Love is not always loud. It doesn't always proclaim itself from rooftops. Sometimes it whispers in the dead of the night inside a tent hidden under the canopy of trees. Sometimes murmurs in the silence between two heartbeats.
...
The narrow escape from the Death Eaters at the Lovegoods is some hours behind them. The sudden rush of adrenaline, the frantic beating of hearts and even the fury is now on the backburner when Ron finally walks into their small sleeping space.
She sits on her bed, feet resting on the threadbare carpet. A huge volume is open on her lap; she looks not at the pages but at the small space of blank canvas ahead.
She is still furious, now with him and Harry, along with Xenophelius and half the world perhaps. But fury is far from what he feels, it's not what he wants from her- not now.
A space of a heartbeat...
He calls her, softly. She twitches slightly at his voice but doesn't turn towards him. He walks slowly to where she sits, and suddenly, he is lost- lost for words.
A space of a heartbeat was all that would have taken and she could have been snatched away. It hits him hard- again, the enormity of what he stands to lose in this fight- her. In other words, everything.
He calls her once more, and this time she stands up to leave. Perhaps she is still infuriated or has too much on her mind. For once he doesn't care.
He slumps down on his knees, at the same time grabbing her smaller hand in his. He doesn't tug her towards himself, only keeps holding on, breathing in the lingering fragrance that's all her, allowing it to sink into his heart. He looks hard at the carpet, trying to live in the moment, counting minutes by feeling the pulse on her wrist that is much too thin.
In the weeks that he was searching for them, he had found himself. Found that missing link in his heart- the one that finally came out of the Deluminator and brought him back. He can't lose her again.
The feel of a tender, warm palm on his stubbled cheek causes him to look up and he meets her eyes. They are softer and for once, devoid of the mask of anger behind which she hides her emotions .
There are no words, none are necessary.
He continues to watch her, drinking in her features. She has seen him build himself up from an overlooked sixth son to what he was, and then again, she had seen him breaking himself to pieces when he deserted them. As he finally averts his eyes, looking down to hide the moisture, he hopes she realises that she is the strength that makes him what he wants to be, what he hopes he can be.
Smaller fingers entwine themselves with his, and he is quietly pulled into her much smaller form, his head pressed just below her midriff. As she threads the fingers of her other hand into the matted hair at the back of his head, he inhales deeply, but without leaving her hand.
Her hold is just as fierce as his.
...
His chest constricts painfully as he waits while Fleur checks on her. He stands at the head of the bed, resting against the wall for he doesn't know if he can keep standing without that bit of support. He waits for a movement- the flicker of the eyeballs behind closed eyelids, the opening and closing of that parched cracked lips- anything.
Hermione splutters when Fleur pours a few drops of a red portion into her mouth; he is next to her in a heartbeat. He helps her sit, supporting her weight and rubbing her back. Slowly Hermione opens her eyes and he lays her down carefully. Ron finally breaths, allowing the tears to roll down, not even bothering to wipe them off when Fleur looks up at him to tell him that Hermione would be fine.
He nods quietly for there is no strength left in him to utter a word. He is sore and broken.
When she calls him in a hoarse whisper after Fleur leaves, he collapses on his knees soundly next to the bed, grabbing her hand tightly in his, shaking to his core.
Once more in his life, he is at loss for words. Once again, a shaky palm moves to his face. Her touch breaks him down completely while at the same time, builds him up from the ashes.
...
Hermione opens the door to the small rented flat she shares with Ron. She drops the keys to her office on the table, slightly worried about the silent house.
Ron should have been home- he had informed her barely hours ago that he was back.
He could be asleep, she tells herself but the television is switched off and the living room is spotlessly clean. No sign of the young man who religiously waits for her whenever he returns home from his missions before her shift is up.
She quickens her steps to reach their bedroom and exhales in relief on noticing the tall figure standing facing away from her.
"Ron."
He turns around, and she barely holds back from flinging herself into his arms- there is something in those sparkling blue eyes, something that transports her back to their tent and then takes her to Shell's Cottage.
Frozen on the spot, she watches as he covers the distance between them in two swift strides. He goes down on his knees slowly and she can't take her eyes off him. Once again, she sees in him the boy who spoke a million words to her in the space of the silence between them.
Her eyes well up as he takes both her hands in his. She is reminded inexplicably of the hundreds of prayers she had sent to the heavens above -sometimes for him to understand, sometimes for his safety, sometimes just to see a future that had them together. She pulls her right hand from his grip to rest against his cheek and his eyes light up fiercer at her touch.
Her eyes flutter shut, unable to take the intensity and love in his gaze, and cause a couple of tears to roll down. She realises in that moment that the blessings she received are a million times more than what she had ever asked for.
"Yes," she replies to the question he hasn't even asked yet as she collapses on her knees in front of him.
...
a/n: Thank you for reading. A review will be highly appreciated.