One Month After.

Harry stared down at the piece of parchment Hermione had set before him moments ago and attempted to gauge his own reaction - anger? No, not quite anger… but a steady hum of annoyance began to fill his ears and he looked back towards his friend for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes. Harry turned his gaze towards Ron, next to him, and felt marginally comforted by the confusion he saw reflected on his friends face. Harry looked back up at Hermione, who was pacing in front of the two, cutting a path through the small kitchen of the apartment she and Ron had recently leased.

"I don't understand," Harry said dumbly and Hermione sighed loudly.

"What's to not understand? It's all there. McGonagall and I have created an independent study course that will prepare the two of you for the Auror training program. It will fit everything that we should have learned during Seventh Year into the fall term. Spring term will be spent in revision for the N.E.W.T. examinations and preparation for entry at the Ministry," Hermione replied. Harry glanced back down at the schedule and frowned. Sure enough, Hermione had created an incredibly detailed schedule down to the minute - every moment of this theoretical Eighth Year was accounted for, even down to the -

"What's Remedial Therapeutics?" Harry asked, staring at the Wednesday block, 2:30 - 5:30 PM.

"Therapy. With McGonagall-"

"Therapy? I don't need therapy-" Harry began to argue but was cut off.

"Harry, please. We've all just survived a War that we were front and center in. All of us have been affected, all of us have been changed. You most of all. You need to talk to someone and McGonagall and I both agreed-"

"Hermione. I don't need therapy," Harry repeated through gritted teeth. He felt the heat rising up his neck and he pulled a deep breath in through his nose. The entire notion of an Eighth Year was ludicrous but the thought of Hermione discussing him with Professor McGonagall like he was a child infuriated him.

"Harry, we know that you don't sleep at night and when you do, you're having violent nightmares. You pull your wand out, ready to curse anything that startles you and-"

"Hermione, drop it," Ron said, finally speaking up. He glanced up at this girlfriend and frowned. "We just moved in and you want to go back to Hogwarts?" Harry blinked at the sound of hurt in his friend's voice and he stared at Hermione, suddenly feeling very protective over Ron.

"It's not like we're leaving it-"

"But we are," Ron said simply. "We just settled in. We're just starting to get some piece of normalcy back-"

"Ron, nothing has ever been normal for us… so how can we get it back? God, nothing has been normal since I turned eleven and found out that I was a witch. Nothing about this life is normal," she responded and Ron stared at her, the hurt framing every single line in his face.

"That may be true for you," he said softly. "But this is my life. This is all I've ever known and all I've wanted was to be with you and here we are, starting a life and now you want to end it."

"No," Hermione said and sat across from him, staring at him. "I'm trying to start our life together. We'll finish school and we can begin careers and make something of ourselves-"

"Hermione, we survived the War. We're already something and besides… I don't want to go back to Hogwarts. To do what? Pretend that nothing ever happened and carry on, learning Divination? It's bullshit. I don't want that. I don't even want to be an Auror," he admitted. Hermione blinked at him in confusion.

"That's all you've ever wanted-"

"Yeah, before. But things have changed. I've never been great at school and being an Auror was what all little kids wanted to be when they grew up. But I've grown up and I've seen the dark shit that I'd be fighting everyday." Ron shook his head and glared at the school schedule, pushing it away from him. "I don't want that. I appreciate that you took time and thought about what I may want, but it isn't this. I've had enough darkness to last me an entire lifetime."

"Then what do you want?" Hermione asked, staring down at her discarded schedule. Ron shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.

"Honestly? I have no idea. I'm only eighteen and I'll figure it out, but-"

"You and Harry can't spend the next year drinking yourselves into oblivion while under the pretense of trying to figure yourselves out," Hermione snapped and Harry felt a twinge of guilt at her accusation.

He and Ron had spent a better part of the last few weeks doing nothing but crawling between the various pubs in London, "celebrating" as they'd tell anyone who would listen. Celebrating their victory over the Dark Lord but in all honesty, Hermione was right about this one thing. The two of them had no idea what they were supposed to do now that the single goal - reason for living - for the past seven years had been accomplished… and while Harry believed that Ron was simply having fun, Harry was trying desperately to come to grips with his life. Harry had expected that he would suddenly be happy and content the moment the War was over and won, but his reality was far from that. Ron cleared his throat and Harry was ripped from his thoughts.

"We're just having some fun but honestly, George needs help with Wheezes and he's been asking me…" Ron glanced up at Hermione, hesitantly, as if afraid of her reaction. For her part, she merely stared at him.

"In what way would you be helping?"

Ron shrugged. "I suppose filling in, you know, where… George can't do the job of two people. He's my brother. He needs help… and that's what family is supposed to do."

"But would this be long term? Would you be co-owner? How would you be compensated for your time-"

"Christ, Hermione. He hasn't laid out a job offer for me-"

"Well, if this is going to be your career, you need to know the details," she replied coolly.

"Fred died, Hermione. My brother died. George lost his twin, his business partner. I don't want to be an Auror and I don't want to go back to fucking school," Ron snapped and pushed himself back from their small table, standing. "Come on, Harry. Let's go drink ourselves into oblivion," he said, staring at Hermione.

"Ronald. It is eleven in the morning," she snapped back and Ron shrugged. He grabbed his wallet from its place on the kitchen counter and shoved it deep into his back pocket, leaving their small apartment with a slam of the door. Hermione turned her eyes to Harry who merely sat, staring at her.

"Well," she said primly. "We have until August Fifteenth to decide."