Haunted Halloween
Title: Haunted Halloween
Author: PigWithHair
Prompt: Halloween
Rating: PG13
Characters/Ships: Ron/Hermione, Fleur (briefly)
Word Count: 490
A cruel wind struck the cottage, rattling the shells encasing it, making an eerie, high-pitched sound which reverberated through the attic.
Ron lay under the eaves, a shudder running up his spine with every wave of rattling shells; he knew the wind meant the cold was creeping in. And they were out there in it. Somewhere.
His mind roved back into fantasies. Images of Hermione, one after another, slid through his mind.
Was she lying somewhere, right at that very moment, shivering and hungry? His thoughts circled back to how he didn’t deserve to be here: warm and safe, which was why he’d chosen to sleep in the attic where the wind surged in between the beams to sting his fingers, face and throat. He didn’t deserve to indulge in fantasies. But this was the only way he could feel closer to her right now. And he missed her. Hell, he even missed Harry.
Light footsteps squeaked up the steps and a looming shadow became Fleur.
“Ron? I ‘ave brought you something.” She set a tray of food on the floor next to his makeshift bed of old blankets.
He studied her for a moment. She was no longer the glowing creature who had confiscated his brain. Her beauty had dulled somehow. Her accent annoyed him, and her eyes were the wrong color.
“Bill ‘as told me ‘ow ‘Alloween ees at ‘Ogwarts. Zo, I made a z’pecial dǐner.”
“Thanks, Fleur, but I’m not hungry. And I don’t care about Halloween.” Not now. Not without - he lay back again, something thick lodged in his throat making it painful to breathe or feel.
The onslaught of November meant cold, rain, maybe snow, depending on where they’d gone to. How the hell would he ever find them?
He didn’t notice Fleur watching him; he never knew when she turned and climbed back down the steps to tell Bill that there was no change. Bill’s anger at his brother had turned to concern. There was something haunted about Ron since he had appeared on their doorstep.
More eerie rattling came with another gust of wind, and, lying there on the blankets he’d spread on the attic floorboards, Ron spent the next few hours creating and rejecting different plans for how to find Hermione and Harry. Finally, exhausted, he began to drift off when he felt a small, soft hand clasped with his. Was it just a memory? A dream?
“Hermione?” he whispered, half conscious.
And suddenly she was there, alive and near in his imagination. He remembered the feel of her wild hair in his fingers and the soft smell of her neck. He felt as if something soothing coated over him, and he was calm, the panic of missing them faded as he imagined her smiling, lying next to him. The shells rattled again as Ron fell into sleep, leaving him with dreams that left him both sated and tortured in the morning.