ron ever danced before?
Hermione shook her head. That was over; she couldn’t let her mind wander to that moment now. Right now Ron needed… something. If he needed a friend, she was here for him. If he needed to vent, she was willing to listen. If he just needed to sit, she could easily sit silently next to him and just wait until he was ready to talk. With that purpose in mind, Hermione went in and purposefully took a seat next to him.
Ron acknowledged her presence with a brief nod and a quick, “Is he okay?” He knew her too well to understand that needing to give Harry his toothbrush was just a feeble excuse to check on him.
“No, but he wants us to think he is.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back on the dusty, old sofa. “Typical.”
“I told him we’d start setting up the sleeping bags.”
“Um… okay.” But he made no move to get up. He seemed almost lethargic, and there was still a lot of worry in his eyes.
She had to ask, she just had to. She couldn’t just sit there and watch him struggle. “Ron, are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. See,” he said, raising the sleeves of his robes, “no bleeding wounds or even scratches.”
She rolled her eyes and gave him a look that told him he couldn’t really fool her, but she played along. “Good, I thought maybe you needed some type of healing charm or even a blood-replenishing potion.”
She was exaggerating, of course, but Ron took it much more seriously. “Why? Do you need one? Are you hurt?”
“No, Ron. I’m fine, relax. Really.
“Good.”
“You know very well that I wasn’t asking if you were hurt. I know you’re worried, and it’s okay… it only means you’re human. It doesn’t make you weak, you know. Maybe, er… maybe you want to talk about it?”
He gave her a sideway glance. “Yeah, I’m worried. But I know they’re fine. I just hate it that we can’t keep in touch. It means that they can’t move about freely. Mum will be constantly worried, and how will we know about them?”
“We’ll find a way, Ron,” she said determinedly. “There’s always the Daily Prophet, or maybe someone from the Order will find a way to keep us informed. I’m sure Lupin will want to find us.”
“Maybe, but it’s not just about them… they found us, Hermione. How did they know where we were? It can’t be the Trace, but maybe they found some dark, ancient spell to always track Harry. If that’s so, we won’t be able to go anywhere, do anything.”
“There’s no such spell. There can’t be. It'd be illegal,” she added, scandalized.
“They’re bloody murderers; they don’t give a damn if something is illegal or not. And if they can track Harry, they could also track anyone else. They could be keeping tabs on Dad because he works at the Ministry, or on Bill because he’s at Gringotts, or even on the twins because they bloody well don’t fear anything or anyone. No one is safe, Hermione. No one… and, and we’re stuck here not knowing if we can go out without being followed… and I just feel so helpless.” He added the last part with a trace of shame and desperation in his voice.
She couldn’t stand to see him feeling so helpless. She hated that he didn’t realize how much strength, determination, and hope there was in him, or how much he meant to his family, to to Harry… to her. She wanted to assure him, but how could she? She couldn’t promise that his family would be safe, or that they would be able to find all those Horcruxes unharmed.
“Ron, we’re in this together. Don’t forget that. You don’t have to figure it out all on your own. We’ll find a way, all of us. It’s what we do, isn’t?”
He nodded. “We’ll find a way,” he repeated, almost as if re-assuring himself of it. “We always have, yes.”
“C’mon now, let's set up the sleeping bags,” she said, pulling his hand to make him move. She knew that if he could concentrate on a task, his feelings of helplessness would fade, at least for now.
Before she had a chance to reach for her purse to pull out the sleeping bags, Ron squeezed her hand meaningfully. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
As Hermione rummaged through the beaded bag, the corner of her eye caught Ron moving the sofa cushions down to the ground. What’s he doing?
It was almost as if he could hear her thoughs, because he turned around and said, “I think your sleeping bag should go on the cushions. Harry and I will be fine on the floor.”
That was chivalrous of him, no doubt about it. And it made the girly side of her quite happy. But it wasn’t fair… just because she was a girl, she shouldn’t be given any sort of extra comfort or preference. They were a team, and they were all equals.
“No, Ron. It’s fine. I can sleep on the floor just like you and Harry.”
“But why would you, if you could be a bit more comfortable by using the cushions?” “Because you two would be on the floor, and it’s not fair for me to⎯”
“Non-sense. I don’t mind, and I’m sure Harry doesn’t mind. You take the cushions,” he insisted.
Hermione felt very flattered by his insistence. Little details like this one were the things that made Ron so adorable to her. He could be crass and insufferable at times, but he really did care and this was his way of showing her. She couldn’t really refuse, could she?
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure, so hand over the sleeping bags. I’ll put mine next to yours.” He glanced at her quickly. If that’s okay?” She nodded. “And we’ll put Harry’s closest to the door. You know how he is: he’ll want to be there in case we have any nighttime visitors.”
“All right.” She handed him the sleeping bags, one by one, and watched him as he dutifully moved about the room setting up their sleeping arrangements. She’d been right: this task had taken his mind off his frustrations. Taking charge of a chore, whatever it might be, helped Ron focus.
“All set,” he said as he finished arranging her sleeping bag. It was then that Harry returned from the bathroom. “I told Hermione she could sleep on the cushions. You don’t mind, do you, Harry?”
Harry raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised at Ron’s gesture. “No, not at all,” he said, smirking at Ron.
Hermione chose to ignore this little exchange between the boys. She knew very well that they had conversations and silent exchanges that she wasn’t privy to. It was only normal, and although she felt excluded at times, she also realized they meant no harm.
“I’ll take the place closer to the door,” Harry said, at which Ron glanced at her knowingly. He’d been right.
There wasn’t really much more to discuss, not anything that they hadn’t gone over already. But none of them seemed to want to sleep either. They were exhausted, there was no question about that, but deep down they were all still concerned that Snape or any other Death Eater, like Bellatrix, with access to Grimmauld Place could show up.
“We need to get some rest,” Harry said. “Tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do next.”
“You’re right. It’s late. Night, Harry, Ron…” Hermione wanted to say more, to ask if he felt any better. But she knew Ron wouldn't want to be fretted over, not in front of Harry.
Instead, she stood watching the boys as they made their way into their sleeping bags. They both were tossing around trying to find a comfortable position. Harry was punching a dusty pillow he had grabbed from a nearby chair, and Ron seemed indecisive about whether to sleep facing the ceiling, the door, or her. His indecision was rather endearing, and it made her smile.
This really wasn’t the best place for any of them to sleep, considering there were beds upstairs, so she truly appreciated that they both were willing to calm her anxiety by agreeing to sleep here in the drawing room, at least for tonight. Tomorrow, they would have to figure out different arrangements; it was impractical to sleep in these conditions when they certainly had better alternatives.
Kneeling down, Hermione pulled back the top section of her sleeping bag and noticed that Ron had finally decided to sleep facing her. She bit her lip and slid in, turning to face him as well.
"Ron, are you... are you feeling better?" she whispered, hoping Harry wouldn't hear or make anything out of her innocent question. All she wanted was to make sure Ron had put behind some of his frustrations and feelings of helplessness.
He nodded. “Yeah. You? You’ve been worried about the Death Eaters, Harry, my family… and me, but how about you, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Ron.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m worried; I can’t help it. But I’m fine.” As she spoke, Ron slowly reached for her hand. He laced his fingers through hers and smiled shyly.
“Just like you said before, we’ll figure it out together. We will… tomorrow or the next day, but we will.” He was tired; she could tell from how heavy his eyelids seemed, but he didn’t drop his gaze⎯his blue eyes were piercing right through her.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Seeing this bit of confidence in Ron, even if it were just for her sake, was uplifting. She quite liked it when he took charge and believed that a solution would be found. She knew that the frustrations and insecurities he’d expressed earlier were not completely erased from his mind. They were there, lingering, waiting for the moment to pop back into his consciousness again.
For now he was fine, and that's all she could hope for. And she? Well, Hermione couldn’t quite complain, for in this very moment Ron’s hand was intertwined with hers, and it felt oddly comfortable. She didn’t want him to pull back. She fervently hoped he would hold her hand all night, or at least until she fell asleep.
From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry get up. He turned around to face them and did a double take as his eyes focused on their interlaced fingers. “I’m going down to the kitchen to fetch some water,” he muttered quickly before storming out.
Instinctively Hermione started to pull her hand away, but Ron only held it tighter.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging. “He’ll get used to it.” And they both knew he was referring to Harry noticing their handholding. “This,” he said, holding up their hands, “is okay with you, right?”
She smiled. “It is.”
“Good,” he said, still holding her hand in his own, one of his fingers tracing small circles on her hand. “Good night, Hermione.”
“Good night, Ron,” she breathed out.
This was new; when was Ron ever so comfortable with public or even private signs of affection? Well, lately he’d been more open, more comfortable around her, more expressive, even… but this was so much more. Her face heated up, and she was thankful for the faint light coming from the fireplace.
She was thrilled. Completely and utterly thrilled. That was all there was to it. For once she didn’t want to analyze what it meant; she just wanted to hold on to this moment and enjoy it. Thoroughly. Harry returned trying, but failing miserably, not to look their way. Hermione could see a grin forming on his face. Yes, Ron was right: he would get used to her and Ron holding hands. And so would she, it would be too easy.
Title: Holding Hands
Requestor: shyshutterbug
Claim: Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands." The events from the night before that led to Harry being able to draw this conclusion.
Rating: PG
Pairings (if any): Ron/Hermione
Summary: Ron is feeling worried and frustrated over his family being in danger, over the possibility of Death Eaters following them, and over what they should do next. Can Hermione help him overcome some of those frustrations and worries?
Author's Notes: This is a Missing Moment from Deathly Hallows, Chapter 9: A Place to Hide. Many thanks to my friend and beta, belovedranger for helping me get this story ready for publication.
I'd like to apologize to the community's moderators and to shyshutterbug for not being able to submit the fic in time.
“Harry, do you want your toothbrush? I’ve got it here.” Hermione hoped he would open the door and she could check to see if he was all right.
“Yeah, great, thanks,” he said in a muffled voice. Hermione let out a small sigh of relief. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal a pale-faced Harry. There were drops of sweat sliding down his face, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. Despite his appearance, Harry was trying very hard to make her believe he was all right; as if she didn’t know he was battling with the pain in his scar.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked while handing him his toothbrush, concern filling her voice.
“I’m sure.”
But Hermione was not convinced. “Harry, are you really sure? If your scar is hurting, you know that⎯”
“Hermione,” he cut her off, “I’m fine. I’ve told you that already. Thanks for this,” he said, holding up the toothbrush. “I’ll clean up and be right out.”
“Okay, we’ll start setting up the sleeping bags.”
“Right, er, thanks,” he said, giving her a small, placating smile.
Hermione headed back to the drawing room where all three of them would be sleeping at least for tonight. She knew that she would never be able to get any sleep, or even a little rest, if she were alone in one of the creepy rooms of the house. It would make her feel better if they all slept together and she could be watchful of Harry and his scar. He must think I’m an idiot! she muttered to herself, shaking her head in annoyance.
As she turned the corner to go into the drawing room, Hermione saw Ron sitting stiffly on the couch; his brow was furrowed, his gaze lost, and he was anxiously tapping his leg with his fingers. His lips were mumbling words that Hermione could barely make out, but she had a feeling that he was either expressing his relief over his family being safe or his disbelief and anger over having been followed.
It briefly crossed Hermione’s mind that she should perhaps turn away and step away to give him some privacy. His mind must be reeling over leaving his family behind in the midst of the unexpected chaos from their escape during the Death Eaters' attack.
Mr. Weasley’s Patronus had helped to give her, Harry, and especially Ron a much-needed sense of relief. It almost felt like the silvery weasel had brought them the air they'd needed to finally breathe again. It hadn’t been until then that Hermione realized how truly worried all three of them had been since they hastily left the wedding celebration.
When they’d Disapparated from the wedding, her main concern had been to find a suitable, safe place. It had happened so suddenly that the only place she’d though of had been Tottenham Court Road⎯she couldn’t help but felt guilty that it had ended up being a place where the Death Eaters had been able to locate them so quickly and apparently so easily. She couldn’t quite stop thinking… how did it happen?
The silvery weasel not only brought them good news, but it had also served as a calming distraction from trying to figure out how the Death Eaters had found them; before its arrival they were making themselves mad with speculation after speculation, especially when they couldn’t come up with a logical answer.
For Ron, it had to also be a reminder that he wasn’t with his family during these dangerous times; it couldn’t be something easy to live with. All of the Weasleys were known targets; it was no secret that they were identified as a blood-traitor family. It had to be hard for Ron to know all that and be so far from them, especially when they couldn’t even communicate for fear of being detected and spied on.
With one hand on the doorframe and her body half-hidden, Hermione was rooted to the spot. She couldn’t⎯no-she didn’t want to move. Her eyes demanded to be fixed on him, on what he might need… it might be something from her? Comfort? Reassurance?
She wanted to walk up to him and just hug him. She could easily hold him tight… give him time and a shelter to let out his fears, his frustrations, his grief. But, would she be welcomed or would he brush her off, pretending to be okay? Earlier, he’d reached for her hand, had squeezed it tightly. But it had been spontaneous and even brief. It was never something he’d planned on doing, or was it?
With Ron it wasn’t always easy to tell. At times, she felt that after years of friendship she could read his every move, his every intention… but then, he would turn around and do something completely surprising. Just like he had done only hours before when he’d stunned her by pulling her to the dance floor at Bill’s wedding. When had Ron ever danced before?
Hermione shook her head. That was over; she couldn’t let her mind wander to that moment now. Right now Ron needed… something. If he needed a friend, she was here for him. If he needed to vent, she was willing to listen. If he just needed to sit, she could easily sit silently next to him and just wait until he was ready to talk. With that purpose in mind, Hermione went in and purposefully took a seat next to him.
Ron acknowledged her presence with a brief nod and a quick, “Is he okay?” He knew her too well to understand that needing to give Harry his toothbrush was just a feeble excuse to check on him.
“No, but he wants us to think he is.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back on the dusty, old sofa. “Typical.”
“I told him we’d start setting up the sleeping bags.”
“Um… okay.” But he made no move to get up. He seemed almost lethargic, and there was still a lot of worry in his eyes.
She had to ask, she just had to. She couldn’t just sit there and watch him struggle. “Ron, are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. See,” he said, raising the sleeves of his robes, “no bleeding wounds or even scratches.”
She rolled her eyes and gave him a look that told him he couldn’t really fool her, but she played along. “Good, I thought maybe you needed some type of healing charm or even a blood-replenishing potion.”
She was exaggerating, of course, but Ron took it much more seriously. “Why? Do you need one? Are you hurt?”
“No, Ron. I’m fine, relax. Really.
“Good.”
“You know very well that I wasn’t asking if you were hurt. I know you’re worried, and it’s okay… it only means you’re human. It doesn’t make you weak, you know. Maybe, er… maybe you want to talk about it?”
He gave her a sideway glance. “Yeah, I’m worried. But I know they’re fine. I just hate it that we can’t keep in touch. It means that they can’t move about freely. Mum will be constantly worried, and how will we know about them?”
“We’ll find a way, Ron,” she said determinedly. “There’s always the Daily Prophet, or maybe someone from the Order will find a way to keep us informed. I’m sure Lupin will want to find us.”
“Maybe, but it’s not just about them… they found us, Hermione. How did they know where we were? It can’t be the Trace, but maybe they found some dark, ancient spell to always track Harry. If that’s so, we won’t be able to go anywhere, do anything.”
“There’s no such spell. There can’t be. It'd be illegal,” she added, scandalized.
“They’re bloody murderers; they don’t give a damn if something is illegal or not. And if they can track Harry, they could also track anyone else. They could be keeping tabs on Dad because he works at the Ministry, or on Bill because he’s at Gringotts, or even on the twins because they bloody well don’t fear anything or anyone. No one is safe, Hermione. No one… and, and we’re stuck here not knowing if we can go out without being followed… and I just feel so helpless.” He added the last part with a trace of shame and desperation in his voice.
She couldn’t stand to see him feeling so helpless. She hated that he didn’t realize how much strength, determination, and hope there was in him, or how much he meant to his family, to to Harry… to her. She wanted to assure him, but how could she? She couldn’t promise that his family would be safe, or that they would be able to find all those Horcruxes unharmed.
“Ron, we’re in this together. Don’t forget that. You don’t have to figure it out all on your own. We’ll find a way, all of us. It’s what we do, isn’t?”
He nodded. “We’ll find a way,” he repeated, almost as if re-assuring himself of it. “We always have, yes.”
“C’mon now, let's set up the sleeping bags,” she said, pulling his hand to make him move. She knew that if he could concentrate on a task, his feelings of helplessness would fade, at least for now.
Before she had a chance to reach for her purse to pull out the sleeping bags, Ron squeezed her hand meaningfully. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
As Hermione rummaged through the beaded bag, the corner of her eye caught Ron moving the sofa cushions down to the ground. What’s he doing?
It was almost as if he could hear her thoughs, because he turned around and said, “I think your sleeping bag should go on the cushions. Harry and I will be fine on the floor.”
That was chivalrous of him, no doubt about it. And it made the girly side of her quite happy. But it wasn’t fair… just because she was a girl, she shouldn’t be given any sort of extra comfort or preference. They were a team, and they were all equals.
“No, Ron. It’s fine. I can sleep on the floor just like you and Harry.”
“But why would you, if you could be a bit more comfortable by using the cushions?” “Because you two would be on the floor, and it’s not fair for me to⎯”
“Non-sense. I don’t mind, and I’m sure Harry doesn’t mind. You take the cushions,” he insisted.
Hermione felt very flattered by his insistence. Little details like this one were the things that made Ron so adorable to her. He could be crass and insufferable at times, but he really did care and this was his way of showing her. She couldn’t really refuse, could she?
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure, so hand over the sleeping bags. I’ll put mine next to yours.” He glanced at her quickly. If that’s okay?” She nodded. “And we’ll put Harry’s closest to the door. You know how he is: he’ll want to be there in case we have any nighttime visitors.”
“All right.” She handed him the sleeping bags, one by one, and watched him as he dutifully moved about the room setting up their sleeping arrangements. She’d been right: this task had taken his mind off his frustrations. Taking charge of a chore, whatever it might be, helped Ron focus.
“All set,” he said as he finished arranging her sleeping bag. It was then that Harry returned from the bathroom. “I told Hermione she could sleep on the cushions. You don’t mind, do you, Harry?”
Harry raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised at Ron’s gesture. “No, not at all,” he said, smirking at Ron.
Hermione chose to ignore this little exchange between the boys. She knew very well that they had conversations and silent exchanges that she wasn’t privy to. It was only normal, and although she felt excluded at times, she also realized they meant no harm.
“I’ll take the place closer to the door,” Harry said, at which Ron glanced at her knowingly. He’d been right.
There wasn’t really much more to discuss, not anything that they hadn’t gone over already. But none of them seemed to want to sleep either. They were exhausted, there was no question about that, but deep down they were all still concerned that Snape or any other Death Eater, like Bellatrix, with access to Grimmauld Place could show up.
“We need to get some rest,” Harry said. “Tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do next.”
“You’re right. It’s late. Night, Harry, Ron…” Hermione wanted to say more, to ask if he felt any better. But she knew Ron wouldn't want to be fretted over, not in front of Harry.
Instead, she stood watching the boys as they made their way into their sleeping bags. They both were tossing around trying to find a comfortable position. Harry was punching a dusty pillow he had grabbed from a nearby chair, and Ron seemed indecisive about whether to sleep facing the ceiling, the door, or her. His indecision was rather endearing, and it made her smile.
This really wasn’t the best place for any of them to sleep, considering there were beds upstairs, so she truly appreciated that they both were willing to calm her anxiety by agreeing to sleep here in the drawing room, at least for tonight. Tomorrow, they would have to figure out different arrangements; it was impractical to sleep in these conditions when they certainly had better alternatives.
Kneeling down, Hermione pulled back the top section of her sleeping bag and noticed that Ron had finally decided to sleep facing her. She bit her lip and slid in, turning to face him as well.
"Ron, are you... are you feeling better?" she whispered, hoping Harry wouldn't hear or make anything out of her innocent question. All she wanted was to make sure Ron had put behind some of his frustrations and feelings of helplessness.
He nodded. “Yeah. You? You’ve been worried about the Death Eaters, Harry, my family… and me, but how about you, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Ron.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m worried; I can’t help it. But I’m fine.” As she spoke, Ron slowly reached for her hand. He laced his fingers through hers and smiled shyly.
“Just like you said before, we’ll figure it out together. We will… tomorrow or the next day, but we will.” He was tired; she could tell from how heavy his eyelids seemed, but he didn’t drop his gaze⎯his blue eyes were piercing right through her.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Seeing this bit of confidence in Ron, even if it were just for her sake, was uplifting. She quite liked it when he took charge and believed that a solution would be found. She knew that the frustrations and insecurities he’d expressed earlier were not completely erased from his mind. They were there, lingering, waiting for the moment to pop back into his consciousness again.
For now he was fine, and that's all she could hope for. And she? Well, Hermione couldn’t quite complain, for in this very moment Ron’s hand was intertwined with hers, and it felt oddly comfortable. She didn’t want him to pull back. She fervently hoped he would hold her hand all night, or at least until she fell asleep.
From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry get up. He turned around to face them and did a double take as his eyes focused on their interlaced fingers. “I’m going down to the kitchen to fetch some water,” he muttered quickly before storming out.
Instinctively Hermione started to pull her hand away, but Ron only held it tighter.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging. “He’ll get used to it.” And they both knew he was referring to Harry noticing their handholding. “This,” he said, holding up their hands, “is okay with you, right?”
She smiled. “It is.”
“Good,” he said, still holding her hand in his own, one of his fingers tracing small circles on her hand. “Good night, Hermione.”
“Good night, Ron,” she breathed out.
This was new; when was Ron ever so comfortable with public or even private signs of affection? Well, lately he’d been more open, more comfortable around her, more expressive, even… but this was so much more. Her face heated up, and she was thankful for the faint light coming from the fireplace.
She was thrilled. Completely and utterly thrilled. That was all there was to it. For once she didn’t want to analyze what it meant; she just wanted to hold on to this moment and enjoy it. Thoroughly. Harry returned trying, but failing miserably, not to look their way. Hermione could see a grin forming on his face. Yes, Ron was right: he would get used to her and Ron holding hands. And so would she, it would be too easy.