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The rain dripped steadily on the canvas of the tent. It felt like it was seeping into everything. The very air surrounding them thicker, heavier, sodden down. Every breath Hermione took felt like breathing in fog. Or a cloud. Her skin had started to feel permanently clammy, cold to the touch.
The small cups of broth she had been able to scrape together for an early dinner hardly brought any lasting warmth for any of them. Harry, stuck in one of his locket-clad silences, had taken his tin of soup to the mouth of the tent to sit watch.
Ron had barely moved from his spot on the couch for the better part of the afternoon. Hermione carried over two cups, carefully placing one in Ron’s outstretched hand. His fingers overlapped hers for a moment. She almost startled at the warmth, the dry brush of skin. It was such a stark contrast to how she’d been feeling for days now.
“Thanks,” Ron mumbled, half into the steam coming from the mouth of the cup, his lips forming a half smile.
Hermione nodded, feeling a small smile creep onto her face too. She perched on the couch next to him, sipping her broth while eyeing his arm from over the brim of her cup.
Ron, not missing her gaze, swallowed thickly. “It’s not hurting much anymore,” he shrugged.
Hermione pursed her lips, “we still ought to be careful. I’m not entirely confident it won’t get infected.”
“You did all the spells you could,” Ron shrugged again, trying to brush it off. When it came to his splinching, Hermione’s guilt was still palpable. He didn’t want it to weigh on her any longer than it already had.
“I just hope it was enough,” Hermione said, placing her half empty cup on the table. “We should change the bandages.”
“Not until you finish your soup,” Ron nodded to the cup.
Hermione huffed out a laugh before admitting, “It tastes horrible. I think my stomach’s better off without it.”
“It’s not… horrible,” Ron murmured, eyes on the half-brown, half-grey liquid, “it’s better than the last batch.”
“Well, that’s not very high praise considering you threw that one up!” Hermione laughed again, leaning back into the cushions.
“Oi! That was because of the pain potions you had me taking. And all the apparating. Really does a bloke in.” Ron gulped down the rest of the broth, fighting the smallest of grimaces.
“Whatever you say,” Hermione spoke softly. She knew her expression was probably bordering on over-fondness at this point. But she really couldn’t find it in herself to care. The heaviness from the rain was in her bones now. And in whatever she usually used to prop up the walls around her heart. The rain was sweeping it all away.
A shiver ran through her at the thought.
“I’d offer to conjure a flame but they seem to be your speciality lately,” Ron said, almost in response to her shiver.
Hermione pulled her wand out and summoned a jar, preparing to ignite a small blue flame to heat the sitting area.
“Merlin, I miss the common room fire,” she cried, feeling another shiver run down her spine. She placed the jar to hover in front of her and Ron.
“Mmm,” Ron said, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, “bloody hell that would be nice. The fireplace roaring, the couches dry and not at all damp from constant rain and mist.”
Hermione elbowed him.
“What, it’s true!” He said, nudging her arm back.
“I know,” she groaned miserably, “and we could be eating proper meals instead of watery soup from scavenged mushrooms.”
“Don’t even bring up the Great Hall Feasts to me, Hermione Granger. That’s a personal affront, that is.”
She laughed, “Too soon?”
Ron’s eyes popped open, his voice sobering slightly, “I can’t believe I’ll probably never eat one of those again.”
He turned to her, his eyebrows furrowed a bit.
She tried to will herself to smile, “on the bright side you’ll never have to take another class with Snape.”
Ron managed a halfhearted grin, “that is certainly a silver lining.”
“Though, to be honest I might rather be in the Potions dungeon right now than in this bloody cold tent any longer,” Hermione groaned, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Not the Potions dungeon, Hermione!” Ron said with mock disgust, slinging an arm around her easily, effortlessly. As if he’d done it a million times. And when Hermione thought about it, he really had been doing it quite a bit lately.
He rubbed a hand up and down her back, scooting closer in the same movement, pulling her into his side in an effort to warm her up.
“We can’t have you wishing that,” he continued, “wouldn’t you rather be watching a Quidditch game in the pouring rain?”
Hermione’s head brushed against his shoulder as she threw it back in laughter, “tempting! But I was thinking more along the lines of being frozen in the Black Lake during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”
“Oh, good one. At least we were unconscious for that one,” Ron said gravely.
Hermione laughed once more, and unable to resist the tempting warmth Ron was emanating, she tucked herself further into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Ron adjusted a bit to accommodate her closeness.
Hermione shivered yet again. They were silent for a few moments. Both of their eyes on the flickering blue flame.
“Where would you really want to be right now?” Hermione asked softly.
Ron was quiet for a few moments before taking a deep breath, Hermione’s head moving with the rise and fall of his shoulder.
“It’s hard to say. Anywhere I am I’d want you with me. And Harry. And anywhere we go would be dangerous for whoever was there. So I can’t say the Burrow. Or Hogwarts. And I don’t know what else that leaves.”
Hermione pulled back slightly, looking up at him, “where would you go if the war was over?”
“I reckon I’d go just about anywhere peaceful,” he shrugged. “Maybe Bill’s place. It’s meant to be really nice. It’s on a beach.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Where would you go?” Ron tore his eyes from the flame, finally meeting Hermione’s gaze. But her eyes fell to her lap where she examined her hands where they lay, palm up in her lap.
“Well, I’d have to go to Australia first, of course.”
“Yeah, course,” Ron said softly.
“But it’s meant to be nice there as well. Warm. Beaches,” she trailed off.
“You’ll make quick work of it,” Ron nudged her with his side, “step 1 find your parents, step 2 have a holiday.”
Hermione smiled tightly, “I hope you’re right.”
“It’s been known to happen.” Ron grabbed one of her splayed out hands in his own, “Merlin, you are freezing.”
She wrapped her brittle fingers around his, watching in reverence as his thumb stroked her hand, the gesture leaving a path of thawed skin behind.
“Yeah,” was all she managed to say. Her voice breathy from the simple presence of his hand on hers. She swallowed thickly, willing herself to look up and meet his gaze.
Ron’s eyes were already on hers when she finally managed it. His face was serious, thoughtful. “You know, about Australia—”
The canvas opening of the tent whipped into motion. Harry came in on a gust of wind, rain splashing in behind him heavily.
“It’s a downpour now,” Harry shivered, wrangling the locket from around his neck. Without much of a passing glance, he tossed it into Ron and Hermione’s laps as he left the room, already struggling to remove his soaked layers.
Hermione’s cold fist went to wrap around the locket, before a warm hand overlapped hers once more.
“I’ll take it,” Ron said quietly.
Hermione knew already not to argue. “Thank you,” she told him. She looked up into his face again. Savoring it in the moments before the locket around his neck would cast the inevitable shadow over it.
She fought the urge to yank at the wretched chain. To put it around her own neck. To suffer in place of the man she loved.
Because she knew it now. Knew she loved him not just in warm common rooms and during Great Hall feasts. But on rainy sidelines. And in miserable damp tents.
Even unconsciously. At the bottom of a goddamn lake.
She loved him.