Four Days Later

For disclaimer: Sure I share a name with JK Rowling, but I am certainly not her, don't have her bank account, nor her poise in public speaking. Anything I write in her world is for fun, practice, and to get my own story telling skills back up to personal par. Plot lines might be mine, but the characters are hers for a really long time.

Ch. 1 Bushy Haired Know-it-alls

Ron sat on his bed, in his sleep trousers, looking out the window. He had another sleepless night, comforting Hermione and her nightmares. Another exhausting night hearing her crying and needing his company and comfort to sleep more than a few minutes before the screams started again. If anyone was haunted by the war, it was her. Ginny was smart, and found somewhere else to sleep. Harry also. Who knows where they were crashing every night.

Today was going to be brutal. Today was Fred's funeral. Ron wanted to run, avoid what was going to possibly happen. Duty and Obligation weren't enough to keep him here, in his room at 5am. Guilt held him fast like bars of iron. He was needed, for the first time in his life. Hermione needed him. His mum needed him. His sister needed him. His prat of a brother needed him. His broken brother needed him. Guilt and need held him more than anything else.

He stood up, and went to the window. It was still dusty in the crevices, and probably needed a washing and a coat of paint. He didn't care. The first vestiges of sunlight tickled the top of the trees out his window. The view out the window was what he wanted, and loathed.

The orchard on the edge of the property, protected by wards courtesy of Bill, Charlie, and Harry, would be Fred's final resting place. The family didn't need a spectacle of a funeral for Fred, unless it was courtesy of George. The protections on the property today would shield the family from the vultures known as the press. The massive Oak tree on the edge of the orchard would be a living Memorial for Fred. Like the tree, Fred was larger than life. Unlike Fred, the tree was still alive.

He stood there, his thoughts jumbled and contorted. He should have been miserable. He should have been upset. Instead, he thought of the bushy haired know it all who was now his girlfriend.

He needed her by his side, but his mother wouldn't hear of it. She said that unless you were married, sleeping together was scandalous. It didn't matter to Molly Weasley that the three of them slept in close quarters for months, hiding, running, and hunting. It was her home, her rules, and their choice to stay there. Two nights, and he was ready to sleep in the tent again. It didn't matter if Hermione was in his bed or not. He needed her close. He couldn't sleep without her soft snores, the occasional grunt from her, or even the restlessness of her tossing and turning. He told her that he would sleep on the floor, just to have them both close. Mum wouldn't hear of it for any reason. Her shrill castigation still rattled in his ears. So instead of by his side, she was in Ginny's room sleeping.

The door banged open, and there Mum stood looking haggard. "It's Hermione. I can't get her awake," was Molly said before racing back out the door. He had been expecting that, even this early in the morning. He was there consoling her two and three times a night.

His long strides easily caught up with her, running first into Ginny's room. Sure enough, Hermione was thrashing on the bed, wailing silently while wrestling in the sweat drenched sheets of the cramped camp bed. Molly was there, silently sobbing because she couldn't make the pain abate. Only Ron could chase away the nightmares.

"Hermione. I'm here. Please wake!"

Melted chocolate eyes opened, bloodshot and red rimmed. She froze, still gripped by the nightmare that just left. The haunting behind her eyes spoke volumes for Ron. Five weeks later, and he was still fighting the guilt of that night. This is why he needed to be by her side.

Emaciated arms slowly reached up to give him a place to hug. Not a second passed before the sobs started to soak his shirt. No words could convey the grief that gripped him. Her jumper slowly soaked up his tears.

He awoke to finding his girlfriend nestled in his arms on her cramped camp bed. His feet lay off the bed, giving her as much room as she needed. His shirt was still damp along with being twisted in her lightly ink stained fingers. She hadn't moved in the time she fell asleep in his arms. It was the only time she was peaceful in sleep. She is right, thought Ron. I do chase away the nightmares. She keeps mine away also.

He looked up from the tangled matting of brown hair to his father standing in the doorway. Ron shifted, but his dad's motion kept him still.

Arthur looked exhausted. His blue eyes were dull, enclosed in bruises under his eyes. He was dead on his feet in more ways than just one. Today was the only day he was going to be away from the Ministry and the rebuilding efforts. Every other day this week, he's been in before sunrise and home considerably later than dinner. He was unfortunately one of the few people that Shacklebolt trusted completely. Rebuilding was harder work than maintaining a status quo.

He slipped into the room, kneeling down to his youngest son's ear.

"Let her sleep. The funeral isn't until eleven. It's only half seven, so you have time. I'll bring you some bacon sandwiches in a minute."

Ron looked up, seeing his father fighting his own tears. 'Thanks' he mouthed and Arthur left the room.

He settled back into the creaky springs of the mattress, letting Hermione continue to sleep. Her hair was a mess, impulsively shorn off after the world changed. When she went into the lavatory for a shower after things settled down, she had a head full of singed, tangled irreparably bushy brown hair. When she came out a short time later, she was clean, dressed in clean yet grubby clothes, and sporting considerably shorter hair. "What happened to your hair?" Ron had asked.

"It was falling off in clumps, so I took a knife to it."

"Oh."

At first, he was disappointed. He loved her longer hair, even if she complained about it incessantly. He wanted many a time to run his fingers through it, feeling the plush feeling on his calloused fingers. The first time he touched her hair was when she was petrified their second year. That was also the first night that his best friend was in his thoughts in less than a best friend way. Confusion reigned for almost two years before he understood, if not completely. Now, years after the fact, her hair was one of his fantasies.

She snorted, and he tore himself out of his reverie. Those black walnut eyes were looking up at him from where she was curled into the crevice of his neck. "Hi." She couldn't do more than whisper. The pain on her face was evident, from the bruises around her eyes, the angry red line across her neck that peeked out from her sleep and sweat matted hair, the bloodshot eyes, and the frown lines creasing her eyes and succulent mouth.

He pulled her up onto his lanky chest, feeling the harsh lines under her shirt and jumper. His kiss was far from chaste, pouring everything he could from the last two days into it. He fought the fatigue, but his love for her was paramount. He was already stirring from slumber.

She broke the kiss, grinning like a girl with her first crush. Another kiss by her on his nose brought him to giggles as well.

"Morning. A girl could get used to this, waking up in her boyfriend's arms."

"Don't get too comfortable. Mum was in here a while ago checking on you, and so was Dad. I don't think they are happy with this arrangement."

She frowned, remembering back a couple of hours past to the nightmare that wouldn't let her go. "I woke the house again, didn't I?" She looked away from him.

He caressed her chin, making her look back up at him. "You did. Mum couldn't wake you no matter how she tried. She ran to get me and brought me down here. It took a little while, but you eventually fell back asleep."

"Did you sleep?"

"A little. Maybe an hour or two."

She looked away. "I'm sorry I keep waking you up."

He pulled her head back towards him, looking at her. "Don't be. You need me. I love you. Where else would I be?"

He watched as her lip quivered, and her eyes leaked yet again. "Tell me again, please!" she quietly begged.

"I love you, Hermione. You're it. No one else for me."

She leaned forward on his chest again. He felt the warm breath on his face along with the tickling of his subtle stubble on his upper lip. Their lips touched, heat with a promise of passion as the tip of her tongue tentatively caressed his lower lip.

"Uh huh," came a grunt from the hallway.

Ron panicked, and flung Hermione onto the bed while he fell onto the floor. His wand was in his hand in an instant, looking for the noise. He found brown eyes looking down at him, a hint of a smile across her lips. "Breakfast is ready. Come eat."

Long ginger tresses swung in the doorway before disappearing. 'Damn.' He thought.

He looked back up at the bed, finding Hermione cowering under the covers shuddering in fright.

"Shhhh. It's ok. I'm sorry. She just scared me."

The top of the covers motioned.

"Come on out. Let's go get some breakfast. I dunno about you, but I'm starving."

A soft chuckle emanated from under the covers. "You go. I'm going to get a shower."

"Save you some breakfast?"

"Sure. That'll be fine."

Ron pulled the duvet from over her head, hunting those warm chocolate eyes he loved. A kiss upon her lips, promising more eventually, was all he left her with. She watched him turn on his heels, then leave the room. 'That man is going to be the death of me.'

She cowered a little longer. Her wand hand shook holding the walnut dragon. Going from kissing him to banging her head on the wall when he threw her wasn't what she had in mind.

She sat up in the bed, letting the covers fall away from her body. She had every intention of a shower, but not breakfast. Food was the last thing she wanted.