A/N: I think it's going to be my new thing to post fluffy and/or smutty bits of story closely following Thieves updates hah. This story was written based on a line from another one of my stories, which I have literally never done before...

This line, from my recent anniversary fic, Times Ten, has been rattling around inside my head:

"More than thirteen years since that first night after the end of the war, holding each other in small scraps of clothing as they cried until they fell asleep together."

And so, I've written that scene here. Hope you enjoy! x

Scraps

May 2nd, 1998

His feet were aching. He hadn't noticed, until the chaos had died down to a dull drone beneath his exhaustion, moments ago.

"Ron," she half whispered, half cried, as they ducked, holding hands, through the tapestry before the corridor that hid the final stairway up to Gryffindor Tower.

He turned, against the wall, as the tapestry fell back into place, hiding them away. He twisted her fingers gently in his own until she turned into him, resting her cheek against his chest as he dropped her hand completely to hold her around the shoulders. She shivered as she wrapped her own arms around his waist, and he brushed a bit of frizzy hair down from the top of her head, away from the ticklish skin under his chin.

His eyes welled with tears, the result of so many conflicting and overwhelming feelings. Hermione had kissed him today... He'd lost his brother today... They'd won a sodding war today.

He knew she felt it, too, this muddy confusion and sensitivity. Wherever she was touching him, he was surely on fire. His nerves remained on high alert, unable to come down from a night of fighting for their lives, expecting death around every corner.

She sniffed and lifted her head from his chest to look up into his eyes. He couldn't believe how close he was to her, how long she was remaining within the trembling circle of his arms.

"We need baths," she whispered, and she reached up, brushing her thumb along his jaw, to remove some unseen dust or dirt. Her touch was so very light, even against the roughness of his stubble, and he swallowed as he stared unblinkingly back into her soft eyes.

He tugged her around the waist, without a word, and she relinked her hand with his, silently agreeing to keep on walking. Just a little bit more.

He felt her dragging her feet up the last of the stairs, standing before the half-defeated, half-exhausted looking Fat Lady. She let them through with very little opposition, and they silently walked across the common room, all the way to the bottom of the stairs, before Ron paused to consider what came next.

He opened his mouth to ask a suddenly obviously and nearly embarrassing question, but she sensed him, as she had grown so good at doing, and she took away any need to be afraid...

"Do you want to be alone?" she asked, dropping his hand.

"Absolutely not," he replied, reaching for her again.

And they didn't need any more questions, because she tugged his fingers and led him up the stairs towards the boys' side, curving along as they ascended. She paused at the top, waiting for him to take the lead. And he did, turning left and entering the largest bathroom on the floor, closing and locking the door behind them as she removed her tattered jumper without waiting for words.

Her tiny threadbare shirt clung to her thin frame, ripped in several places to reveal scrapes and bruises underneath, simple, peeking glimpses of what needed time to heal. His body shook more than he would have liked as he removed his own blood stained jumper and shirt in one go, exposing his bare torso to her shifting eyes as he crossed the room to the showers, opening two curtains, side by side. She brushed past him, smiling gently up at him before entering the shower next to his, and he waited for her curtain to close and her shirt to make another appearance, off of her body and now being draped with her cold fingertips over the edge of her shower...

He felt lost, immediately, as the rest of her clothing joined her half-shredded shirt over the edge of the shower as she turned on the faucet. He could barely contain his strange reaction to their juxtaposition, so close but still so far apart from each other. He wanted to be able to see her, and not even because he'd spent so many nights fantasizing about what her naked body would look like... He wanted comfort only she could give, and somehow, he knew he'd get that very relief that he craved by touching her, because he knew she needed it, too.

It didn't matter much, because he could hardly stand, muscles so sore around weakened bones, and he undressed completely, still exposed to the possibility of her seeing him standing there. And he closed his own curtain haphazardly as he turned on the hot water, melting beneath such a simple pleasure. But as he closed his eyes, she made a sound, not unlike someone trying not to be overheard crying. And he pressed his forehead to the wall that separated them, eyes open, water cascading down his back, clinging to his eyelashes...

"You okay?" he asked the wall, his own voice almost unrecognizable to him.

"I know it's ridiculous," she said, in a minuscule voice, "but I already miss you."

His eyes slipped closed and he smiled, pressing a palm to the wall.

"Me, too," he said gently. "So, hurry up, because I want to say some things really quickly, face to face, and I'm not losing my nerve this time," and he tilted his head back into the shower, shaking side to side, hair suddenly soaked and clinging to the sides of his face. He lathered his hair and his body with soothingly familiar smelling dormitory soap, carefully wincing as he brushed his own hands over fresh wounds and bruises.

He heard her nervous sighing on the other side of the wall, and it inspired him, making it that much easier to face what he had to do next. He wanted nothing more than to be on the other side of this part, something still almost awkward in their changing relationship. But they had grown closer than so many lovers over these years. He knew her like he knew his own soul. And he was dead sure that she knew him even better than he knew himself...

"Hey, Hermione," he scratched, through the wall, blinking water out of his eyes, "do we have any clean clothes left?"

"I don't think I have anything that isn't either torn to bits or covered in several layers of dirt, actually," she said, muffled by the wall and the pattering of her shower and his. "You've got one shirt left, last I checked. It's not in great condition. It's that gray undershirt you wore mostly back at Grimmauld Place. And I think you've got clean underwear."

He grinned at the wall again and ran a hand through his hair to squeeze some of the water out before shutting off his faucet. He remembered his embarrassment when she'd packed his boxers before, but it was endearing now, thinking about how she'd taken care of everybody and everything.

"You can wear my shirt if you haven't got anything," he said, reaching a hand out into the void on the other side of his curtain, for the clean towels that always hung on hooks between each shower. Retrieving one, he dried his hair furiously as she shut off the water on her side.

"Then what will you wear? You shouldn't sleep in your dirty jumper," and he could almost see her, behind his own closed eyes, wrinkling her nose at the mere thought.

"I don't need a shirt. The Cannons might not win matches, but they know how to make a blanket. And I know that's clean. Haven't used it since we packed at Shell Cottage. Blimey, was that just yesterday morning?"

"Mmm, it was," she said, after a moment, stunned.

"Bloody hell, feels like weeks ago."

He tucked one end of his towel into itself, securing it around his waist, as his bare feet hit the dry tile on the other side of his curtain.

When she emerged a moment later, she was biting her lip, lost in some deep thought. And he tried not to be distracted by her body, naked beneath a simple towel, wrapped underneath her arms. He'd never seen her this unconcealed before, even in months of camping together. She'd dressed and re-emerged from baths without him even having the chance to consider the fact that she'd been naked, moments earlier.

He felt so close to abandoning all words completely, opting instead for the comfort of a warm bed and clean underwear. But he knew he had to tell her what he'd been thinking... he had to explain that if she spent the night in his arms, he'd be fucked if she ever stopped.

"Hermione," he started, throat going dry and feet going numb at the prospect of really, finally saying these words. "I've been in love with you for ages."

She tensed and froze, eyes wide and round as she stared up at him.

"I guess it's... kind of a shock, me saying that?" he said, almost nervously, as she refused to blink. "But only because I'm actually, finally, saying it, yeah? Think about it. You know I'm not good at hiding how I feel," and he shivered as formerly warm water cooled in droplets down his lanky body as he watched her eyes soften and fill with tears. "It was always going to be mental when one of us finally said something direct about this-" and he gestured between them. "You have to feel that. You do, don't you?"

He was grasping now for her words, because the further he went into admissions, the more unsure he became. What if he'd gone too far too fast? After all, she'd only just kissed him for the first time hours ago...

But she trembled all over, clutching her own towel more securely underneath her arms, and she glided up to him, closing any remaining distance both physically and mentally as she pressed her body against the front of his, unable to use her arms to properly hug him, surely for fear of losing the one article of semi-clothing that she had on her. She pressed her cheek tightly to his bare, wet chest, and she sobbed out a laugh, trying to bury herself within him. He ignored his own sagging towel and wrapped his arms quickly around her, squeezing her tightly as he closed his eyes, hipbones desperately trying to keep him vaguely clothed.

"Of course I do," she whispered, and he could distractingly feel her hot breath against his chest. It took him a moment to remember what she was responding to. "You r-really love me?"

"Of course I do," he echoed, sighing into her messy, wet hair. "You knew it, just a little bit, didn't you?"

"I hoped," she laughed. "I always hoped. But I was never completely sure. You might not have been good at hiding certain feelings, usually, but this... it was so easy to overthink it."

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head and sighed.

"Ron," she said, then, moving out of his embrace again, cheeks flushed and surprisingly streaked with tears. "I've been in love with you for ages, too."

He felt knocked off his feet for a moment, as if he'd forgotten the very basic fundamentals of how to stand and breathe, only balanced by the mere coincidence of having been stable before she spoke. A very slow grin broke out across his face, and she smiled back at his surprise.

"You see?" she laughed. "It's not so easy to be nonchalant when you're the one getting told..."

"Blimey..."

"And don't say you didn't have some idea..." she added, voice growing scratchy again as he blinked a few extra times to keep from tearing up.

"No, no," he sighed. "I... I, I don't know what I thought. I didn't think. I just... felt. And I knew I loved you. And... I hoped... I always hoped."

He had run out of words, just as they'd become fantastically unnecessary. Her eyes darted down, and she involuntarily licked her lips, and he felt too much air too low on his body. With a quick glance downward and a shift of his towel, he realized that a bit of ginger hair had been visible to her a moment ago. He felt an odd lack of embarrassment over knowing she'd seen him this way. Over being so close with so few barriers to shield them away from each other.

"This is perfect," he breathed, "but I don't think I can stand any longer."

He grinned lopsidedly at her and she grinned back, a shy little smile just for him. She crossed the room to her beaded bag, rummaging for his shirt, which she handed to him without a word.

"You take it," he instructed, tossing it back to her.

"Ron..."

"Not a fan of my pale freckled body?" he teased, almost stifling an actual yawn, which felt far too normal and nature to be real, at the moment... in the midst of so much surreality.

"Too much of a fan," she mumbled, rummaging in her bag again, perhaps for simple distraction. But he caught and clung to her words with a renewed bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Though things churned undelightfully as the weight of today threatened to descend down on him again.

She handed him a clean pair of boxers and he ducked back into his shower stall to switch his towel out for them. When he emerged again, he felt the odd exposure of nudity that he'd somehow been released from the chains of a moment ago. Why now? But perhaps it was because she was ducking her head, blushing, and going back into her own stall to change into his shirt... and what the fuck else?

His heart pounded, even through the fog of exhaustion. And when she emerged again, in only his shirt and a pair of burgundy knickers, just barely peeking out from the bottom, he found it impossible to swallow.

"In the interest of this new thing we're doing where we say direct things to each other, do you want me to get my own bed?" she said, so shyly that he felt his heart fluttering happily as she tugged at the button hem of his nearly see-through shirt, trying to stretch it past the tops of her thighs.

"Please don't," he requested, as he grinned yet again. And she laughed nervously as she passed him to retrieve her bag again, removing Ron's Cannons blanket as they set out for his old dormitory, which was surely empty today.

He followed her, trying not to stare blatantly down at her arse as she walked... trying not to notice the way his shirt brushed against the swell of her as she moved... And then they were at the last part, standing by the side of his bed. Feeling a combination of unreasonable exhaustion and bravery following his admissions of moments ago, he climbed in first, untucking his blankets and rolling onto his back. She followed him, moving delicately up the bed towards him.

Before she'd reached him, he reached for her, hands smoothing along her sides. He could suddenly feel the bare swell of the side of her right breast against his palm, through a hole in his shirt, as she practically crawled on top of him. Wrapping both of his arms securely around her, she collapsed against his chest, cuddling into him with each breath.

She was so warm and real and alive. His senses were still heightened, and his bare chest, though now dry, suddenly broke out into furious goose pimples, peppering his freckle enhanced skin with shivers. She slid her chest down his, diagonally, to retrieve their blankets, pulling them up over their bodies as she settled back half on top of him again. Her breasts were feathering against his bare chest. His chest hairs were standing on end. His heart was beating rapidly against her ear.

She eventually slid sideways off of him to gather her body up against his side, and he felt, so surely, the tips of her hardened nipples, through the thin shirt she was wearing, against his overly sensitive skin. He wrapped his left arm under and around her, palm lying flat against her back. And he sucked in each breath, exhaustion suddenly receding slightly into the background at all of the new sensations that were threatening to completely overwhelm him.

Their bare legs were tangled against each other, hers overlapping his as she settled towards peace. He wanted to join her, but he found his own head slipping down lower, gathering her up higher as he kissed the top of her head, through the hair just along the top of her forehead. She sighed and stretched an arm out across his bare torso, fingers burning his skin with pleasure as she held onto him. And he felt her kiss his chest, an inch from his left nipple.

But then, he felt her breath hitch in her throat, and the back of his own throat constricted against oncoming tears. Her muscles spasmed against his side as she sniffed back a wave of sobs, and he smoothed a hand down her back so gently, encouraging her to relax. And as his lips descended into her hair again, she broke down completely, crying against his skin as he clung tightly to her, trying desperately to get impossibly closer.

His own eyes burned until he'd broken with her, tears running down into her still-wet hair. He buried himself in her curls, fingers weaving up the back of her neck as his right side curved inward, allowing his whole right arm to circle her shivering back, underneath their blanket.

She tilted her head up, eyes closed as she cried, to press her face into his neck. And he rubbed his cheek soothingly against the top of her head as he closed his own eyes.

"We're okay," he whispered, because they were. Or at least they were going to be. And he felt her nod into his neck as he ran his fingers down her spine and back up again.

At last, she opened her eyes as she lifted her head to his pillow, lying on top of his left arm as he turned his head to meet her eyes, foreheads a breath apart. She blinked very slowly, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. And he raised his right hand from her back to her cheek, placing it there so carefully. She moved until her nose touched his and he had to sink into his pillow for her to move closer. But he wouldn't let her close the rest of the gap. Not this time. Not after she'd already gotten the thrill of going first.

He tilted his chin and angled his lips and he kissed her, his eyes fluttering shut at such a pleasurably light touch. They sighed out all the rest of their sadness, the world going quite still and silent around their kiss, nothing but their lips and the warmth of their entwined bodies to make any difference. He pulled back from his feather touch, and she smiled as she moved in for another try. He closed his eyes and smiled against her lips, increasing the pressure as he rounded his hand behind her head, drawing her that much closer.

When they parted again, it was to fan out across jaws and cheeks, whispering light kisses into each other's skin. He brushed her hair back from her face, kissed her swollen eyelids with his impossibly light touch, and she melted further into his own skin, index fingertip trickling down his cheek, along the curve of his jaw.

"Love you, don't forget," he almost-whispered as she nuzzled against his face, knees bending, drawing her legs between his as his hand slipped accidentally up under the hem of the shirt she was wearing... a hem which had found itself now halfway up her back anyway. His hand craved the heat of her body and he extended his fingers as he sighed at the sudden skin on skin contact, listening to her own echoing sigh.

"Mm, I love you, too," she fluttered, still recovering her breath from crying. Another series of tears slipped free, though he felt comforted by knowing they were not entirely unhappy tears. He brushed them easily away and pressed his forehead to hers as her body limped against his, finally embracing how tired they were and how much they had been through.

"Oh, fucking hell..." he breathed out, overcome by the most intensely pleasing sensations. "You feel incredible."

She made a giddy little sound before clamping her eyes shut, an inch away from his, and grinning before biting her lip.

"I'd shag you for surviving if I wasn't so exhausted," she said, eyes still closed as her cheeks flushed deeply. But... she couldn't have said what he'd heard her say, because... well, just because!

His right hand, formerly quite still and loose against her back, choked against her skin with an electric shock.

"Rain check?" he managed to ask, and she laughed, finally opening her eyes again.

"Mm hm," she nodded, her body moving against his in too many wonderful ways.

"You know I've never..." he started, but the words drifted off as he waited for her to understand his vague meaning.

"I'd guessed. Mostly, I'd hoped," she sighed. "So, that's very nice."

"I never wanted anyone else but you. Never," he admitted, moving his head back an inch to see her properly.

"Ron..." she nearly cried again, and his fingers found her cheek once more, tickling her soft skin. "Neither did I. The first time I ever though about... shagging anybody... it was only you."

"Bloody hell," he whispered, moving softly closer to kiss her again. It was just as light as before, but full of a lot more anticipation. And, strangely, that anticipation served to calm him enough to allow his eyelids to droop heavily down as their lips parted ways again. She resumed a comfortable position in the crook of his arm, half of her body overlapping his.

Her heartbeat was strong and comforting against his side, and he absentmindedly slid his hand up and down her bare back again, until her breathing had grown quite deep and slow.

"We're okay," she said, when he thought she'd drifted off to sleep. And he wasn't sure if she was echoing his words because she finally believed them, or if she wanted him to know that she was there for him, too. Either way, it was all he needed to fall through the barrier between consciousness and dreams, peace like he had never known before overtaking him as he exhaled.

They had so much life before them, and he could feel it in every touch and every glance now, charged with the knowledge that if he could see his heart's desires today, spelled out or pictured for his own eyes, they would look undeniably identical to what he already had. To her now-tranquil body wrapped up in his and a future that they'd share, every step of the way.