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The Dorset safe house had been rumoured to have been haunted, but the only fiendish thing Hermione could see as she and Neville entered the assigned space was the single, shabby bed with its well-abused mattress, lumpy pillow, and stained cotton sheet covering decades of sins.
She prayed it was flea-free.
Despite its inhospitality, the bed was the only piece of reclinable furniture in the cottage…which caused Neville to gallantly offer it up to his partner and propose a spot on the floor for himself. Hermione politely refused his chivalry and the two ended up sharing the bed for the night, lying on their sides and facing the crackling flames she’d lit in the hearth.
~.~.~
Outside, it was dark and stormy, and the windows rattled.
Hermione shivered.
Neville’s arm came around her a moment later and he shared his body’s warmth with her. “What d’you suppose the others are doing right now?” he asked.
“Apple bobbing,” she guessed, “and telling ghost stories. Enjoying warm pumpkin cider with cinnamon.”
They both sighed with longing.
“Well, we have each other,” Neville said sometime later, trying for cheerful, “and no ghosts. That’s something!”
Hermione snuggled into his embrace.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed.