remedial-potions:

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***

with too many miles between us

Don’t open until you’re alone.

With a furtive glance down the Gryffindor table, Hermione carefully tucked the small parcel into her rucksack and straightened up just in time to keep nodding along to Ginny’s ramblings about Quidditch strategies. In the two months since she had been at Hogwarts, she had yet to receive such an ominous delivery from Ron. He sent letters almost daily, and could be known to send a tin of Mrs. Weasley’s homemade fudge from time to time, but never anything so secretive. Still, though, he wouldn’t have demanded secrecy if he didn’t feel it was absolutely necessary, so she simply heeded his words and turned back to her breakfast.

Naturally, the day that ensued was one of the busiest she’d had at Hogwarts all year. Between classes, prefect meetings and visits to the library, she had hardly a second to think, let alone a decent block of time to steal away and open the mystery parcel. By the time she dragged herself back to her dormitory, even Ginny had retired for the night. As she climbed into bed, Hermione determined that the curtains around her four-poster were the closest approximation to privacy that she was going to get – and even if they weren’t, she had run out of patience.

Carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, Hermione slid her thumb under the brown packing parchment, peeling away the Spellotape holding it shut. Into her lap fell a rectangular mirror about the size of her hand and another slip of parchment covered in Ron’s messy scrawl.

George and I have been working on the charm all summer and we finally got it right… just say my name into it and I’ll see you soon.

Heart suddenly racing, Hermione cast a quick Muffliato spell around her bed and, with trembling hands, held the mirror up in front of her face.

“Ron?”

The first glimpse of freckled skin and red hair made her stomach flip with excitement, and soon the mirror was filled with the image of his brightly smiling face.

“Hey,” he greeted her, the sound of his voice surrounding her like a warm, familiar blanket. “Oh my God, I’m so glad it worked-“ He cocked his head to the side- “where are you?”

“My bed,” she said softly, eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of him.

“Oooh,” he grinned. “It’s almost like I’m in the girls’ dorm.”

Hermione laughed and inched herself back so that she leaned against the headboard. “How did you do this?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, affecting modesty with a casual little shrug. “George is decent at inventive spells, I s’pose-“ He gave a joking little eye-roll- “and I figured, if Sirius and Harry’s dad could figure it out, so could we.”

“That’s amazing,” breathed Hermione, watching – she was watching him, she really couldn’t get past that – as the tips of his ears turned red.

“Why are you whispering?” he asked, mimicking her quiet tone.

“You’re the one who acted like this is top-secret business,” she teased him back, even though that wasn’t truly the reason she felt compelled to keep her voice down. Despite the physical distance, the moment felt quite intimate, and she felt she had to protect it somehow, as if it would shatter if she spoke too loudly.

“Well, maybe it is.”

“Where are you?” she changed tacks, finally noticing the late hour and the fact that she couldn’t see the retina-searing orange of his bedroom walls behind him.

“The shop,” and then the image in the mirror spun to reveal walls filled with Fanged Flyers, Extendable Ears, and Dungbombs. “Just finishing up some things with George, and then I’ll go home.” His face came back into view, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a wistful smile. “Damn.”

“What?”

His eyes flitted back and forth briefly as though checking that he was alone.

“I just can’t believe I’m looking at you right now.” His bottom lip slid between his teeth, and beneath his freckles, his skin had gone faintly pink, and this – this was what Hermione missed the most. All these little things about him that were so inherently Ron, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled and the low, affectionate timbre of his voice, she simply couldn’t get them from letters.

“I know, it’s brilliant – you’re brilliant,” she gushed, pleased to see the flush intensify in his cheeks. “Honestly, thank you for this.”

“I still miss you,” he admitted, “but it helps at least a little bit, right?”

“More than a little bit.”

Hermione hunkered down under the blankets and turned onto her side, still holding the mirror about a foot from her face. Lying like this, she could almost – almost– pretend that she was lying in Ron’s cozy twin bed at the Burrow, rather than alone in Gryffindor Tower.

“You getting tired?“

“No, no, I’m fine, just getting comfortable,” she tried to assure him even as a gargantuan yawn slipped out, betraying her.

“I know it’s late,” he continued, “but can we make this into a regular… y’know, date? A promise to talk at this time every night?”

“Yes, I’d love that.”

“Okay, well, then… see you tomorrow?”

Hermione didn’t bother to fight the smile that consumed her face.

“See you tomorrow.”

***

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