Skin and Bones

1 January 1998

It was only a few nights after our disastrous trip to Xeno Lovegood's—the first of the new year, actually. Halfway through my turn keeping watch, red hair preceded Ron through the flap of the tent, two mugs of steaming tea clutched in his hands and a thick quilt thrown over his arm—the lovely scarlet and gold patchwork quilt I had found folded neatly at the foot of my camp bed a few days before Bill and Fleur's wedding. A small scrap of parchment had been pinned to it with 'Happy 18th Birthday, Hermione. We love you.' written in Mrs. Weasley's loopy script.

Wordlessly, Ron draped the still folded quilt over my knees and sank onto the pebbled ground beside me, leaning back against the canvas wall of the tent—too close, far too close. He extend a freckled hand, offering me one of the mugs. I breathed in the scent of bergamot—Earl Grey.

My favorite.

I didn't know where he'd gotten it, but we certainly hadn't had any before he'd returned.

Though the warm beverage looked heavenly compared to the frigid January air, I ignored the offer. My fingers curled into fists in my lap, resisting the urge to accept the cup of tea, resisting the urge to throw my arms around his neck and snog him until—

I didn't said a word, instead choosing to gaze out at the rocky beach before us. I had no idea where were were. Ron had chosen our last Apparition point. After a moment, he set the tea down onto the ground in front of me and cast a nonverbal warming charm over the mug. We sat in heavy silence for a while, watching small waves crash against the nearby shore.

"I know you prefer a bit of milk," he said finally. "Sorry we haven't got any."

He took a sip of his own tea, a cup I was certain contained at least two sugars, possibly three depending on his mood. I tilted my head upward and was struck by how clear the sky was that night. The stars twinkled brilliantly down at us, and I smiled faintly as I followed Orion's belt to the left and spotted the brightest star in the sky—Sirius.

"You'll never know how sorry I am, Hermione," Ron whispered so quietly, I almost missed it.

Tears flooded my eyes instantly and I hastily snatched up my cup of tea, praying he hadn't noticed my ridiculous display of emotion. Since my outburst the night he returned, I'd been trying to be an impassive rock, feelings be damned. I took a long sip, the warm tea joining the burning sob lurking near the back of my throat.

"I—I missed you," he continued quietly. "I missed you so fucking much. Every second I was gone. I wanted to come back the moment I Disapparated. I heard you calling my name… God, that sound fucking haunted every dream I had—" he choked over his words, and I knew that if I were to look over at him, I would see unshed tears clouding his cornflower blue eyes. He cleared his throat, likely in an effort to maintain some sort of manly dignity. "But you already know that, or at least, I hope you do. I know I've said it so many times—"

His voice died away. We both took another sip of tea. His long fingers brushed softly against my arm, the many layers of woolen jumpers bunching together at his touch.

"I know I fucked up," he murmured eventually. "I fucked up so badly. I'll never forgive myself, so I damn well know I don't deserve forgiveness from you. I know how much I've ruined…" He swallowed heavily. "But—fuck, Hermione. You're my best friend. I can't—" his voice cracked. "I can't live without you."

Yep, that'll do it.

Tears splashed silently down my cheeks as I set my cup of tea onto the ground beside me. I grasped the quilt in my lap and unfolded it slowly, laying it out to cover both of our legs. He stiffened momentarily, but once he realized what I was doing, he quickly ditched his own mug and helped me spread the quilt across us. Once it engulfed us both, I scooted over until the side of my body was pressed firmly against his. I turned my head to face him, stretching my neck so that my lips were inches from his ear.

"I've already forgiven you, you great bloody prat."

Something between a gasp and a raspy whoop came from his throat and he threw his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him and squeezing me tightly around the middle. I giggled rather uncharacteristically and buried my face into the crook of his neck.

"You really mean it?" he said hoarsely, as if not quite daring to believe what he'd just heard.

"We all fuck up sometimes, Ron," I replied, my wind-chapped lips feather-light against the milky skin of his neck as I spoke. "Your fuck ups just tend to be, well, monumentally huge." I felt him shake with subdued laughter as I snaked my arms around his waist and whispered, "But I don't think I could live without you, either."

His arms encircled me even more securely and I could practically feel him beaming. After a beat, he said, "Hang on a moment, did you just say fuck? Twice?"

I snorted, pulling away slightly to look him full in the face. "I've decided that you were right. Swearing is rather therapeutic."

"Damn right it is," he said through a grin.

"Don't tell Harry I forgave you so easily," I added, biting my lip to restrain my own grin. "I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

"Our secret, promise," he laughed quietly. "I don't think easy is quite the word for it, though."

I nuzzled into his chest, and we sat that way for a long while. I'd never felt more content in my life. I closed my eyes, knowing I should probably go inside the tent and rest, but hating the idea of leaving him. I'd just decided that I was far more comfortable here than I could ever be in my bunk when he whispered in my ear, "It's my turn to keep lookout now."

I hummed quietly in agreement, eyes still closed.

He ran a hand slowly up my arm. "Merlin, you're nothing but skin and bones… Fuck." I felt him shake his head. "Mum's going to do her nut when she sees how thin we've gotten. She was always trying to fatten Harry up anyway." He chuckled softly to himself, his fingers still caressing my upper arm. "You know, once this whole goddamn thing is over, I'm going to take you out for a nice dinner," he continued, likely thinking I was already asleep. "When You-Know-Who is dead and gone, I'll ask you out on a proper date, I promise."

I smiled against his chest, his warmth more soothing than any lullaby. Teetering on the precipice of sleep, I couldn't be completely certain—maybe it was just my tired brain's wishful thinking—but just before sleep overtook me, I could have sworn I heard him breathe into my hair, "Happy New Year, Hermione. I love you."

(A/N): This is a slightly enhanced version of an excerpt from my fic Give Them Triumph Now. GTTN is a Sirius/Hermione fic, but Ron/Hermione is actually my all-time favorite pairing, so I decided to post this as a little one shot of its own. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think in a review! I'll probably have a few more Ron/Hermione one-shots (and maybe even full-blown stories) to post in the future.