22A/N: Happy New Year! Thank you all for your support! Only the epilogue to go.
Chapter 8: The Next Step
Hermione's hands shook as she peeled off her blood-splattered jacket.
Harry's alive. Ron's alive. You're alive.
The mantra spun in her head over and over as she tried to find solace in the familiar pattern.
It felt like her brain was still trying to catch up with what happened in the last twenty-four hours. They had broken into Gringotts and escaped on a dragon. Voldemort returned to Hogwarts. They found all of the Horcruxes. Harry died. Then he didn't.
But Tonks did. And Lupin. And Fred.
And so many more that she couldn't comprehend.
But she was alive. As was Harry and Ron, they had made it out the other side. The three least likely to do so.
It was over. The war was done. Voldemort was dead. She could breathe easily for the first time in years. She could begin to live her life.
But she had no idea how.
"Hey," Ron said, taking her jacket from her hands which she had been holding, frozen, for some time.
Hermione blinked, coming back to reality. She was standing in an unused classroom—the only place where they could find some privacy. They were going to change into clean clothes and find somewhere to sleep for the night.
If it was even night anymore.
Ron carefully folded her jacket, which most likely could not be salvaged, and placed it on a desk.
Without words, he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead.
She couldn't cry, not anymore, not after all of the crying she has been doing. But she could be held. She could embrace his touch, even if it hurt her still-bruised ribs. She could squeeze him back and tell him she loved him. She could find the first bit of peace and safety that she had felt in years.
After a few moments, they let go of one another and began to take off their stale and destroyed clothes.
Even just a week ago the act of undressing in front of Ron would have been unthinkable. She wouldn't have been able to fathom taking off her top and jeans in front of him, not to mention her pants. But now, it almost felt normal.
There had only been one time when they had undressed together with the purpose of undressing—with the purpose of seeing each other. The rest had been out of necessity. There has been the time when they first got to Shell Cottage, when Fleur had removed her clothes to help see where she was hurt. Hermione didn't remember that, however. In fact, the next couple of days had been a blur. She could remember Ron—she could remember him being by her side, snoring gently in the chair next to her bed. She could remember him waking with a snort whenever she made a sound, and frantically checking her over to ensure she was okay. She could remember him taking her to the bath, (another time he saw her body out of necessity) and him brushing her hair as she sat in the blood-tinged water. She could remember him saying I love you over and over to the point that the phrase wandered hauntingly through her memories of those days, like a song on repeat in another room.
Despite having clean clothes on, Hermione didn't feel any cleaner. She could still smell the tinge of her burned hair and feel the dirt between her fingertips. She knew she was in need of a bath. One in the prefect's bath that lasted at least an hour, preferably. But she was too fatigued, too utterly exhausted to find a place to shower. Plus, she didn't want to leave Ron's side.
As if reading her mind, Ron said; "let's find a place to kip."
Hermione nodded her head and took Ron's hand as he led her out of the sanctuary of the classroom.
There were few spots in the mostly-destroyed castle that were safe to be in. The main one was the hospital ward where the bruised and bloodied stayed. While both Ron and Hermione could be put in that category, they were too tired, too worn out, to worry about their superficial injuries.
They could have gone to Muriel's, where the rest of the Weasleys had gone for the night. But Ron had seemed reluctant of that option. Hermione supposed that he couldn't stomach seeing his mum's tear-stained face, or George, just George, no longer Fred-and-George.
So, the pair decided that the classroom was the best place for them.
They borrowed a cot, one that Hermione made to fit the both of them, and laid their exhausted bodies down on the thin mattress.
Even with the sheer exhaustion of not sleeping for over a day, of being injured and of barely surviving a war, Hermione's mind couldn't calm down for her to rest.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw flashes of light. She saw fighting and running and death. The still-opened eyes of Fred haunted her and the image of the Weasleys sobbing over his body as Harry sacrificed his life couldn't be shaken away.
With a sigh, she turned over and saw that Ron was just as awake as her.
He glanced over at her and saw she was awake, then turned towards her.
"Can't sleep either?" he asked, taking her hand in his.
"No," Hermione replied, "not yet."
Hermione saw Ron's lips tighten. A look she had only seen a few times on him, which signalled that he was about to cry.
She wrapped her arms around him, scooting up in the cot so that he was nestled into her chest.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered as he sobbed. "It's not fair."
His sobs amplified as she tried to soothe him. He was crying more than he had when he had seen his brother's body, more than he likely ever had. She squeezed him tightly as her own tears began to flow.
Hermione couldn't be sure of how long they stayed like that, weeping in each other's arms. But, they did eventually fall asleep as the sun began to rise.
Hermione awoke in Ron's arms.
He was snoring gently, too quietly to disturb her slumber. Instead, she woke up from a dream. Unlike every other dream she had over the past year, this one didn't end in death or destruction–it ended with Ron and her, snuggled on a sofa in front of a fireplace. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the twinkle of a Christmas tree. She had sipped her tea and smiled at the man she loved, talking about this and that as they watched two little redheads opening presents with glee.
It had felt so real, she had been disappointed when she woke up. But just for a moment.
Yes, she would rather fast-forward through the next few months. Through the rebuilding and funerals and grief.
But, she was in Ron's arms. She was safe, in more ways than one.
She had no idea what her future held. But she knew one thing—it would involve Ron. They loved each other and she couldn't picture a more wonderful future than the one with Ronald Weasley.