Title: Touch

Rating: T

Words: 488

prompt: "Tents are not the most comfortable of places."

It was a light touch, a ghostly whisper that grabbed his attention. He couldn't turn around, fearful of scaring away the tickling touch and the promise it held.

"What are you doing?" he whispered into the twilight of the tent. Night was fast approaching and the light was beginning to fade. Lying on his back, gazing at the tent roof, he waited.

"Nothing."

Her fingers began a tentative trail over his hand, reaching for the scars which encircled his fore-arms.

"Do they still hurt?"

He was suddenly aware of the fact that a tent, definitely not the most comfortable of places when all three of them were there, now seemed to be perfect for two of them.

"Not really...sometimes...there's a twinge...when..."

"When?"

"Nothing...doesn't matter."

The fingers tiptoed a pattern up his arm…

"...dreams..."

One word was all that was needed and it hung in the air between them. Her fingers gently continued the trail of scars.

Rolling onto his side, Ron caught her other hand in his, allowing her fingers to continue their ghostly path. He couldn't meet her eyes, his gaze darted around the tent as he held her hand in his.

As he spotted Harry's shadow outside the tent, standing guard, her hand reached his elbow and continued its journey.

When his gaze fell on the glimpse of disappearing light around the tent flap, her hand stilled and stopped.

"Hermione?"

"Why?"

The serious question and the lack of movement drew his attention to her and he met her gaze.

"Why what?" he asked, terrified of the answer and not at all reassured when she gave none.

Instead, his spirits sank further as the light disappeared completely. Night had fallen suddenly and only the pressure of her hand in his betrayed her presence in the tent.

"Hermione?"

The only answer he got was an increase in the pressure of her hold on him.

Startled by the intensity, he tried to sit up but found Hermione's hands replaced by an all consuming pressure…familiar pains and twinges in his arms returned.

He couldn't breathe...couldn't see...was helpless…he tried to kick out...something...anything...his foot hit something hard and unyielding.

"Bloody..."

He woke up suddenly...alone...with a sore foot at the base of a huge tree. The clearing under the tree where he'd unfurled his sleeping bag, mere hours earlier, was deserted and lit by a half moon hovering high above. Hands shaking, he sprang to his feet, needing to move. He removed his jumper quickly and relished the sensation of the cool air on his inflamed and painful scars. Returning to the tree, he rested his head against the unforgiving trunk, struggling to control his breathing.

Not the first dream he'd had...certainly not the last.

Retrieving his jumper, he quickly stuffed his meagre belongings into the rucksack. He left the isolated spot which had provided some respite.

Striding forward, he continued his search.