𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

safe and sound (r.w)

Ron's position as an Auror keeps you up at night worrying for his safety.

Warnings: insomnia, anxiety

Word Count: 1 k

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The television played at a low hum as reporters recalled the events of that night. The muggles, of course, did not know the true reason for the gray skies they experienced at this time of the year. They seemed to blame it on global warming as their August air was ‌eerily cloudy and filled with fog. It left people locked up in their homes in fear of the harsh winds that swept the streets.

You knew, however, that there were wizards behind it. The daily prophet sat on your kitchen table, where you attempted to calm your bustling nerves. The paper highlighted the escape of former death-eaters, who now sought revenge for what had happened years ago.

It reminded you of your fifth year. One by one, Voldemort's followers had broken out of their cells — untouched and ready to conquer. But even with the Dark Lord gone, it seemed there were some who hoped to continue his legacy.

Your tea grew cold as steam no longer spewed from the mug. You were too busy letting your mind wander. In your tired state, it was easy to slip in and out of your thoughts — no matter how terrifying they might be.

It was nights like these that you wished he had chosen a different career path. Each day he stepped foot out that door he sent your worries alight. You had hoped that Voldemort's downfall would mean that the fight was over. But still, the love of your life was sent into the crossfires with his wand at the ready.

Each tick of the clock had your eyes darting across the room; every creek of the floors sent your heart rate ‌soaring. The whistling wind and thrashing of branches outside your home only heightened your fear.

The squeak of a door suddenly pulled you from your thoughts. The faint noise of feet padded across the wooden floors as the front door was quietly locked. But you paid this no attention, stumbling as you reached for your wand.

Your hand shook as you pointed it down the ‌dim hall, your seat at the kitchen table now abandoned. Instead, you stood cautiously behind your chair, failing to steady your racing heart as the figure drew closer.

"Love?" a gentle voice spoke. It was familiar — a sound that you knew and loved. But it didn't stop the violent tears that began to fall.

Ron didn't say anything more, opting to take you into his arms as he led you to the sofa. He felt his eyes well at the sound of your sobs, attempting to soothe them as he draped your favourite quilt across your back.

He felt the way you desperately clung to his t-shirt, your chest heaving as you choked on your cries. The muggles on t.v became nothing but white noise as Ron's arms anchored you to reality.

"I'm right here," he'd whisper, rubbing your back in a never-ending loop. He wanted to know — wanted you to open up so he could rid you of all your worries. But with one look around the room, it dawned on him just what had been ‌troubling you all this time.

"I scared you. Didn't I, my love?" he mumbled, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. You nodded from beneath his chin, now listening intently to the sound of his heart beat. It calmed you in the slightest, assuring you that he was safe and sound from beneath your shared blanket.

"Is this too much for you?"

It remained silent, the howling winds outdoors now heard once more. You resisted the urge to nod your head, holding your tongue in hopes that the words wouldn't slip out unwillingly.

"Fred and George need an extra hand at the shop," he began, rubbing circles across the span of your back. "I can always take them up on their offer."

"No," you whimpered, pulling your face away from its spot in his chest. He watched as you struggled with your words, giving you time to string them together.

"You've worked too hard," you began, feeling as fresh tears slid down your cheeks, "And you love your job!"

"I love you more," he insisted, pressing a kiss to the corner of your trembling lips. "I can't be the reason for your tears."

Guilty cries now left your throat as you pondered the idea. Ron had felt neglected all his life, living in the shadow of his adored siblings and best friends. But you remembered the smile he wore when he got his acceptance letter — to know that he was chosen above all others. His colleagues always spoke so highly of him, insisting that he was an exceptional asset to the team. And you never failed to ‌boast about his achievements to friends and family. He deserved the praise, after all. You couldn't bear to take that from him.

But you also knew that Ron prioritized his loved ones above all else.  He moved to the muggle world, for Merlin's sake, in hopes to protect his family back home.  But you didn't know what you would do with yourself if he continued to return home with a bruised eye and split lip.

"Will you be happy with the twins?" you whimpered, peering up at him with watery eyes.

"I'm happy as long as I have you."

His hand found its way into your hair, coaxing you to rest once more. Your head hit his chest like a pillow, finally feeling as the weight of your worries were washed away.

Ron sat up slowly, beginning to reach forward for the remote. He felt as you held on to him tighter, immediately curling back into your side.

"Don't worry about me, darling," he mumbled, pointing the remote control to the television while switching to a rerun of your favourite sitcom. "We'll get through this together."

Your shoulders relaxed as his arm curled around you, caging you safely into his warm embrace. And as the television played, tired chuckles emitting from the both of you, you drifted off to the comforting sound of his heartbeat; safe and sound as your worries slowly began to drift away.