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Ron was still watching Harry and the Dursleys, long after they’d been swallowed up by the Muggle crowd that had spilled out of the trains on Platforms 9 and 10. He didn’t know why, really. It wasn’t as if something terrible would have happened if he had dared to look away for even a second--not with old Mad-Eye and Lupin and Tonks on the Dursleys’ tails, watching every move to make sure Harry wasn’t mistreated in any way.
And yet, he still couldn’t stop watching.
“You think he’ll be all right?”
He felt her come up beside him before he ever heard the soft shuffle of her footsteps, and he didn’t even have to look at her to know that she was staring into the same mass of people he’d been staring at, looking for any sign of messy black hair.
“After Mad-Eye’s not-so-subtle threats?” he said, giving her a reassuring smile that was almost for his benefit as much as it was for hers. “They’d be off their heads to mess with Harry with the entire Order on their backs.”
Ron thought he had caught her smiling before she looked down at the ground and began nudging a discarded gum wrapper with her toe, but he realised he had been wrong, and suddenly he felt a flutter of panic. She was supposed to laugh at his stupid attempts at humour. That had always been the implicit deal between them. But now he couldn’t even manage to do that, and he was at a loss as to how make the moment pass.
As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked up and met his gaze. He was caught unprepared, caught staring, when he probably shouldn’t have been, but before he could look away, he couldn’t help but notice how her cheeks were slowly spreading with colour.
“What?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
He wasn’t sure if she believed him, but was relieved when she didn’t press the matter. Instead she smiled and gestured towards Platform 11, where, to his horror, his father was engrossed in a rather animated discussion with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
“Oh no,” he groaned. “Looks like Dad’s got your parents cornered again.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “They think he’s charming.”
“Right. Charming.”
“Besides, he’ll be doing me a favour by keeping them distracted,” she said. “Maybe then they can let five seconds go by without bursting into tears and pulling me into a stranglehold.”
Ron started to laugh, but stopped himself for some reason and turned to look at her.
“Can’t blame them for being worried,” he said softly.
She sighed and looked up at him before nodding. “No, I suppose I can’t.”
Her gaze wandered down to his arms as if by accident, and Ron realised all too late that his shirt sleeve had ridden up, exposing part of his forearm--and all of the ugly, wretched scars that Madam Pomfrey had warned him would take many months before fading completely.
Feeling self-conscious, he grabbed hold of the hem of his sleeve and began to tug on it, but all of a sudden, she reached out to curl her fingers around his wrist, catching him in mid-motion, and he held his breath when she brought his arm up to look more closely at it.
He felt himself wince as she pushed his sleeve up further, then began tracing the criss-cross of scars with her fingers. She said nothing as she did so, only holding his wrist, the tips of her fingers gliding on his disfigured skin. He tried to catch a glimpse of her eyes, but couldn’t. He wanted to look for any kind of sign that she was repulsed by what she was seeing. Repulsed by him.
But she didn’t seem to be, and when she finally looked up at him, he was shocked to see the glitter of tears that had pooled in her eyes.
A year ago, he might have panicked. Hell, even just a few short weeks ago, he most certainly would have. They seemed so far past that now, though. After everything they’d seen and been through, it seemed so silly to be worried about how he should react.
And so it felt like the most natural thing in the world to reach for her and take her in his arms. It felt right when she settled her cheek on his chest and took a long, shaky breath before her hot tears began to soak his shirt. It was all he could do to contain her trembling.
“What’s going to happen now?” she said, her voice so small and vulnerable that it frightened him.
“We do what we’ve always done,” he said. “We get through it.”
She had stopped trembling and slowly eased off him, then finally looked up.
“It was the Cruciatus they hit you with,” she said quietly.
Ron felt the air leak out of his lungs.
“W-What?”
“When the Shield Charm doesn’t deflect the Cruciatus completely, it can... it can cause delirium...”
He swallowed hard. So that was why...
“Hermione? Are you ready to go, darling?”
Mrs. Granger was standing beside them. Ron cleared his throat and let Hermione go, surprised to find that he felt a bit of regret when he stepped back, but even more surprised to find Hermione still holding on to his arms before finally releasing him.
“Everything all right?” Mr. Granger said apprehensively. He looked about ready to faint, Ron observed.
Hermione wasn’t looking at her father, but rather at Ron when she smiled and nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Everything is all right.”
Thank you, she mouthed, then she raised herself on her toes, but before his brain had a chance to register the feel of her lips on his cheek, she had already pulled away.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Really soon,” he said.
She smiled, looking back at him one more time before she, too disappeared into the tangle of people. Ron looked on until her ponytail had blended with the crowd, then he reached up to touch the spot where she had kissed him.
He could hardly wait to see her again.