Fic Request Fulfilled for weasley_girl_ca
Title: Depths of Winter
Author: oddsbobs
Beta: The lovely Rebecca who needs to get a livejournal because she’s missing so much fandom!
Rating: PG
Word count: 2,686
Summary: Ron always knew he’d do anything for his friends. So when Harry’s life is in danger, he doesn’t even have to think about what to do.
Warnings: Ron gets a bit beat up at the beginning…
Disclaimer: ‘Tis JKR’s, not mine.
Author's Notes: Sorry this is late… I tried to make this angstier, but my angst!muse refused to cooperate completely. A happy New Year to everyone!
“And then the hag said-” Ron paused and glanced around the mountain. He was certain that he had heard something, though when he strained his ears there was nothing but their own heavy breathing and slippery sound of their feet trying to find purchase on the rocky pathway.
“The hag said what, Ron?” Hermione’s exasperated voice drifted from behind him. It was too gloomy in the pass to see her, but Ron knew her lips were pursed. She did not approve of his bawdy jokes, even though she wanted as much as he did to get Harry to smile every now and then.
Harry, meanwhile, carefully maneuvered his way up another outcropping just in front of Ron. The bluish light from his wand-tip reflected off of tiny bits of metal ingrained in the rocky slopes surrounding them. It was a long day’s hike through the pass, but they were uncertain as to where the valley hiding the next Horcrux might be, so Apparating was not an option.
“You might not want him to finish, Hermione,” Harry called back to them. “I think it has something to do with the wizard’s wand.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice which caused Ron to sigh with relief. Harry reached the edge of the ledge he was on and peered over the side. “There’s a crevasse up here we’ll have to cross over.”
“Actually,” Ron grunted as he climbed onto the ledge and offered a hand to help Hermione up, “it has nothing to do with the wand. The hag turns to the vampire and says…”
Once more his voice trailed off and he listened intently. It took him only a split second to recognize it not as a noise, but as a pulsing sensation he only felt when in the presence of extremely Dark magic, and it was coming straight towards them. The mountain began to heave as if to throw them off.
“Trap!” Hermione yelled shrilly behind him.
But Ron, who felt the warning and had been extremely on edge, was the only one to react quickly enough. He ran to the edge of the rocky shelf they were on, lifted Harry completely up, and tossed his friend backwards towards Hermione. He was still half turned and preparing to run back himself when the spell hit. Pain raced up and down his left shoulder and chest. There was another quake and he lost his balance, falling heavily onto the boulder.
Ron watched in horror as a fissure in the rock grew. As the ledge beneath him began to crumble, he grasped the nearest hold with his right hand. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. It took only a few seconds for the rocks beneath him to disappear completely and leave him hanging on only by the scrape of his fingers.
He could feel the Dark magic of the spell that hit him snaking its way under his skin and up his neck. As he opened his mouth to shout at Harry and Hermione to leave, the darkness spilled out. It oozed from his eyes like thick tears.
Harry and Hermione grabbed onto his right arm, trying to heave him up to what was left of the ledge. Ron could almost see how ghastly he looked in their wide, frightened eyes. The reverberations of the quake also caused rockslides from the surrounding mountainside. Rocks pounded at him on their way to the bottom of crevasse, glancing off his back, ripping his clothes and tearing at his skin.
“Ron!” Hermione whispered. He stared into her eyes and knew that it was the end. Her face was the last thing he saw as a rock slammed into his left cheek and he was pulled from their desperate grasp, falling into the depths of the crevasse.
~*~
Ron’s mind settled into a strange haze for what seemed like eternity. There was Harry’s worried face and the shift from cold air to warm. He heard Hermione say something about broken bones, followed by sharp pains throughout his body and the rush of magic. The only throbbing that remained came from his shoulder, and it intensified as time trickled onward.
The fog lifted briefly as Ron became aware of a pressing weight on his good side. Something soft and feather-light tickled at his chin.
“H’mione,” he groaned, and shifted slightly. The bundle on his right side stirred. It was definitely Hermione, and her hair was getting into his face.
She sleepily pressed a kiss to his mouth and murmured, “Don’t leave me,” before drifting off again to a troubled slumber.
Ron should have felt annoyed that their first kiss was so uninspiring, angry that she hadn’t been fully awake for it, and frustrated that he couldn’t respond. Instead, he could only find mild concern that where there was once the painful throbbing where the spell had hit him, there was now a distinct lack of any feeling whatsoever.
~*~
The next time he woke, Hermione was again at his side. This time, however, she was not sleeping. She was kneeling by the bed and staring at his shoulder in deep concentration, her wand flicking about faster than he could follow as she muttered spell after spell. Parchment was scattered about the blankets. Ron could recognize various handwritings as belonging to his family, his professors, even members of the Order. Whether the letters were giving advice or expressing sorrow, Ron could not tell.
He realized that Harry must have lifted some of the restrictions they had placed on their communication with the outside world in order for the letters to have been delivered. If Harry had compromised their safety for contact, then things must have gotten dire. Ron felt his stomach knot up.
Even more disconcerting was Hermione. The girl he knew was always so strong and brave in the face of obstacles. Very rarely had he seen her break down and cry- at least, not concerning the important things when there were tasks to be done. Now, however, tears were streaming down her face. She appeared not to have noticed. Ron wanted to touch his fingertips to her cheeks, wipe away the tears, but he did not have the strength to move.
Hermione finally finished with whatever spellwork she was doing and grasped his left hand, pressing her forehead to the back of it. He did not have the heart to tell her that the numbness had spread. He could not even feel his fingers any more.
~*~
He thought he heard the sound of Harry’s voice drifting into the haze within his mind. It was steady and constant, almost soothing. It sounded like he was talking about Quidditch.
~*~
His entire body was frozen. When Ron woke, he couldn’t move an inch. Swallowing was difficult, breathing was only done in short, shallow gasps, and he couldn’t turn his head to see Harry and Hermione. He couldn’t even groan to get their attention. Then he could feel them hovering over his bed, their presence a brief comfort.
Ron heard the crinkling noise of wrapping paper, and then the flash of something maroon.
“Harry, you can’t cover up the wound with that…”
“I know, Hermione. Just… here…” There was something almost cushiony draped over his right arm. “I know he hates the color, but he wouldn’t want to miss getting one this year.”
Ron could feel himself unraveling.
“Happy Christmas, mate.”
~*~
There were no dreams, only the sense of something that slipped through his fingers any time he tried to concentrate. Hours, days, months seemed to pass as he drifted in and out of sleep. Sometimes Hermione sat with him, sometimes it was Harry. During the good moments, he could pretend that he was just dozing and any second his mother would yell at him to come to breakfast.
During the bad moments, he was entirely too aware of his inability to move.
“It’s been days,” Hermione whispered. He wanted to touch her, hold her close until the hopelessness faded away. “What if he doesn’t get better?”
“He’ll get better. He’s too stubborn to let go.” Ron heard the strain and despondency in Harry’s voice, and knew he doubted as well.
~*~
Hermione woke him. She clutched yet another letter in her hand, this time in a handwriting vaguely familiar, though Ron could not place it. Harry perched on the right side of the bed and smiled sadly at him. There was an air of desperate hope about them. Ron tried very hard to smile in return, though he knew his efforts would not succeed.
“It will be over soon, Ron. We think we figured it out.”
“Just a few more minutes. Hang in there. Please.”
This time, when Hermione waved her wand over the left side of his body, tingles of sensation bubbled through his veins.
~*~
He was flying. It was better than a broom, faster and lighter and completely freeing. Ron felt that if he stretched his arms out wide enough, his fingertips would brush the horizons-then he could embrace the entire world, hold it tight to his chest until its wounds were healed and the poison leeched away. He’d cover it like a blanket, like the warm woolen throw his mother made for his brothers and sister to huddle under during the cold winters. It was a muted brown and feather-soft. Brown.
Brown like the earth, like Hermione’s hair and Hermione’s eyes, though sometimes those eyes flashed with anger, knowledge, affection, and they were brown.
The Earth. Hermione was like the earth. Ancient and young, knowing and welcoming. Plant a seed and watch it grow. She was the world and he was the sky. The sky at winter night when the stars were brighter and the wind sharper.
And how he howled and swooped through the air. And then the sun was on his back, warming him, and the earth was below, lifting him up higher and higher. He let go.
Down he drifted, unafraid and free. The earth was drawing the sky into itself, breathing him in. Heavy dirt covered him up. It embraced him completely and cooled his flesh, surrounding him with a stillness that flowed into his veins and chased out the fire. There was peace, and quiet, and the cool whispers of love.
~*~
Harry was beside his bed when the haze finally lifted, staring morosely at the floor. Ron took quick inventory of his fingers, relieved that not only could he feel them, they weren’t aching. His head felt clear and his skin no longer felt stretched from fever. A growl from his stomach caused Harry to look up.
“G’morning,” Ron mumbled. His throat felt a little raw.
“How are you feeling?” Harry ran his fingers lightly over a bruise on Ron’s left shoulder-the only remnants of whatever spell had hit him-and watched his face for any signs of pain.
“I’m a bit hungry, but other than that I feel fine.”
Harry laughed, but there was a strange twinge to it. “You’re always hungry.”
Ron reached up to feel his face. There were still some gashes healing along his left cheek where the rock had hit him. However, everything seemed in place. It took some effort to prop himself up against the headboard, but soon he was able to find a comfortable position.
Harry began watching the floor again, and his hands were nervously clenching his robes.
“Why?”
It was barely a whisper, but Ron heard it nonetheless. He could tell by the pained look on Harry’s face that his friend was having a survivor’s guilt attack again. No matter what happened or how many times people told him they loved him, Harry always felt that no one should risk anything for him, especially when the risk involved death.
“I-you’re my mate, Harry.” Ron stared incredulously at him. “The best friend I ever had. I couldn’t just stand there and… You’d have done the same for me.”
And it was true. Harry had no problems standing in the way of danger for someone he cared about.
“I’d do it again in a second. It was the easiest decision I ever made.”
“You didn’t have to,” Harry muttered stubbornly. However, the tension had drained from his shoulders and he was able to look Ron in the eye again.
“Yes, I did.” Ron smiled. “Besides, Ginny’d have my neck if I didn’t bring you back whole.”
He was rewarded with a small laugh.
“Where’s Hermione?”
“She’s making you soup.”
Ron’s stomach growled in anticipation.
~*~
He had just finished his first meal in what felt like months when they came for him.
“There’s something we want you to see, Ron.” Harry offered him a thick woolen robe as well as his clothing.
Ron looked between the two of them. “Outside?”
“You’ll be fine,” Hermione answered his unspoken question. “We’ll just make sure there are plenty of warming charms.”
He pulled the jumper on and swung his feet onto the floor. His legs looked even skinnier than they usually were, and he had to fight a wave of dizziness just at sitting up. The fever had taken most of his strength. “I can’t. I’ll fall.”
They each took a hold of one of his arms and pulled him up.
“Don’t worry, we’ll catch you,” Hermione encouraged.
It was a bit of a chore to put on the jeans while having to lean on his friends for support, but soon he was bundled up in the warm robe, a warming charm was applied-especially to his shoes-and they were leading him out the door. Immediately, he knew why they had gone through such trouble.
During the time he had been bedridden, it had snowed. A thick layer of it blanketed as far as he could see. Their temporary shelter was clinging to the side of the mountain, far up enough to offer a spectacular view but still low enough to be nestled among clumps of trees and brush. A field lay far below them, and three deer were foraging for any bits of exposed grass. The sun was rising to their left and the pale oranges and pinks made the expanse of snow swirl with hints of color.
Ron never told them that he loved winter; it was just something that, as best friends spending the good part of the last six years together, became subtly ingrained into their understanding. Subsequently, he never had reason to tell them why he loved it. It seemed vitally important that he do so at that moment.
“It’s life.” His voice was a harsh whisper in the stillness that surrounded them. Harry and Hermione turned to look at him, but his gaze was focused on what lay before him. “People don’t see it, but it’s there-underneath the snow you can just feel the potential for what’s to come.”
Ron breathed in deeply, his lungs rejoicing at clear air after so long in a stuffy cabin. A few birds emerged from the mist to their right and glided lazily across the surrounding peaks.
“The snow covers up all the imperfections,” he continued, “but at the same time it strips the earth bare until all that’s left is the essence. Earth on the cusp, on the edge, during the brief moment between breaths. Take away all the frills of spring and summer, look into the depths of winter, and you can see what hope is-that life and love continues. The warmth of togetherness in the middle of the cold. It’s life. It’s my life.”
They said nothing for several minutes after that, preferring to wander within their own thoughts and admire the fiery colors of the sunrise.
“It’s the first day of the new year,” Harry finally spoke, clasping Ron’s shoulder and smiling. Ron leaned on his arm as they turned and walked slowly back to the cabin.
He knew then, despite the biting of the cold wind on their noses and the vastness of the path before them, that they had something to hope for. Ron reached for Hermione’s hand.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: An angsty Ron hurt/comfort story, set during the trio’s would-be-7th year.
Preferred Rating: PG-13 - R
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): Christmas or Both
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? Either
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): n/a
One to three specifics you want (optional): Harry/Ron friendship; Ron bravery (i.e. he did something brave that led to hurt/comfort); reference(s) to H/G.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Any squicks (ex. incest), loss of body parts (ex. limbs, eyeballs, etc.)
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!
Author: oddsbobs
Beta: The lovely Rebecca who needs to get a livejournal because she’s missing so much fandom!
Rating: PG
Word count: 2,686
Summary: Ron always knew he’d do anything for his friends. So when Harry’s life is in danger, he doesn’t even have to think about what to do.
Warnings: Ron gets a bit beat up at the beginning…
Disclaimer: ‘Tis JKR’s, not mine.
Author's Notes: Sorry this is late… I tried to make this angstier, but my angst!muse refused to cooperate completely. A happy New Year to everyone!
“And then the hag said-” Ron paused and glanced around the mountain. He was certain that he had heard something, though when he strained his ears there was nothing but their own heavy breathing and slippery sound of their feet trying to find purchase on the rocky pathway.
“The hag said what, Ron?” Hermione’s exasperated voice drifted from behind him. It was too gloomy in the pass to see her, but Ron knew her lips were pursed. She did not approve of his bawdy jokes, even though she wanted as much as he did to get Harry to smile every now and then.
Harry, meanwhile, carefully maneuvered his way up another outcropping just in front of Ron. The bluish light from his wand-tip reflected off of tiny bits of metal ingrained in the rocky slopes surrounding them. It was a long day’s hike through the pass, but they were uncertain as to where the valley hiding the next Horcrux might be, so Apparating was not an option.
“You might not want him to finish, Hermione,” Harry called back to them. “I think it has something to do with the wizard’s wand.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice which caused Ron to sigh with relief. Harry reached the edge of the ledge he was on and peered over the side. “There’s a crevasse up here we’ll have to cross over.”
“Actually,” Ron grunted as he climbed onto the ledge and offered a hand to help Hermione up, “it has nothing to do with the wand. The hag turns to the vampire and says…”
Once more his voice trailed off and he listened intently. It took him only a split second to recognize it not as a noise, but as a pulsing sensation he only felt when in the presence of extremely Dark magic, and it was coming straight towards them. The mountain began to heave as if to throw them off.
“Trap!” Hermione yelled shrilly behind him.
But Ron, who felt the warning and had been extremely on edge, was the only one to react quickly enough. He ran to the edge of the rocky shelf they were on, lifted Harry completely up, and tossed his friend backwards towards Hermione. He was still half turned and preparing to run back himself when the spell hit. Pain raced up and down his left shoulder and chest. There was another quake and he lost his balance, falling heavily onto the boulder.
Ron watched in horror as a fissure in the rock grew. As the ledge beneath him began to crumble, he grasped the nearest hold with his right hand. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. It took only a few seconds for the rocks beneath him to disappear completely and leave him hanging on only by the scrape of his fingers.
He could feel the Dark magic of the spell that hit him snaking its way under his skin and up his neck. As he opened his mouth to shout at Harry and Hermione to leave, the darkness spilled out. It oozed from his eyes like thick tears.
Harry and Hermione grabbed onto his right arm, trying to heave him up to what was left of the ledge. Ron could almost see how ghastly he looked in their wide, frightened eyes. The reverberations of the quake also caused rockslides from the surrounding mountainside. Rocks pounded at him on their way to the bottom of crevasse, glancing off his back, ripping his clothes and tearing at his skin.
“Ron!” Hermione whispered. He stared into her eyes and knew that it was the end. Her face was the last thing he saw as a rock slammed into his left cheek and he was pulled from their desperate grasp, falling into the depths of the crevasse.
~*~
Ron’s mind settled into a strange haze for what seemed like eternity. There was Harry’s worried face and the shift from cold air to warm. He heard Hermione say something about broken bones, followed by sharp pains throughout his body and the rush of magic. The only throbbing that remained came from his shoulder, and it intensified as time trickled onward.
The fog lifted briefly as Ron became aware of a pressing weight on his good side. Something soft and feather-light tickled at his chin.
“H’mione,” he groaned, and shifted slightly. The bundle on his right side stirred. It was definitely Hermione, and her hair was getting into his face.
She sleepily pressed a kiss to his mouth and murmured, “Don’t leave me,” before drifting off again to a troubled slumber.
Ron should have felt annoyed that their first kiss was so uninspiring, angry that she hadn’t been fully awake for it, and frustrated that he couldn’t respond. Instead, he could only find mild concern that where there was once the painful throbbing where the spell had hit him, there was now a distinct lack of any feeling whatsoever.
~*~
The next time he woke, Hermione was again at his side. This time, however, she was not sleeping. She was kneeling by the bed and staring at his shoulder in deep concentration, her wand flicking about faster than he could follow as she muttered spell after spell. Parchment was scattered about the blankets. Ron could recognize various handwritings as belonging to his family, his professors, even members of the Order. Whether the letters were giving advice or expressing sorrow, Ron could not tell.
He realized that Harry must have lifted some of the restrictions they had placed on their communication with the outside world in order for the letters to have been delivered. If Harry had compromised their safety for contact, then things must have gotten dire. Ron felt his stomach knot up.
Even more disconcerting was Hermione. The girl he knew was always so strong and brave in the face of obstacles. Very rarely had he seen her break down and cry- at least, not concerning the important things when there were tasks to be done. Now, however, tears were streaming down her face. She appeared not to have noticed. Ron wanted to touch his fingertips to her cheeks, wipe away the tears, but he did not have the strength to move.
Hermione finally finished with whatever spellwork she was doing and grasped his left hand, pressing her forehead to the back of it. He did not have the heart to tell her that the numbness had spread. He could not even feel his fingers any more.
~*~
He thought he heard the sound of Harry’s voice drifting into the haze within his mind. It was steady and constant, almost soothing. It sounded like he was talking about Quidditch.
~*~
His entire body was frozen. When Ron woke, he couldn’t move an inch. Swallowing was difficult, breathing was only done in short, shallow gasps, and he couldn’t turn his head to see Harry and Hermione. He couldn’t even groan to get their attention. Then he could feel them hovering over his bed, their presence a brief comfort.
Ron heard the crinkling noise of wrapping paper, and then the flash of something maroon.
“Harry, you can’t cover up the wound with that…”
“I know, Hermione. Just… here…” There was something almost cushiony draped over his right arm. “I know he hates the color, but he wouldn’t want to miss getting one this year.”
Ron could feel himself unraveling.
“Happy Christmas, mate.”
~*~
There were no dreams, only the sense of something that slipped through his fingers any time he tried to concentrate. Hours, days, months seemed to pass as he drifted in and out of sleep. Sometimes Hermione sat with him, sometimes it was Harry. During the good moments, he could pretend that he was just dozing and any second his mother would yell at him to come to breakfast.
During the bad moments, he was entirely too aware of his inability to move.
“It’s been days,” Hermione whispered. He wanted to touch her, hold her close until the hopelessness faded away. “What if he doesn’t get better?”
“He’ll get better. He’s too stubborn to let go.” Ron heard the strain and despondency in Harry’s voice, and knew he doubted as well.
~*~
Hermione woke him. She clutched yet another letter in her hand, this time in a handwriting vaguely familiar, though Ron could not place it. Harry perched on the right side of the bed and smiled sadly at him. There was an air of desperate hope about them. Ron tried very hard to smile in return, though he knew his efforts would not succeed.
“It will be over soon, Ron. We think we figured it out.”
“Just a few more minutes. Hang in there. Please.”
This time, when Hermione waved her wand over the left side of his body, tingles of sensation bubbled through his veins.
~*~
He was flying. It was better than a broom, faster and lighter and completely freeing. Ron felt that if he stretched his arms out wide enough, his fingertips would brush the horizons-then he could embrace the entire world, hold it tight to his chest until its wounds were healed and the poison leeched away. He’d cover it like a blanket, like the warm woolen throw his mother made for his brothers and sister to huddle under during the cold winters. It was a muted brown and feather-soft. Brown.
Brown like the earth, like Hermione’s hair and Hermione’s eyes, though sometimes those eyes flashed with anger, knowledge, affection, and they were brown.
The Earth. Hermione was like the earth. Ancient and young, knowing and welcoming. Plant a seed and watch it grow. She was the world and he was the sky. The sky at winter night when the stars were brighter and the wind sharper.
And how he howled and swooped through the air. And then the sun was on his back, warming him, and the earth was below, lifting him up higher and higher. He let go.
Down he drifted, unafraid and free. The earth was drawing the sky into itself, breathing him in. Heavy dirt covered him up. It embraced him completely and cooled his flesh, surrounding him with a stillness that flowed into his veins and chased out the fire. There was peace, and quiet, and the cool whispers of love.
~*~
Harry was beside his bed when the haze finally lifted, staring morosely at the floor. Ron took quick inventory of his fingers, relieved that not only could he feel them, they weren’t aching. His head felt clear and his skin no longer felt stretched from fever. A growl from his stomach caused Harry to look up.
“G’morning,” Ron mumbled. His throat felt a little raw.
“How are you feeling?” Harry ran his fingers lightly over a bruise on Ron’s left shoulder-the only remnants of whatever spell had hit him-and watched his face for any signs of pain.
“I’m a bit hungry, but other than that I feel fine.”
Harry laughed, but there was a strange twinge to it. “You’re always hungry.”
Ron reached up to feel his face. There were still some gashes healing along his left cheek where the rock had hit him. However, everything seemed in place. It took some effort to prop himself up against the headboard, but soon he was able to find a comfortable position.
Harry began watching the floor again, and his hands were nervously clenching his robes.
“Why?”
It was barely a whisper, but Ron heard it nonetheless. He could tell by the pained look on Harry’s face that his friend was having a survivor’s guilt attack again. No matter what happened or how many times people told him they loved him, Harry always felt that no one should risk anything for him, especially when the risk involved death.
“I-you’re my mate, Harry.” Ron stared incredulously at him. “The best friend I ever had. I couldn’t just stand there and… You’d have done the same for me.”
And it was true. Harry had no problems standing in the way of danger for someone he cared about.
“I’d do it again in a second. It was the easiest decision I ever made.”
“You didn’t have to,” Harry muttered stubbornly. However, the tension had drained from his shoulders and he was able to look Ron in the eye again.
“Yes, I did.” Ron smiled. “Besides, Ginny’d have my neck if I didn’t bring you back whole.”
He was rewarded with a small laugh.
“Where’s Hermione?”
“She’s making you soup.”
Ron’s stomach growled in anticipation.
~*~
He had just finished his first meal in what felt like months when they came for him.
“There’s something we want you to see, Ron.” Harry offered him a thick woolen robe as well as his clothing.
Ron looked between the two of them. “Outside?”
“You’ll be fine,” Hermione answered his unspoken question. “We’ll just make sure there are plenty of warming charms.”
He pulled the jumper on and swung his feet onto the floor. His legs looked even skinnier than they usually were, and he had to fight a wave of dizziness just at sitting up. The fever had taken most of his strength. “I can’t. I’ll fall.”
They each took a hold of one of his arms and pulled him up.
“Don’t worry, we’ll catch you,” Hermione encouraged.
It was a bit of a chore to put on the jeans while having to lean on his friends for support, but soon he was bundled up in the warm robe, a warming charm was applied-especially to his shoes-and they were leading him out the door. Immediately, he knew why they had gone through such trouble.
During the time he had been bedridden, it had snowed. A thick layer of it blanketed as far as he could see. Their temporary shelter was clinging to the side of the mountain, far up enough to offer a spectacular view but still low enough to be nestled among clumps of trees and brush. A field lay far below them, and three deer were foraging for any bits of exposed grass. The sun was rising to their left and the pale oranges and pinks made the expanse of snow swirl with hints of color.
Ron never told them that he loved winter; it was just something that, as best friends spending the good part of the last six years together, became subtly ingrained into their understanding. Subsequently, he never had reason to tell them why he loved it. It seemed vitally important that he do so at that moment.
“It’s life.” His voice was a harsh whisper in the stillness that surrounded them. Harry and Hermione turned to look at him, but his gaze was focused on what lay before him. “People don’t see it, but it’s there-underneath the snow you can just feel the potential for what’s to come.”
Ron breathed in deeply, his lungs rejoicing at clear air after so long in a stuffy cabin. A few birds emerged from the mist to their right and glided lazily across the surrounding peaks.
“The snow covers up all the imperfections,” he continued, “but at the same time it strips the earth bare until all that’s left is the essence. Earth on the cusp, on the edge, during the brief moment between breaths. Take away all the frills of spring and summer, look into the depths of winter, and you can see what hope is-that life and love continues. The warmth of togetherness in the middle of the cold. It’s life. It’s my life.”
They said nothing for several minutes after that, preferring to wander within their own thoughts and admire the fiery colors of the sunrise.
“It’s the first day of the new year,” Harry finally spoke, clasping Ron’s shoulder and smiling. Ron leaned on his arm as they turned and walked slowly back to the cabin.
He knew then, despite the biting of the cold wind on their noses and the vastness of the path before them, that they had something to hope for. Ron reached for Hermione’s hand.
------------------------
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive: An angsty Ron hurt/comfort story, set during the trio’s would-be-7th year.
Preferred Rating: PG-13 - R
OBHWF Inclusion: No
Holiday Choice (Christmas, New Year's, Both, or Unimportant): Christmas or Both
If both, when would you like the fic to be posted? Either
Other Holidays to incorporate (optional, maximum of three): n/a
One to three specifics you want (optional): Harry/Ron friendship; Ron bravery (i.e. he did something brave that led to hurt/comfort); reference(s) to H/G.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Any squicks (ex. incest), loss of body parts (ex. limbs, eyeballs, etc.)
Thank you for participating in the Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays!