The air in the forest was cold and damp, the faint scent of moss and decaying leaves clinging to everything. Shadows danced across the clearing as the fire crackled weakly, its warmth doing little against the biting chill. The four of you had been on the run for weeks now, each day blending into the next as you searched for the horcruxes.

Ron sat across from you, poking at the fire with a stick, his face lit by the flickering flames. His jaw was set, a familiar tension there, but he caught your gaze and offered a small, weary smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to soften the heavy silence that had fallen over the camp.

Harry and Hermione were a little ways off, talking in hushed tones about their next move. You could feel the weight of everything—fear, uncertainty, and exhaustion—pressing down on all of you. But there was something about sitting here with Ron that made it all feel just a little more bearable.

“You alright?” Ron asked quietly, his voice breaking through the stillness. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he studied you with a concern that warmed you more than the fire ever could.