Small Fires: A Bedtime Story for SoftObsidian74

5.

~ over the mountain ~



They spring into action at once.



“Take a right,” Hermione orders, moving faster than Harry ever gave her credit for. “Follow me. Up, up, up up.” She points as she keeps running, taking them away from the path of the landslide.



“We\'re supposed to be heading down,” Ron protests even as he follows her direction.



“The immediate goal is not to be crushed. Though if you want to head down in a pureed form, be my guest.”



They continue to run, and manage to narrowly escape the torrent of snow mixed with rocks and debris. A few stray rocks tumble down between the trees, and they duck out of the way. Hermione evades one of them, only to duck into the path of another one, bigger one.



Ron makes an enormous, inhuman leap for her, pushing her out of the way. Something cracks as he does, and to her horror she notices that the side of the rock crushes through his ankle. He makes no sound, but his face contorts with absolute agony.



The avalanche is over, and the three of them sit down on the ground. Ron\'s foot is at an awkward angle. He is hugging his body with his arms, rocking slightly, still making no sound at all.



“Is it broken or just twisted?” Harry asks. “If it\'s twisted, maybe we can pop the bone back in.”



“Let me see.” Hermione rolls up the hem of Ron\'s trouser leg, and reveals the damage. His ankle is bloodied and swollen. A hint of a broken bone is protruding from the wound.



Harry winces at the sight. Ron glares at him briefly and stares down.



“You should go,” Ron says quietly, firmly.



“We will,” Harry says. “As soon as we make you a cast, and...”



“No. No cast. I\'ll slow you down too much.”



“Don\'t be daft. We\'re almost there,” Harry says. “There\'s no need to be a hero.”



“That\'s right,” Hermione says softly. “We can make it together.”



“Not fast enough,” Ron continues to argue. “Leave me behind for now. Get to Tonks and Remus, then get one of their Thestrals to fly in and pick me up. This is the most logical choice.”



“We aren\'t leaving you, and that\'s final,” Harry says.



Ron\'s face grows darker. “I\'m giving you a direct order...”



Harry grins broadly. He saw that one coming. “Guess what? I don\'t give a fuck.”



Ron shakes his head. “I won\'t go.”



“Then we\'ll stay right here, and freeze to death together,” Hermione says quietly. “So what will it be, Ron?”



“I\'ll have you both court-martialed and sent off to Azkaban,” Ron threatens.



Hermione giggles irreverently. “Well, in order to do that, first you have to make it back to civilization, if I may use that word loosely.”



Harry pulls out his multi-blade knife and begins to chop at tree branches. Hermione takes off her jacket and sweater, removes her hooded shirt, and puts the sweater and the jacket back on. She uses her own knife to shred her shirt into long, thin strips of fabric.



Ron watches them numbly.



“You\'re both mental,” he says finally. “We\'re all gong to die.”



“But what a way to go, ey?” Harry says lightheartedly.



“Pointless,” Ron says. “Stupid.”



“Romantic,” Hermione counters. “Noble.”



“Human,” Harry says softly.



Harry walks up to them, handing four firm, long pieces of wood to Hermione. She lays them along Ron\'s leg, and proceeds to tie them to it with the long strips of fabric. Ron grunts quietly, and blood drains form his face, leaving his freckled cheeks unnaturally white.



“This may hurt,” Hermione says quietly, and rather needlessly, Harry thinks to himself. He crouches on the ground next to Ron and captures his mouth in a kiss. He half expects Ron to smack him, or push him away, but Ron simply kisses back, mindlessly and absently, as if he\'s beginning to drift, disassociating himself from the agony that must be gripping his leg, as Hermione continues to immobilize it.



“And we\'re done,” Hermione declares suddenly.



They grab Ron under the arms and lift him to his feet. He offers no protest this time, resigning himself to their choice.



“And now we walk,” Harry says.



Hermione leads the way again. Her hands are stained with Ron\'s blood. Her face is paler than ever, but she says nothing. She just walks.



Ron and Harry follow her slowly. Ron\'s arm is around him, and Harry is bearing Ron\'s weight on his shoulders. Harry\'s hand rests on Ron\'s lower back.



“See? Nothing to it,” Harry says softly. He tries not to pay attention to the fact that bright red color is beginning to spread through the makeshift bandage on Ron\'s ankle.



“It\'s a mistake,” Ron whispers grimly.



Harry shakes his head and they walk on.



It\'s not a mistake, he thinks. It\'s a choice. No matter what happens, he\'ll stand by it.



It takes them six hours to make their way down.



By the time they stand at the bottom of the hill, Ron\'s entire body is shaking, from pain and the loss of blood. Hermione turns around and stares at them. Her eyes are damp.



“Only five kilometers left,” she says. There\'s a note of apology in her voice.



The sky above them is already dark. It must be close to midnight.



“You could run ahead and call Remus and Tonks,” Ron says quietly.



“We aren\'t splitting up now,” Hermione snaps. “We\'re almost there. Walk.”



Ron nods slightly, and Harry gives his shoulder a tiny squeeze.



“You all right?” Harry asks.



Ron nods again mutely. He hisses slightly, and they begin to walk again. They walk slowly, heading down the narrow path that grows slightly wider, and slightly more beaten the longer they walk.



Hermione hums quietly as she continues to march on, gripping the map tightly. Harry watches her, loving her confident stride, her bushy, messy hair, the slight curve of her hips, the nervous twitching of her shoulders, and the gentle, soothing melody she\'s humming. He\'s loving hearing her voice. Loving looking at her. Loving her.



They are tired, starved. They look and feel much, much older than their twenty five. They stink of sweat, blood, earth, unnatural tiredness, and desperate sex. One of them is bleeding and injured.



Still, they\'re together. So, Harry reasons, it\'s not so bad.



They walk on, Ron making a conscious effort to pick up the pace. The trees grow more and more sparse, and a field opens before them. They finally see it, the tiny cabin, half-hidden by trees and bushes, shabby, decrepit, inconspicuous. But right now, it\'s the most welcome sight in the world.



Harry looks at it longingly, and his heart skips a beat.



Remus. Tonks.



Suddenly, Harry realizes something is amiss.



There\'s an unnatural silence surrounding the area. Hermione seems to realize that as well, as she turns around abruptly.



“Something\'s wrong,” she says in a weak voice.



Harry nods to her, and squints through his glasses, staring ahead. His eyes refocus, and he finally notices something in the field – a dark, skeletal black body lying on the ground, the leathery wing spanning a great area next to it. His eyes shift, and he sees another one. Then, another.



“The Thestrals,” Harry whispers, pointing. Hermione\'s gaze follows the direction of his hand and she issues a quiet gasp.



Ron wipes his face with his sleeve.



“I can\'t see,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “What about the Thestrals?”



Harry tries to keep his voice calm and neutral, as he says,



“They\'re dead.”



To Be Continued...