Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter

Hopefully these will make for an ok read! Im really not sure, but i enjoyed writing them, so let me know what you think.

Ron Weasley sat alone on the cold stones paving the corridors of Hogwarts.

His arms across his knees, he was looking out into the night from a heavily broken piece of wall, somewhere up on the seventh floor. He felt a slight twinge of guilt, thinking on how he had made excuses to be away from his family for a bit. But, in all fairness, his family weren't exactly small... they could manage with each other for a little while without him.

His brother kept trying to barge his way into Ron's mind, (how typical,) but he didn't feel like he could quite manage that yet. To think about it, or indeed face it in any way, seemed beyond him. It was his fucking brother...how do you say goodbye to your brother? With a rather painful gulp, Ron cast his thoughts about rather desperately, trying to ignore the growing ache forming like a tumour in his stomach.

"Ron?"

His head swivelled round at the sound of her voice. He gave a little sigh of relief. Whatever he had been feeling, it no longer felt quite so bad.

"You're finally up, I see. Here was me thinking I'm the lazy one."

Hermione didn't quite smile, she instead lowered herself slowly to sit near by him, folding her legs neatly underneath her.

"You took out the plait, then?"

Hermione nodded, fingering freshly washed hair; she had a lovely smell around her. "Your sister cut my hair for me."

Ron took in how soft her hair looked, she had a slight fringe...it looked nice. "It looks good, actually. Who knew she had such talent. I'll have to get her to cut mine," Ron reached up to run his hand ruefully through the unfamiliar length of hair, not to mention the rather thick stubble he had across most of his face. He briefly had the urge to chuckle just slightly over Harry's attempt at a beard; it looked like fuzz.

"Where's Harry?"

"Fast asleep still. Or at least he was when I checked on him."

Ron snorted, "I suppose he did kill Voldemort... guess he'll be needing a bit of a break from dark wizards for a while."

Looking back at Hermione now, he took in the way she was looking at him. He couldn't quite grasp what it was, but there was something in her sad and sympathetic expression that sort of made him want to cry. Gulping painfully for a second time, he let his eyes move away from her face, examining the corridor around them.

"Have people started clearing up this place yet?"

"Not quite yet. Some people have, but I think people have mostly been resting today. Dealing with...things," her voice was quite soft, he noticed. Would she want to talk about it? Hermione often did. And often he liked that about her. But this was his brother...he didn't want to be bawling like a complete baby in front of her, which would come, he was sure. She had seen enough of how pathetic he could be without seeing that.

"So, what d'you reckon? You forgiven me yet?" Ron asked, grinning a little in the hope of lightening the mood.

He considered it a bold move bringing it up at all. She had, understandably he supposed, (sort of), been furious with him for quite some time. He'd never really had time to establish, what with breaking into Gringotts, wars across his school and other such mildly entertaining activities, whether she had accepted his apology. Now was as good a time as any.

Hermione wasn't answering, though, so he risked a look at her. He blinked.

Her lip was quivering slightly and her eyes were filled to the brim with moisture. He watched as one tear rolled slowly down her cheek.

"Hermi-"

"Ron, I forgive you," she interrupted firmly, "for future reference, though, I'd rather you be here than not. Don't ever do it again."

Lost for words, Ron simply nodded earnestly in agreement. Hermione nodded to herself once, took a deep shuddering breath and wiped her cheek. The tears didn't stop though.

Ron wanted to say something to her, comfort her somehow, but he something held him still. He just sat staring at her crying like some gormless idiot. She looked at him.

"Ron, I'm... I'm so sorry about Fred."

Ron swallowed the lump that had risen horrifically fast within his throat, and looked down at his hands.

"It's...It's fine."

One of Hermione's hands slid gently onto his arm and gripped tightly. Without thinking about that expression of hers, he automatically looked back up at her.

"I really am so so sorry," she whispered.

And there was something about the incredible amount of understanding in her look, the affection that seemed to melt whatever resolve he had to continue in not facing this. But suddenly, the idea of crying over Fred, his creative and hilarious and wonderful prick of a brother, didn't seem such a bad idea. He moved his legs out straight and wordlessly held out his hands. She took hold of them with a slight smile, sniffing rather adorably, and allowed herself to be pulled on to his lap. Hermione wrapped her arms completely round his neck, and cried into his shoulder. He held on to her tightly, almost laughing through his tears at the thought of Fred's expression if he could see how silly his little brother was being.