J.K. Rowling is a genius. Nothing here is mine. This is purely for my own entertainment… and hopefully, yours. Thanks so much to Natalie/hestiajones for beta reading.
Letters from the Tent
Ron,
I can’t sleep. Time must have stopped, minutes swelling until days stretch on forever. I feel a bit crazy sometimes now. Harry’s quiet and so am I; perhaps we’ve forgotten how to talk to one another, how to be normal. Maybe you were our interpreter, and we never knew it.
You’re gone. I keep staring at your bunk, half-expecting to see you there fiddling with your bandages, complaining about whatever we last ate. I would honestly give anything to hear you insult my cooking right now, as long as it meant it wasn’t just Harry and me trying to save the world all by ourselves.
Sometimes I hate you, I really do. I wouldn’t have thought I could—not even last year. I was beside myself then, but I only thought you a prat in the normal way boys can be prats. But this… sometimes I try to convince myself that you didn’t hear me, that the rain was just too overpowering, that your anger toward Harry had drowned out everything else.
You did, though, didn’t you? You did hear me.
I switched the blankets. I was vaguely aware of Harry throwing one over me after I came back inside, but only later did I realize it was yours. It smelled like you. It smelled like your soap and your hair and your sweaters and every hug you’ve ever given me, and I hated that blanket because it got me sobbing again as if you’d only that moment walked away forever. Now I keep it on my bed.
Sometimes I blame the locket. It hurts less to think you might regret everything. I remind myself that I know you, or at least thought I did, and that you love Harry. You couldn’t have meant the things you said to him. You couldn’t possibly believe he doesn’t care about your family, not when he gave up Ginny to protect her… not when your family is the only one he has. And you, Ron. You’re his brother.
How could you do this? I’m alone here without you, and I can’t get enough air no matter how big a breath I take. You’re gone for good, and it makes me want to run full-on into danger; I’m scared, but reckless, too. I need to get my head on straight. I need to think, but I don’t know how. How can I keep my memory from replaying the scene over and over again on some kind of sick loop? I may never see you again, and there are no spells for mending broken hearts. So how can I keep on, when it seems you didn’t love me after all?
So I just sit on my bed wrapped in the blanket that smells like you, and I stare at that murderous, life-wrecking locket, wondering where I would hide if I were another damn Horcrux.
God help me… I still love you.
Hermione
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Ron,
Are you at Hogwarts? I’m obsessed with knowing; I think of little else. I even rummaged Harry’s rucksack for that stupid map so I could check it out for myself, but then he came in and I had to let it go. You must be there. When I think about it, it makes me hate you; it makes me want to hurt you.
Who do you walk with in the corridors? Who sits beside you at dinner? I can’t even think about it, it makes me insane to think of you lounging around in the common room with our friends while we are out here alone and in serious danger. How can you sleep at night with Harry’s empty bed next to yours?
Speaking of beds, I still can’t keep my eyes off of your bunk—a great, gaping cavern of emptiness in this stupid, cold tent. I must stare at it for hours each day, and it makes me want to throw things. I actually did throw a teacup yesterday. Harry came running in with his wand drawn, thinking I was in danger. I told him I dropped the kettle.
Perhaps, you’ve already gone home for the holiday. I wouldn’t know, since we hardly know what day it is anymore.
I’m so mad at you… I’ve never been this angry in my life, and I honestly don’t know what I would do to you if you walked in right now. I don’t think I could bear to see your face, not after the things you said. I’m certain now that you heard me screaming after you, begging you to come back, and you must realize there is no excuse in the world for you ignoring me and Disapparating like that, you insensitive wart. After all, Harry was the one you were angry with—not me.
He’s guarding the tent again. Silence has taken over our existence. Aside from the fact that your absence has made things quieter, one of us is always keeping watch, meaning that the other is sitting alone in the tent thinking about how desperate our situation is. You did this, Ron. And right now I hope you hate yourself for it.
Hermione
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Ron,
I still cry all the time, though I’ve got much better at hiding it from Harry. I’m a pathetic mess. I remember how you both talked about Cho crying so much back when Harry liked her… I assure you she was the model of restraint compared to the state I’m in.
The humiliating truth has finally sunk in. I misunderstood everything, didn’t I? All this time… I was nearly sure you felt the same as me. I thought you were just nervous, that you were afraid I didn’t feel the same as you, or that you wanted to wait until this was over to tell me. I thought that eventually, when we finished what we had to do, we might really be together. Last year, when you woke up in the hospital, the way you looked at me… like you were so relieved to see me there... I thought it meant something. I thought all of it meant something: the way you ran your fingers through my hair at the funeral… It felt like more, more than the usual.
When you told Harry we would stand beside him—I was such a fool—but it felt like we were almost a couple when you told him that. You knew you could speak for us both without even looking at me to be sure. Some girls would have been upset, but it only confirmed to me how right we are for one another.
The list goes on and on: the way you were at The Burrow, dancing at the wedding, how we talked that first night at Grimmauld Place… I feel sick when I think how badly I misinterpreted everything. It must have only been friendship to you. Certainly, you couldn’t have left me begging in the rain if you loved me the way I love you.
I can’t even say your name out loud. Half the time I want to tear you limb from limb and scatter the pieces. The rest of the time, I sob into my pillow for wanting you back so desperately I would do anything. Then I calm myself down only to succumb to old daydreams about you pressing me up against a wall and snogging me until I can’t think properly. Then I drown in humiliation: you never wanted to do anything like that with me, did you?
It’s sort of ironic, if you think about it. Everyone thinks I’m so brilliant, and yet, when it came to the most important thing of all, I was as wrong as wrong could be. I will pay the price for this mistake for a long time to come.
Or perhaps, it may not be so long. I’m not feeling very optimistic about Harry’s and my situation tonight. We both feel the danger pressing in. He is talking about going to Godric’s Hollow again. I still have a bad feeling about it, but he is wearing me down. My world has crumbled, but who am I to deny Harry what might be waiting for him in Godric’s Hollow?
I just don’t know.
I’m so tired, Ron—the kind of tired that hangs in my bones, the kind that sleep does not repair. I’m not sure I will keep writing like this. I thought it would help, but I feel sadder now than I have in days.
Hermione
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Ron,
I hope you are all right. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t care after your traitorous behavior, and yet I am consumed with the fear that you may not have made it home safely. I was reminded yesterday that you would not have been able to Apparate directly onto your parents’ property, and that they are most certainly being watched. You must have thought of this and taken precautious… and yet, you were so upset…
You are a blood traitor, not to mention the fact that you lied about being ill at home… not to mention the other fact that you have been with Harry Potter all this time… They would kill you as soon as look at you, I know this.
As painful as it is to think of you no longer caring for me or Harry, the thought of you being dead is completely unbearable. I would rather you despise me for the rest of my life than bear that for a single moment.
You are smart, though. I’m sure you took care… Please be all right.
Hermione
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Ron,
I miss you. I’ve been awake for an hour. It was so quiet; I knew before I opened my eyes that I was alone. Harry was keeping watch, but I pretended it was you. It was so comforting to think of you at the mouth of the tent, a watchman.
It was so comforting, in fact, that I closed my eyes and let myself fall into the best kind of daydream: a real memory.
I saw again in my mind the amusing look of surprise on your face when you realized the music had changed. I grinned at your expression and prepared to rejoin Harry at our table; the dancing was over for us. But then you surprised me. You grinned awkwardly, nervously. Then you raised your arms just a little and shrugged as if to say, You want to? You didn’t actually say the words, but, as is often the case, I knew what you meant. Why were you so nervous? How do you never see that I am a walking billboard of consent where you are concerned? But you did ask, in your way, and I remember my face feeling hot as I lifted my arm up to rest my hand on your shoulder, grinning my answer. The smile you returned was glorious—no nervousness in sight. And then you took my hand and pulled me close, and it was not a daydream because it was too busy being real and intoxicating.
I can’t write anymore. I want this to be the last thing tonight.
Hermione
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Ron,
I can’t stop crying. It’s been hours now and I just can’t stop. We went to Godric’s Hollow. It’s my fault; you’ll remember I had a bad feeling about it from the first time he mentioned it, but I agreed because it seemed like the next logical thing to do, the next place to look. And I knew Harry needed to go there to find… something. But I was so stupid. We were a split second from being killed, both of us. I still don’t know how we got out of there alive. If only you had been there… maybe you would have known what to do; maybe things would have gone better.
Harry is very ill now. The snake bit him and he has been unconscious for hours. He’s ill, Ron, and I’m so afraid. I can’t think. I’ve done everything I know to do, but there’s a fever, and he’s moaning and talking nonsense. He mentioned Ginny once, and he said something that I thought was about you… but then his voice… it, it changed, and he… he scared me. And Ron… I think it was him talking, and not Harry at all… and he was hurting someone…
You should be here. You said you would be here… What if he wakes up and he’s not himself anymore? I don’t want to be afraid of Harry.
I need you; I never knew I could need someone like this. I’m scared he’s going to die, and I will have lost you both. And it’s so selfish, but I can’t bear to think of being alone… Where would I go? I can’t go to you now, and I can’t Apparate all the way to Australia. There’s nowhere safe for me; you know I would be killed instantly if I were captured.
He can’t die. He just can’t.
Things have not been this bad since the night you left. We are two instead of three, with one wand between us. I should hate you right now because if you had been here… if you were here now…
But how can I hate you when I want you so much I can’t think at all? I’m terrified that somewhere in my head I know what to do to help Harry, but I can’t find it because my mind is too full of you. I see you as I’m wiping his brow, and I hear your voice when he’s moaning. I hear you whispering in my hair the way you did at the funeral, and it’s louder even than when Harry shouts out.
I can’t take this anymore. I can’t do this without you. I’m writing and sobbing and all is surely lost, and yet in my twisted thoughts I can see you walking through the door of the tent wearing the same clothes you left in. And if you did… oh, if you did, I would forgive everything. I wouldn’t care about any of it. I wouldn’t even care what you’d think of me when I stumbled into your arms, sobbing with relief and clutching onto you with my life.
I never imagined that you wouldn’t be here when I needed you, and here I am, alone. I love you. How could you ask me to choose, and then not understand? I love you, I love you, I love you, you idiot.
Hermione
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Ron,
I’ve been staring at your name for a good half hour with no idea how to say what has happened. What do they call it? Rock bottom? We found a copy of Rita Skeeter’s book about Dumbledore. It is horrible, Ron, just horrible… the things he must have been a part of, the whole ideology about wizards ruling over Muggles… It’s impossible, but Dumbledore must have supported it at one time.
Harry is utterly lost. Furious, lost, and feeling betrayed by the one he tried so desperately to follow and obey. I don’t think he can lose anyone else, and it’s hard to see how we will go on from here. I tried to talk to him, to help him see… but I wasn’t even sure I believed it myself at one point. Though I do know Dumbledore loved Harry. He did, don’t you think? He must have.
Harry doesn’t think so, though. Not anymore. I don’t know what will happen now, if we will still search, or if he will give up. I’ve never seen him this way, and I have no idea how to help.
Hermione
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Ron,
I thought the anger had gone. I thought it had been weeks ago overshadowed by loneliness and blinding pain, ground into the numbness, burned up by my desperate need to see you. But I was wrong. It was only sleeping, waiting to see your face in this tent again.
There was a moment of surprise, of enormous relief, and then that sleeping fury stood up inside me and decided to trash the place. How could you stand there looking so contrite, your face full of nervous apology? And why was Harry so happy about your return? He’s been sullen and angry since you left; he has been utterly lost… as bad as he was after Sirius died.
How did you change his mind?
Right, then—you saved his life. Harry kept saying it over and over as if it explained everything. That’s wonderful, Ron. I’m glad Harry’s alive, but here’s a question for you: what about my life? Do you intend to save that, too?
Why did you hear my voice out of the Deluminator? That’s another thing I would like to know. I can’t stop thinking about it, or about the way you looked at me when you told us about it. I’m so confused now. I said your name in the tent for the first time since you’d left, and you heard it in a cottage by the sea? And it led you back to us? How? Actually, nevermind how… I just want to know if it means something. Does it mean something in the larger sense, and more importantly, does it mean something to you?
I shouldn’t have hit you. I do feel bad about that. I’m rather ashamed for losing control of myself. You deserved it, of course—that’s not what I mean. It just… it wasn’t the whole truth. Almost as soon as I got into bed, after you mentioned the birds, I saw again in my mind how you came in with your arms open, and I felt sick that I hadn’t simply walked into them. What would you have done? Would it have been one of those awkward hugs you used to give me? Or would it have been something more meaningful? I suspect it would have been the latter, and the possibility that I missed out on that made me ache in ways I cannot describe.
It seems I am two people. I am the one you met last night, the one ruled by anger so fierce it frightens me… anger that will likely raise its head again soon and come looking for you. But I am also the one right now, right here in my bed under your blanket, staring at you sleeping under mine. And I am so sorry for how I was last night, for not finding a way to show you how relieved I was… how relieved I am… to have you back with us. Your hand is up over your sleeping face, but I can still see your hair, your jaw. And it is now that I realize nothing has changed at all in me. I want to cry, and I want you to wake up and see me crying and care about it. I want to creep out of my bed so quietly, right under Harry’s nose, and climb in next to you while you are sleeping. You would be so warm… what would you do? Perhaps you would react in alarm, awkward and stammering and nervous… but I don’t think so—not anymore. I would rest my back against your chest, and you would slip your arm around me and put your face in my neck and hold me like you loved me because the smallest part of me believes again that maybe you do. Just maybe.
Hermione
END
Letters from the Tent by WeasleyMom
Chapter Endnotes: An epilogue will be added to this before too terribly long. Please let me know what you thought of the letters. I am truly embarrassed at how giddy I get over each and every review.