The sound of Ron's footsteps fading into the forest vanished as quickly as the last bit of hope lingering in the air. Then, only the cold wind rustling the leaves remained, and the campfire burning with a heat that couldn't reach the chill they felt inside.
Hermione sat in a corner of the tent, knees pulled to her chest, face hidden in her arms. She wasn't sobbing, but her breathing was uneven and broken. Harry watched her from his makeshift cot, words stuck in his throat.
He wanted to say something. Anything. That everything would be fine, that Ron would be back by dawn, that they could still go on without him.
But none of that sounded believable.
And he knew it.
She knew it too.
Hermione hadn't lifted her head. She hadn't said a word since Ron crossed the barrier of protective spells. She had only curled further into herself, as if trying to disappear inside her own body.
Harry got up awkwardly, but he didn't approach her. He didn't feel capable. Because he, too, had a knot in his stomach. He, too, wanted to scream, punch something, chase after Ron and force him to stay. But he was paralyzed. And he hated it.
Hours passed without a word.
The fire died out on its own. Hermione's magical watch marked midnight. Then one. Then two.
She hadn't moved from her spot.
Harry watched her now and then. She wasn't sleeping. She wasn't crying either. She was just... there.
And he, sitting against the tent's central pole, eyes open the whole time, waited. As if at any moment Ron would return—soaked, regretful, apologizing.
But he didn't return.
And so, in silence and exhaustion, they stayed awake through the night. Not as heroes, not even as strong friends... but as two scared teenagers, alone in the woods, waiting for something that might never come back.
The morning light crept timidly through the seams of the tent, casting golden lines over the blankets and damp ground. For a moment, Harry thought he had dreamed it all. That Ron hadn't left. That the fight had just been the product of exhaustion. Maybe, if he opened his eyes, he'd see him there, snoring with his mouth open, like always.
But no.
When he sat up, he felt the emptiness. The kind that reality leaves when you wish too hard that it isn't real.
Hermione was still asleep, lying on her side, eyelids puffy and face pale. At some point in the early morning, she had given in to exhaustion, defeated by a sleepless night neither of them remembered ending.
Harry rubbed his eyes. His body ached, and his mind wasn't doing much better.
Before long, Hermione awoke, blinking slowly. For a second, she remained still, as if she too hoped nothing had happened. But as she looked around, she knew.
The silence wasn't the same without Ron.
"Nothing?" she asked, her voice hoarse, without needing to clarify what she meant.
Harry shook his head.Hermione hadn't lifted her head. She hadn't said a word since Ron crossed the barrier of protective spells. She had only curled further into herself, as if trying to disappear inside her own body.
Harry got up awkwardly, but he didn't approach her. He didn't feel capable. Because he, too, had a knot in his stomach. He, too, wanted to scream, punch something, chase after Ron and force him to stay. But he was paralyzed. And he hated it.
Hours passed without a word.
The fire died out on its own. Hermione's magical watch marked midnight. Then one. Then two.
She hadn't moved from her spot.
Harry watched her now and then. She wasn't sleeping. She wasn't crying either. She was just... there.
And he, sitting against the tent's central pole, eyes open the whole time, waited. As if at any moment Ron would return—soaked, regretful, apologizing.
But he didn't return.
And so, in silence and exhaustion, they stayed awake through the night. Not as heroes, not even as strong friends... but as two scared teenagers, alone in the woods, waiting for something that might never come back.
The morning light crept timidly through the seams of the tent, casting golden lines over the blankets and damp ground. For a moment, Harry thought he had dreamed it all. That Ron hadn't left. That the fight had just been the product of exhaustion. Maybe, if he opened his eyes, he'd see him there, snoring with his mouth open, like always.
But no.
When he sat up, he felt the emptiness. The kind that reality leaves when you wish too hard that it isn't real.
Hermione was still asleep, lying on her side, eyelids puffy and face pale. At some point in the early morning, she had given in to exhaustion, defeated by a sleepless night neither of them remembered ending.
Harry rubbed his eyes. His body ached, and his mind wasn't doing much better.
Before long, Hermione awoke, blinking slowly. For a second, she remained still, as if she too hoped nothing had happened. But as she looked around, she knew.
The silence wasn't the same without Ron.
"Nothing?" she asked, her voice hoarse, without