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Ron could not sleep.
After spending hours trying to help contain the chaos at Hogwarts, the grieving family had returned to the Burrow to try to get some rest.
His mum had run to her room sobbing as soon as they arrived, and his father had followed her, stopping only for a moment to ask them, in a broken, muffled voice, to go to bed.
Ron had barely had time to exchange a look full of unspoken words with Hermione before Bill sent them all to their rooms. It was probably for the best. None of them would have been able to manage a proper conversation just then.
As soon as they reached his room, Harry collapsed onto the camp bed and fell asleep at once.
Ron tried to imitate his friend, but he could only toss and turn, desperately trying to clear his mind and failing thousands of times.
The fact that Hermione was not in the room only made it worse. During all their months in the tent, the trio had felt the need to be together at night. It had been the only way they felt safe. It was them against the world, and although the war was over, Ron still could not believe that they were no longer in danger. The fact that Hermione was not sleeping in the same room made him anxious. And he was sure that if Harry had not collapsed the moment his head touched the pillow, he would have felt the same way.
He tried to ignore Hermione’s absence and the terrible events of that day, but after hours of trying to fall asleep, Ron let out a low, frustrated growl and sat up in bed. It was a cold, dark night, especially in his badly placed room, which seemed to absorb the chill and damp with no defence against either. But Ron hardly noticed. He wished his discomfort had a source as simple as that.
The young man looked with faint envy at his sleeping friend across the room, snoring softly in the dark. Then he remembered that the poor bloke had literally come back from the dead that same day, and every last bit of envy was shaken out of him like water from a wet dog.
He knew he could not compare his exhaustion with Harry’s. He simply could not understand how he was physically able to stay awake when every fibre of his being was begging for rest. But the problem was not his exhausted body. It was his bloody head, which he could not shut up. Dark thoughts came to him no matter how hard he tried to stop them.
Only a few hours ago, he had still been living in a tent with his friends, fearing for their lives and carrying a mission too huge and too dangerous to entrust to a group of teenagers.
Only a few hours ago, Voldemort had still been terrorising everyone in the wizarding world.
Only a few hours ago, his brother had still been alive.
Every time he closed his eyes, thousands of horrible images filled his head, making him shudder.
They had all seen terrible things that year, but nothing compared to that night. As much as he hated it, Ron knew that no one would ever be the same after that day. Every remaining drop of innocence had been cruelly wrung out of them.
So many people had died. He could not even take it in.
Colin Creevey, one of the kindest and most innocent people he had ever met, even if he had been a bit annoying. He was probably one of the people in the world who least deserved to die.
But he had.
Lavender Brown, his ex-girlfriend. How was it possible that the girl he had been snogging so vividly only a year ago was already dead? A tight knot of guilt formed in his stomach when he remembered how badly he had treated her while they were dating. She had been far too young to die.
But she had.
Fred.
Shit. Fred.
Ron felt his eyes begin to burn again for what must have been the thousandth time that day as he remembered his dead brother.
He had been worried sick the whole time he was away, terrified that something might happen to his family, but he had never truly imagined that Fred would be the one to die. He had worried about him, because they were in the middle of a war and he could not help it, but Fred had always seemed so untouchable. Too strong, too brave, too confident to die at the hands of a Death Eater.
But he had.
His brother was gone, leaving his whole family in ruins. George seemed to have lost the ability to express any kind of emotion. His parents were shattered. Percy was drowning in agony and guilt. Bill looked sadder than Ron had ever seen him. Ginny could barely speak without her voice shaking.
And Ron could not sleep.
He found himself obsessing over the fact that he could not remember the last words his brother had said to him. He could not remember the last thing he had said to Fred either.
All he could remember in that moment was his brother’s last smile, still lingering on his lifeless face.
Losing the battle against his grief, Ron covered his face with his hands as he sobbed softly, trying not to wake Harry.
He cried for so long that his eyes already felt permanently swollen. His throat ached from the lump that had been there for hours, and his whole body was shaking. Then he heard the faint creak of the door, announcing someone’s arrival.
Ron sat up abruptly and drew in a shaky breath when he saw Hermione peering timidly through the doorway. He had been crying for so long, and so hard, that even in the darkness the young witch could see his red, swollen, tear-filled eyes. She frowned with concern, entered the room without hesitation, closed the door behind her and went straight to him, wrapping him in her arms.
Ron returned the hug without the slightest resistance, holding her tightly and burying his face in her neck.
He was overwhelmed by the feeling of Hermione. Her scent, her warmth, the hoarse tone of her voice as she whispered words of comfort, her delicate hand stroking his hair affectionately, and their bodies fully intertwined without nerves, shame or fear. For the first time in the seven years they had known each other, and the three years in which they had loved each other without daring to do anything about it, the teenagers held one another with their bare hearts completely open.
Suddenly, the creak of an old bed sounded softly through the small room. Harry was awake. Ron was still trying to gather enough composure to apologise to his friend when he felt another pair of arms surround him.
Soon, the whole trio was crying in a group hug. Crying for all the trauma they had endured, for all the fear and pain they had felt, for the total loss of their innocence, and for the fallen. All of them, in one way or another, were broken.
None of them knew how long they stayed like that, letting out everything they had endured for almost a year. But when they finally calmed down and broke apart, they felt purified.
Without saying anything, Hermione took hold of Harry’s mattress, placed it on the floor and expanded it magically, making it large enough for the three of them to sleep there.
The boys smiled at her and grabbed their pillows and blankets before taking their places on the mattress. Since Hermione did not have a blanket or pillow of her own, Ron extended his to share with her, earning himself a blushing smile.
The friends lay down close together. Harry took the right edge, lying on his side with one hand on Ron’s shoulder. Ron lay in the middle, his left elbow resting against Harry’s stomach and his right arm wrapped completely around Hermione, who curled up against his chest and stretched one arm across him to hold Harry’s forearm.
It was not an entirely comfortable position. The mattress was old, so they could easily feel the springs beneath their backs. They were cramped, and they knew that if anyone found them like that, they would be embarrassed. But that night, the three friends shared the most peaceful rest they had had in many months.
They were three broken people who, together, felt complete.