Solitaire
Title: Solitaire
Author: ebb_11
Rating: PG-13 (for slight sexual innuendo)
Pairing: Ron/HermioneWords: 371
Warnings: Very, very minor fluff
Author's Note (if any): Submitted for Round 1, Challenge 1 of rwhg_ldws
Playing Solitaire at two in the morning is perhaps the ultimate declaration of loneliness.
Jack of Clubs on Queen of Hearts, and so on and so on. The game was getting so mechanical to Harry that thinking became irrelevant. He was tired of spending his time like this, but he couldn't sleep. Not in that tiny tent where Ron kept elbowing him.
It was bad enough that Ron's growling stomach wouldn't rest the whole night, but Harry's ribs were now yellow and purple from his friend's tossing and turning.
The air was getting stuffy and hot in the small space, and Harry opened the zipper a few inches. Cool night air drifted in, caressing his stiff muscles. He leaned gently against the fabric wall, watching his friends drift away in peaceful sleep; Hermione faced away from him, toward Ron, who was snoring slightly.
Harry heard Ron smack his lips softly in his sleep.
"Boysenberry?" Ron murmured with an edge of disgust. He frowned and fell silent. Harry sniggered. Of course Ron was dreaming about food.
The silence didn't last long though-Ron was usually quite vocal when he was dreaming. Harry soon heard his best friend's breath accelerating to short, soft pants.
"'moine?" he whispered.
Harry blushed. He wished he were asleep, and not listening to what may have been an erotic dream.
Ron's hand reached out blindly and curled around the inside of Hermione's knee. Harry wondered if she was awake.
"'moine," he murmured again, this time less coherently. He pulled her leg closer to himself.
Harry saw Hermione shift in her sleep, but he still couldn't be sure whether or not she was asleep. Then, suddenly, he got his answer.
"Shush," Hermione cooed gently. She reached out and gingerly pushed a lock of Ron's flaming red hair away from his face. She moved her leg toward him carefully and Harry watched as Ron's fingers tightened around her skin.
Harry's face felt hot. He was embarrassed, certainly, but there was also an edge of loneliness to his discomfort. A hundred miles from a human soul that could care for him as deeply, Harry tossed aside his glasses and quietly thrust himself against his pillow.
It would be a long night.
.