She had no where else to go.

Neither did Harry, in fairness, because Grimmauld Place was a mess.

But… that was Harry.

Harry was… Harry.

Ron's best mate.

Ginny's boyfriend.

The Boy Who Lived.

And quite frankly, he was also kind of a Weasley Family Project. They had those quiet conversations about him, whether he'd been eating enough, and how he was coping, and what they ought to do about the Dursleys, and how to make him feel like part of the family…

But she had a family.

In theory.

And she'd never been an abused child, and no-one had had to rescue her, and aside from needing somewhere to live at the moment, there really wasn't much she couldn't sort out herself.

She could move back into her parents' house. She knew she should. It was too crowded at the Burrow. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to contact the real estate agent to give the tenants notice to leave.

To live in that house without them…

There was a strange tightness in her chest these days.

It came and went and made it hard to breathe.

Probably something to do with grief.

And loneliness.

But she had her books, and that was the main thing. It was easy to stay out of everyone's way when you had books, and fortunately she had a lot of them.

And there were things she could do around the house to try to earn her keep a bit. Cleaning. Repairs. Organising schedules. Getting groceries. Hexing nosy reporters, that sort of thing.

And it was peaceful in the yard.

Somewhere she could cry without upsetting anyone.

Sunshine and tears…

The gentle breeze tossed the leaves above her, shaking shadows and dappled light across the grass, and the pages of her book, and the blanket she was sitting on, socked feet sticking out into a patch of sunlight.

It felt wrong to be so unhappy on such a beautiful day.

It felt selfish.

She wiped her eyes hastily as a long shadow stretched across her legs.

It wouldn't do for him to find her crying. It wasn't fair. He was the one who had lost a brother.

She tried to smile at him.

He looked so haunted these days. Grey shadowed, and bleak.

He just stood there for a moment, long limbs and ginger stubble, gazing down at her, eyes blue, so blue. And bloodshot. He wasn't sleeping well.

She couldn't speak. Couldn't manage to find the air, or the words, or anything to say.

"Just so you know," he said finally, voice scratchy with lack of use, "I adore you. I think you're brilliant."

It seemed insane. Could he have possibly said that? Of all the things she wanted to hear, had he actually said…?

He was still staring down at her, and he looked so sad.

"I thought you should know."

She managed to nod.

"So. You can stop hiding."

She shook her head, unable to articulate the confusion bubbling up.

"You're acting like you think you have to earn your place." He explained. "You don't. Everyone loves you. You're welcome here. Stop hiding."

Oh.

So he didn't mean.

Oh well.

She smiled a thank you, because she couldn't say it.

He paused for a moment.

"Ok. Well. I can see I'm interrupting your secret crying session, so…" He trailed off, eyes anxious… He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "Hermione, why won't you let me in?"

Tears streamed down her face, and she had to duck her head to hide them. He sounded so hurt and baffled.

"B-because I'm in love with you," the words came out with a rush, accidentally, like maybe that was what had been trapped in her chest, blocking her airway, "And that's not fair to you- when you're here, I can't- I can't-"

She was properly sobbing now. Not the feeble weeping of the past month. Proper, gulping, shuddering tears. She held her breath to make it stop and wiped her eyes.

He kicked his shoes off and sat down beside her on the blanket. The wrong way, one long leg bent up behind her back, the other leg slipped under her knees, and he'd taken away her book and pulled her in against his chest.

And he was kissing her temple and stroking her hair and cradling her in his arms.

"It's a good thing you're braver than me," he said, wiping away her tears and holding her tightly, "There's a lot of stuff I wish I could've said to people. I mean, one of us could've died, and then we'd never've known,"

"What?"

"Retrospectively, it's probably just as well," he said, snuggling her close, "If we'd been together last year who knows what that bloody locket might've done to us,"

"But you said- you said-"

"That I adore you. I do. I love you to bits. So much I can't breathe, sometimes."

She half-laughed and realised the tears had stopped.

She looked up at him, caught in those eyes again.

She sniffed.

"I must look hideous,"

"Nah,"

"I'm definitely blotchy,"

"Well, I need a shave. What's the problem?"

He was curled up around her, head ducked down close.

"You look like you're thinking about kissing me,"

"So, what if I am?" he was murmuring close to her ear.

"Well, go on then,"

That lopsided grin, the first time in months…

For a brief moment, all the sorrow and heartache lifted, and she was lost… drifting in a summer afternoon, with the breeze in her hair, and his hand on her face, and the warm dappled light painting patterns on everything.

"Oh, and just so you know," he said pulling away slightly, "We found them,"

"What?"

"Your parents," He grinned at her, "That's why I came out here in the first place. Their plane is due in this afternoon,"

"What?!"

"Yeah, I thought you'd be pleased. Embassy reversed the Obliviation, so they should recognise you,"

"WHAT?!"

"Dad wants to floo to Diagon Alley and then take the muggle train to the airport," he said grinning again, "He thinks he knows what he's doing, but I thought we'd better check with you first,"

"Ron!"

"Don't worry, Percy and George are going to go stay at Shell Cottage for a bit, so your mum and dad can stay with us 'til you get the house sorted."

She'd lost the power of speech again.

He grinned.

"You can bunk in with me if you like," he said, generously, "Of course, we'll have to kick Harry out, but he's been sneaking out to snog Ginny anyway-"

She made an impatient noise and kissed him soundly.