The Night’s like Coffee to My Tongue

A soft breeze had wormed its way through the open window, causing the curtains to stir. I heard their movement in the distance and drifted consciously towards it. The rustling of papery, unfed leaves and petals in the vase on my windowsill reached me further and unwillingly I opened my eyes. The room was darkened, vague glimmers of moonlight occasionally darting across the walls. Not yet morning, but I didn’t mind the disturbed sleep.

Casting my eyes from the window and slightly to the left, my vision was of an empty pillow. I tentatively slipped an arm through the sheets to the other side of the bed. They were cool and crisp, but my fingers felt a distinct dimpling below. No warmth, but there was still a presence. Not my place. I always kept to my side of the bed. Not one toe out of line. Even if my cravings pulled me, inch by inch, towards him. He wanted his space and I was never one to deny his requests.

Swallowing a little, I sat up and slid out of the bed to place my feet on the floor.
Retrieving the nightgown from where I had discarded it earlier, I put it on and left the room. The rest of the house remained hushed and unmoving as I took soft steps down the stairs, through the hall and deftly out of the back door. Energy gripped me in a way it never did during the light hours.

The garden was not the most orderly of places, but its uneven cobble stones, cracked flags and wavering tree trunks were exactly what you would have expected of it. No-one had cared enough to tame it, not even during his residence. Its tendency to be wild and untouchable was vaguely comforting, I realised, as I pushed aside a stray branch to unlock the iron gate.

A few tall stones lay not far from the garden. Most were too marked by grime and age to be truly legible, but I usually spared them a glance on my way. I almost smiled slightly as I approached the one with least grandeur, but with the most dignity.

‘Hello, love.’

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‘Are you awake?’

A head of red hair stirred from a light sleep as the old house emitted a creak. Ron groaned a little as he rose from the bed, almost having to peel his eyes open from inviting slumber.

‘She’s at it again.’ The female shadow who had been lying next to him, once wrapped tightly to his chest, watched as he moved away and stretched.

‘I’m sorry, love. I’ll have to bring her back.’

‘I’m tired of this, Ron. She barely makes a move until she decides to run outside in the middle of the night.’

‘It’s not every night…’

‘Near enough,’ was the curt response.

‘Love…’

There was a sigh and a rustling of sheets as she curled away from him and lay her head back down. ‘It would be better if Harry took care of her. You know this isn’t a good place for her to be. It’s not a place for any of us.’

Ron regarded the still figure in silence for a few moments.

‘No, it isn’t. But Harry has problems of his own. And we won’t be here forever.’

‘Just go, Ron. It’s freezing out there.’

The kiss he placed to her cold cheek was felt but not responded to. Ron slipped a shirt over his head and set off downstairs. He didn’t bother to cast a light, the steps in the darkness had become routine.

She had already gone through the gate by the time the biting cold pierced his cheeks. Icy dew met his feet as he walked through the feral grass of the churchyard and he certainly wasn’t glad to see her kneeling in it, barely covered in a white nightgown.

‘Hello, love.’

Her soft voice rang out through the night air, as sharp as the sound of the church bell could, rolling off the unresponsive stone it was directed at. The usual temptation to allow her to talk to the night tore at him, but his sensibilities pushed him to speak.

‘Hermione…’

She dazedly craned her head round to look at him and smiled vaguely before turning back to gaze at the stone before her.

‘Hello, Ron.’

‘Don’t you think it’s time to go back to bed?’

‘Is it?’

‘You know it is.’

Her eyes lingered on the engraved words for a few seconds more before she turned on the grass to properly face him and offered her hand. He gently pulled her to her feet.

‘You’ve got grass stains all over you.’

‘It will all wash off,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry I woke you both.’

‘How do you know you didn’t just wake me up?’ He led her back to the garden, pushing the gate aside with his free hand.

‘I don’t always wake you up. She sometimes comes to get me.’

Ron glanced down at her and frowned a little. ‘We don’t mind it.’

‘Liar,’ Hermione murmured. They entered the kitchen and ascended the stairs.

‘Sorry.’

‘You don’t always have to bring me back. Really.’

The pair reached her bedroom door and exchanged a gentle goodnight before the door closed. Ron waited, listening intently until he could be sure she had returned to bed without anymore outside excursions. A weary yawn escaped him.

‘Someone will always have to bring you back, Hermione.’

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A/N: I haven’t actually posted anything in over a year now I think. Lot of things have happened in that time and lately I’ve been dealing with lots of personal issues and a horrible case of writer’s block. This one-shot is just to blow off a little steam and to try to defrost the writer’s block a little. I’m hoping to start writing properly again soon, but I think waiting for whatever the aftermath of Book VII is would be wise. I hope I don’t have a reason to dread who is to die in the final book…

The title comes from the lyrics to Vienna Teng's 'Momentum' which kind of spurred me to write something for once;

'The night's like coffee to my tongue, like waking up without a sound...I close my eyes to this decision.'

If you read this, please let me know what you think. Hopefully I’ll write something new and more in-depth soon.

DistinctVagueness