Chapter Text
Author's Notes:
So we have the story I've been very on and off about posting, I'm not a Ron/Hermione fan by normal standards and honestly this is probably the most Romione thing I'll ever write, I was also writing this at the same time as 'The Map Never Lies' and 'Yule Ball Delight' so it's actually one of my older stories. It's also the second draft as the original was far more smut driven, this was actually suppose to be a LOT more light hearted in places similar enough to 'Magical Game Naked and Affraid" by benolr and whilst I still use an element or two from that story this became much more focused and plot driven than I had original intended.
This is also my longest story so if you don't like it I apologise as it'll be a while before we move on to my next one.
It had happened nearly a week ago now, Hermione Potter being the current deputy Minister of Magic had been invited to the international magical cruise that had many important individuals from all magical communities around the globe attending the exclusive party.
Originally she and Harry had been planning to attend together but sadly their oldest son James had come down with something and decided it was best for one of them to stay at home with the kids. Thankfully Hermione wasn't alone as their best friend Ron Weasley had been invited as well seeing as he was a Quidditch Player, not to mention his actions during the war.
She had been worried he might bring some date as he liked to do to these things but thankfully he had played stag and the two had been able to hang out together during the two day festivities on the, honestly it had been nice catching up in such a manor just the two of them, no kids or the 'famous trio' just two old friends who had been to hell and back together, it had been nice...until it wasn't.
It had happened so suddenly, a loud bang and the ship suddenly jolting, people and furniture being thrown around like a child's play set, then the attack happened, a terrorist group from another region hadn't been able to resist the temptation of attacking the ship with so many dignitaries and celebrities on board.
It had been a blood bath and Hermione found herself once again after years of peace fighting alongside her best friend, apparition and portkey wards blocking their exit they had little choice after all, Hermione wasn't as young as she used to be but she was still a decent fighter and had managed to subdue a few of the terrorist before something hit her in the back of the head knocking her unconscious.
The first thing she remembered seeing upon waking up was the beautiful ocean view on the warm sandy beach beneath her feet. Panic and fear began to set in as she turned to see the tropical island behind her, her fear wavering slightly as she spotted Ron carrying what looked like pieces of the ship.
After Ron had sat down with her they had talked about the event, Ron had already scouted the island and hadn't found any sign of civilization, sadly he also hadn't come across any survivors other than the two of them, a few suitcases and odd ends from the ship had washed ashore but much to her horror they had both lost their wands, without them they couldn't apparate back to England.
There had been one small light at the end of the tunnel, a few wands HAD washed up on shore, sadly none of them were a overly good match to either Hermione or Ron but they had at least found matches that worked to a degree, a drying spell here and fire spell there but certainly not a good enough match to apparate home with.
They had made a temporary shelter that she had thought wouldn't be needed long, surely help was coming right, sadly as the first few days passed by with no sign of help coming Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach more and more each day, her husband and kids were back in England probably thinking she had perished on the ship.
The one upside was they could wait it out as long as they needed to, the island seemed to have a ridiculous amount of fruit and berries scattered throughout so at least starving was off the radar, thankfully showing wasn't difficult thanks to the wands they had which also gave them unlimited drinking water but to be trapped here was proving to be a mental challenge for both of them.
The tropical sun beat down mercilessly as Hermione wiped sweat from her brow, watching Ron toss another log onto their growing pile. Seven days of salt-crusted clothes and makeshift shelters had worn her patience thin.
"Fine," she relented at last, her voice tight. "Build something proper. But keep it simple—just enough to last until rescue comes."
Ron exhaled sharply, relief flashing across his sunburned face. Without hesitation, he yanked his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, revealing toned shoulders and a chest dusted with freckles. Hermione’s gaze flickered away—too quickly—as he flexed his arms, rolling his neck before summoning one of the mismatched wands.
Three days passed in a blur of sweat and toil as Ron worked tirelessly to construct their new shelter. The structure, though mismatched and ramshackle, bore a resemblance to the Burrow, with its crooked chimney and uneven roof. Hermione watched from a distance, her admiration for Ron's ingenuity tempered by the growing sense of isolation. The shelter, while practical, served as a stark reminder of their prolonged stay on the island. As one week turned into two, the reality of their situation weighed heavily on both of them. The absence of rescue efforts and the dwindling hope of being found began to erode their spirits.
Hermione's hands trembled as she dragged another piece of driftwood across the hot sand, her bare feet leaving deep imprints. The midday sun burned the back of her neck where her messy bun had come loose, damp tendrils sticking to her skin.
Ron looked up from where he was weaving palm fronds, his tanned torso glistening with sweat. "What are you doing with that?"
"I'm building something," she snapped, her voice cracking with frustration. She dropped the wood with a thud, wiping her palms on her shorts—threadbare now from weeks of wear.
His brow furrowed. "A boat? Hermione, be serious—"
"I am serious!"
Hermione’s chest heaved as she glared at Ron, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. The driftwood lay between them like an accusation. Ron straightened slowly, his muscles tensing beneath his sun-bronzed skin.
"You think I don’t know how desperate this is?" she hissed, her voice trembling. "That I don’t lie awake every night wondering if Harry thinks we’re dead?"
Ron took a step closer, his bare feet sinking into the sand. The scent of salt and sweat clung to him, overwhelming in the thick island heat. His blue eyes darkened, flickering with something dangerous.
"Then stop pretending," he growled, closing the distance between them.
Ron’s breath was hot against her lips, his calloused fingers tightening around her wrist. The crash of waves filled the silence between them, their chests nearly touching. Hermione could smell the salt on his skin, the faint musk of sweat clinging to him after weeks under the relentless sun.
Her pulse roared in her ears as his other hand slid roughly into her tangled hair, tilting her face up. "You want to fight?" His voice was low, rough with something that made her stomach tighten. "Then fight me."
Hermione shoved against his chest, but he didn’t budge—just gripped her harder, his thumb brushing the frantic jump of her pulse.
Hermione’s palm cracked against Ron’s cheek with a sharp, stinging slap. The sound echoed across the beach, startling a flock of seabirds into flight. For a heartbeat, his grip on her wrist tightened—his breath hot, his pulse wild under her fingertips—before his fingers loosened.
Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes, spilling over as the anger drained from her body like a tide pulling back. A sob wrenched itself from her throat, and her knees buckled.
Ron caught her before she hit the sand, his strong arms wrapping around her trembling body. His calloused fingers dug into the damp fabric of her shirt as her sobs shook them both, her face pressing into the hollow of his throat where his pulse hammered against her lips. The salt of his sweat mixed with the salt of her tears, his breath ragged against her temple as he held her tighter.
One of his hands slid up her spine, rough palm pressing between her shoulder blades, while the other tangled in her tangled curls, gripping almost painfully. His chest heaved against hers, the heat of his skin searing through the thin, sun-bleached cotton of her top.
Ron held her as she shattered in his arms, her body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear from somewhere deep and broken inside her. His fingers pressed into the sweat-damp fabric of her shirt, anchoring her as she gasped Harry’s name between ragged breaths, then James’s, then Sirius’s—each syllable a fresh wound. Her nails dug into his shoulders, clinging like she might drown if she let go.
The sun beat down on them, relentless, as her tears streaked through the salt and grime on his collarbone.
Ron’s grip on her tightened as Hermione’s sobs subsided into shuddering breaths.
Hermione’s breaths slowed as Ron held her, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the emptiness inside her. She pulled back slightly, her face streaked with tears and sand, her eyes red-rimmed. Ron’s jaw was marked with a faint slap, but his expression was soft, concerned. He wiped a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle now.
“We need to talk,” Hermione said, her voice hoarse. She sat down on the sand, pulling her knees to her chest.
Notes:
Monday updates as per usual, I hope you guys enjoy it and I'll see you next week.