It had been a month since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the end of the school year was drawing near. Not that there had been much school going on recently- the building was practically ruined, and almost all of the surviving students had chosen to go home to recover. Only the remnants of the seventh year class remained, sleeping in tents set up in what had once been the Great Hall.
The building was destroyed almost beyond recognition by the end of the battle. The towers had fallen and the windowpanes were shattered and spread across the floors. The giant squid floated belly-up in the lake, its tentacles bobbing as the wind blew across the waters. The portraits were torn and bloodied, but their inhabitants were quite well. A large, empty canvas had been painted with a meadow scene, and Sir Cadogan had wasted no time in creating a refugee camp. Anyone who passed was subjected to a twenty minute lecture on the effectiveness of communal housing, and the benefits of sunshine on "the nethers." Most of the survivors avoided that painting like the plague.
Together, the students, teachers and house elves worked day and night to rebuild the castle. Those who could use magic did their best to levitate heavy bricks, repair broken furniture, and recast the enchantments that had been damaged during the fighting. Those who couldn't were given the unpleasant task of dealing with the many bodies that were found beneath the rubble.
Harry, Ron and Hermione had pitched their tent in the great hall, with the others. They shared their living space with George, Neville, Dean and Seamus, and the rest of the surviving members of the D.A. Ginny and Luna had been taken to the Weasley house by a grief stricken Mrs. Weasley, who wouldn't hear of them remaining at the school any longer. Although she wouldn't say it, she was clearly devastated by the death of Fred. According to the letters Harry received from her, she locked herself in the kitchen every day, scouring the pots and pans with her hands. She left her wand on the mantel, and seemed to vent her grief in the pure physicality of housework.
It bothered Ron to think of his mother so unhappy, but he shared her grief. He found that he couldn't go back to the place where most of his memories of Fred were anchored. The pain was too much. At least at Hogwarts, the halls and classrooms where they had lived together were blasted beyond recognition- he could rebuild them in any way he liked, erase Fred's image from his mind as he put the school back together.
And then there was Lupin. And Tonks. And little Colin Creevey. And Lavender. There were so many memories in those halls, so many screams still caught in the empty air. None of them had chosen to return as spirits- none of them would have. They were all too independent for that, he thought. And he was glad that they could move on to the "next great adventure," as Dumbledore had once called it. But sometimes he wished that he could have had another chance to say goodbye.
But there was still Harry, and he couldn't forget that. And most of his family had come out unharmed, and Hermione… he still couldn't believe that his fantasies had come true. Not that he had imagined kissing her in the Chamber of Secrets, but every night when he went to sleep under stars that were not magical, she was curled up in his arms. And she didn't mind it when he squeezed her tight, or when he woke up screaming and covered in sweat. She would only smile, and kiss his brow, and stroke his cheek as he drifted back into sleep.
Ron wondered if the thing they had could last. After all, they were best friends, and their love had become apparent in the strangest of situations. Sometimes he wondered if it had been a result of the stress and the grief, and if it might slip away as Hermione recovered. But when she kissed him, or when he sat next to her in silence, he could feel a tenderness that couldn't have been anything but genuine. And he wondered what would happen next.