Written for the HP Canon Fest 2011 with the prompt "If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it,", from Wuthering Heights.

Many, many thanks to Shannon for correcting, suggesting and doing everything that needed to be done to make this decent; to Mely for the constant support, love and ideas and to the anonymous prompt provider for being awesome. And, of course, to you, if you stick to this long story until the very end ;)

Dessi

Extra warning: This story contains heated but not really sexual situations.
Disclaimer: Characters and publicly recognizable settings belong to JK Rowling and are not mine, sadly. But let's play along and say they are ;)

Numbing the pain

When the battle ended, we thought it would all end. We thought we could put everything behind and start over. We thought it meant complete happiness.

It was more difficult than that.

There were things that would never leave us, scars that would never fade. We would always feel helpless about them.

Right after it ended, and we found ourselves alone in Gryffindor Tower, Ron and I climbed up on a bed — his bed or whoever's, it didn't matter — and he hugged me as I fell asleep wrapped in his arms. And all I knew was that it was going to be all right.

I had no dreams. But I didn't sleep for too long, although I had thought that, once we touched a bed, we would sleep for days. Ron was already gone, and I hurried downstairs to the Great Hall. There were fewer people than before, and Healers were taking the bodies of the fallen to St. Mungo's.

My throat constricted as I asked Professor Flitwick if he had seen Ron. He said Madam Pomfrey was tending patients in the hospital wing and that I should check there.

He was standing almost at the end of the room, still and silent as the nurse healed most of his many wounds... at least the visible ones. I wanted nothing more than to run to him and bury my face in his chest again, but once he was healed, he stayed there. He didn't seem to see me or anybody else.

I wondered where Molly, Arthur, and the rest of the Weasleys were.

His parents.

Parents.

I suddenly thought of my own, and my heart sank.

I knocked at the door I had been pointed to and waited. I didn't know how I was going to react, how she was going to react, when we saw each other face to face. She had left, and although I knew why, it still hurt.

My brother's funeral had been two days ago. Fred would have hated it; aside from the fact that it meant he was dead, he would have hated it because it had been dreadful.

The only part that hadn't been dreadful was having Hermione there with me.

Until she left.

I knew that, as I needed my family, she needed hers, needed to find them and make sure they were alive, but I hadn't expected to find her gone with only a note to explain that she had gone, that she had wanted to go without me...

The door in front of me opened, and there she stood.

'Ron,' she said and stepped forward to hug me.

As we embraced, I felt relieved, grateful to finally be able do that.

We parted and I looked at her. She didn't look as if she had been crying even though she looked far from happy, and the lack of tears struck me as odd.

'What are you doing here?'

I entered to her room after her, and we sat on the edge of the double bed.

'I came to help.' It was difficult keeping the frustration out of my voice and not asking straight away why she had left without so much as a word.

'You should be with your family, Ron,' she said pleadingly, sounding somewhat ashamed. 'That's why I didn't tell you that I was coming, why I didn't ask you to come with me—'

'My family is big. We lean on each other. You're looking for your family, Hermione, and you have no one else.'

'I came with an Auror, actually.'

'I mean you have no one to lean on. Lean on me. Please.'

Hermione bit her lip and looked down.

'Of course.'

She reached for my hand.

'I'm really sorry, Ron. I should have been there. I should have waited...'

'It's okay.'

She must have sensed the bitterness in my voice: bitterness that wasn't only because she hadn't been there, but also how wrong it all had been since the funeral: Mum crying, George not wanting to leave the graveyard or his flat, the memories my brother's death playing all over in my head in a never-ending loop.

'Are you staying with me?'

I looked up at her. Her expression wasn't one of concern; it was more longing.

'If you don't mind; I didn't bring much money.'

'We won't stay here long. My escort feels uncomfortable because she's not able to do magic whenever she wants. We'll be moving to a little town, to a wizarding hostel.'

'Any hints of where they might be?'

She shook her head.

'It doesn't matter. We'll find them.'

Carefully, I let my arms snake around her and pulled her toward me.

'Honestly, I didn't know you could drive, Hermione.'

I knew. It was about one of the last things my dad and I had done together, getting my license, as I had just confessed to Ron. He had started giving me driving lessons a year before, so after returning home, he made me practise, and I was ready. I thought that it could come in handy, just in case, during our year on the run.

'It's not that hard,' I replied.

'If you say so. But why not Apparate and be done with it?'

He couldn't understand it. I hadn't told anybody that I hadn't used a wand since the end of the war. The only wand in my possession was the one Harry had stolen, the wand that had tortured me and whose owner still haunted me at night. I simply couldn't use it in the most literal sense. Any spell I tried when I no longer needed it to fight for my life came out weak and useless, and I was afraid. Was it the wand or something else that blocked my magic?

'Hermione.'

I looked away from the rural road and to him without fear of colliding into anybody. The countryside of the City of Ballarat, where we were, did not appear very busy after lunchtime.

'What?'

'I haven't seen you using your wand.'

'It's not my wand,' I said, somehow bitterly and annoyed.

'You know what I mean. I can't remember the last time I saw you doing magic,' he said, and his concerned expression was so determined that my reproachful frown didn't soften him. 'Have you used magic at all during the past days?'

'Yes.'

'That's funny, because I've talked to Morgaine before she left us, and she said that she hasn't seen you carrying a wand.'

'What's wrong with that?' I spat. It was none of his business after all.

'It's wrong because it's you, Hermione. You're never without a wand. I want to know why.'

'It's nothing, Ron!'

My eyes were focused again on the bucolic landscape ahead of us.

'You can't think you're the only one who's having a hard time, Hermione. You can't believe you're the one who's taking all the shit here!'

'I don't...' I started, alarmed. Of course I knew they all had their own issues, that Ron had lost a brother, for goodness' sake, but I didn't want to talk, adding more things to worry about to his already heavy soul.

Without further notice, he turned the steering wheel to the right, making the car take a sideway road, and I had to brake sharply before we landed in the muddy ditch.

'Are you trying to kill us?'

I was ready to kill him myself. Ignoring me, he snatched the car keys from the ignition and faced me.

'You bloody idiot, did you come here only to pester me and tell me what to do? You have no right, Ron! Give me back the keys right now!'

I didn't know why, but I had an urge to provoke him, to insult him, and make him react, to take him out of that state he was in, where he would only stare at me and stay silent, accusingly, so unlike him. In a second, I felt blinded, insensitive to his feelings and his own worries. Everything I had cared about minutes ago was leaving me and I stayed there with nothing but deaf anger emanating from me like scorching steam.

'I don't need you to take care of me, Ron! You know nothing, and you can't tell me what I can or cannot do! You can barely do something for yourself, handle your own stuff, and you're trying to make me deal with all of mine? You're a hypocrite!'

The only change operated in him was a deepening of his frown, but otherwise, he remained as unmoving as a rock. Frustrated, I tried to hit him hard on a shoulder, but, quicker than I had thought, he caught my closed fists in mid-air and pulled me toward him.

In a moment, all I knew was that the outside world had dissolved and Ron was the only thing that remained. The few kisses we had shared in the past days suddenly meant nothing, couldn't compare to the way we were kissing, the way his tongue was exploring mine, the way I was biting into his lower lip and how neither of us cared when we tasted blood. His fingers were digging into the skin of my back so hard that I thought he could break a couple of ribs, and I felt a few of his hairs abandoning his scalp as I threaded my fingers on the back of his head.

Somehow, barely noticing the change, I found myself squashed against the back seat of the car, my legs tightly wrapped against Ron's hips and he bending over me so as not to bump his head against the roof. There was a desperate need in me, and there was a desperate need in him.

When I clung onto him, nothing else mattered or even existed. It never occurred to me that we were being reckless, that we were in a car on the road, with no idyllic rain falling outside to shield us from sight, that there were actually fines for doing things like this. That we were barely eighteen or that I had always been insecure of my body or that this wasn't romantic at all... that it was far from romantic and loving. While I loved him, and I knew he must have loved me too, there was nothing gentle in the way we snogged and touched, and bit and clawed. It was probably too much, after having barely kissed a couple of times, sweet and gentle touching of lips. But my soul and my skin felt numb.

I pulled Ron toward me as I lay on my back, hearing his rasping groans as he released my mouth to recover his breath. He came back to me, forgetting about my lips in search of new horizons. The juncture of my collarbone seemed to draw his attention, for he sucked and peppered kisses on that spot, truly making my heart jump into my throat.

His hands had started an exploration of their own as well while mine were still clutching at a handful of his tee. He had unceremoniously torn open my shirt (I thought I heard the softest noise of a button hitting a solid surface), not completely but enough for my cotton bra to come in sight, and his hand was pressing hard enough as to almost hurt me. The pain was cleansing. It was only there when I felt suddenly aware of the war that had ended and how both of us were alive.

I pushed my knees up and wrapped him with my legs again, feeling his backside with my feet. Our hips joined while my tongue grazed on the skin of his neck amidst my open kisses. His fingers found their way to my thighs under my shorts, leaving a trace of fire on their wake. I couldn't have said how much time had passed since our quarrel had transmuted into something else, but, in the distance, we both heard the whooshing sound of a truck on the main road, pulling us back to reality.

Trying to pretend as if nothing had broken into the sounds coming from us, I pulled Ron toward me again, but he turned his head away and detached my hands from the waistband of his jeans, pulling them over my head.

'What are you doing?' I demanded, angrily.

He didn't answer; in fact I could only see a side of his face, as the part of his body I had been more aware of was starting to relax.

I tugged to free my hands; I wanted to break away from him and hide. But Ron did not seem to understand because he held me tighter and said hoarsely, 'No, Hermione!'

'Let me go, you oaf!' I said weakly. I must have shaken him with that; he released me and slumped against the seat as I got out of the car.

Anger and shame rushed to my face, my neck, my chest and my hands under the form of nasty heat waves that the weather did nothing to relieve. I leaned back against the car bonnet, fixing my clothes and steadying myself for what was surely coming: an explanation. Except that I didn't know what to say. I didn't have the answers this time. And yet he came. I heard the door closing and his muffled footsteps, and I looked away.

'Please, go. Apparate to the hotel.'

He acted as if he hadn't heard me, standing almost in front of me.

'Hermione...'

'Don't. I need a minute... Please go. Go, Ron!'

I knew it wasn't on me to be rude to him. It had been all my fault, but I couldn't even look at him in the eye, so why would he insist.

Without saying anything else, without touching me or giving me a second glance, he took a couple of steps away and turned on the spot with a familiar noise.

I barely noticed when the warm bullet-sized drops started to fall at last.

The shabby pub round the corner from our hostel appealed to me better than our room as a place to recollect my own thoughts and to give Hermione some space after what had happened, whenever she decided to come back. I returned after two hours to find Hermione lying on the covers of her bed, asleep. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a bathrobe. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to roll her over. Had she been waiting for me? Moving my hand as carefully as my mother had once told me when I was little and one of my gobstones had landed dangerously close to a china vase at Aunt Muriel's, I pushed a dishevelled curl from her forehead, holding my breath. All things considered, I didn't know if she'd appreciate physical contact for a while.

Gasping slightly, Hermione opened her eyes and jumped up.

'Sorry!'

'I—it's fine, I shouldn't—I didn't mean to fall asleep.'

She dabbed her eyes as I said, 'I think we should ta—' but she cut me off in apparent exasperation.

'Is it really that hard to understand that I don't want to talk about this right now?'

'I know that, but I've been trying to figure it out and it wasn't that bad—'

'It wasn't that bad? Really, did you enjoy it?'

'I mean, we've done worse, don't you think?'

As she kept shooting daggers at me, I tried to kill it with a less serious tone. I wasn't one to lectures, after all.

'You kissed me in the middle of a battle; that was completely out of place.'

I knew I had said the wrong thing the minute the last word was out of my mouth.

'Great, Ron, thanks a lot! But you're right, it's all my fault, and I regret it—'

'Well, I don't!'

Damned my luck, I wish I would have had that third Muggle beer, after all.

'I don't regret that you kissed me, and I wouldn't have regretted it if we hadn't stopped earlier, except that we weren't being ourselves!'

'So you think you did the right thing?' She wasn't looking at me, but her eyes were cast down upon the carpet.

'I want to believe so.'

'But I don't, because if you had done the right thing, I wouldn't feel humiliated and as if I could barely look at you, Ron!'

She was glaring openly at me now, but again, I saw no tears brimming in her eyes. It wasn't as if I liked seeing her crying; it broke my heart every bloody time, especially knowing that it was because of me. Still, something had to have changed to make the emotional Hermione I knew this... dry.

'You're glaring at me, that's close to looking,' I said with a half smile, hoping I wasn't screwing it again with my big mouth. She yelped, a frustrated, angry noise, as she hid her face in her hands. Catching me off guard, she threw a small book that had been resting on the night stand; it hit me on the shoulder before falling to the floor with a thud. The fury flare again, and I didn't know what to do, again. I glanced briefly at the book on the floor; it was a worn little copy I had seen her reading during the time I had been there: 'Wuthering Heights.'

Hermione was still looking at me, almost expectantly, when I raised my eyes. My face went red as I measured my next words.

'I've learnt as much as to know that it would have hurt a lot worse if we've done it that way.' She raised an eyebrow, although she was red, too. 'I mean, because we—we weren't ready. And being the first time... you know... We didn't do anything, and still my back stings like hell...'

That was as far as I could go without stumbling over my words.

'I was thinking before. Trying to figure out things.' I cleared my throat and slid closer to her on the bed. 'Harry said to me, before I came here, that Dumbledore...' I racked my brains for the exact words. 'He told him once that numbing the pain for a while would make it worse when you finally feel it, or something like that. I think that''s what you—what we—have been doing.'

'Numbing the pain?' I knew she was actually showing curiosity considering I was quoting Dumbledore himself and that it came out naturally, but her tone was getting on my nerves.

'Could you please stop barking at me? I haven't done anything wrong, for the record.'

'Sorry,' she said, looking a little resentful at my harsh tone. 'But I'm not in pain. I'm fine. You are the one who is in pain, and refusing to open up.'

'I'm not in pain!' I said, somewhat outraged.

'Then you're holding it back, Ron. You have to be in pain, even if you don't admit it. Your brother is dead!' Hermione finally said, as if it was breaking news to me. She stood up and began wandering about the room.

Of course I knew Fred was dead. I had practically watched him die in front of me, incapable of doing anything; I had seen his lifeless body being swallowed by the earth barely four days ago. But I didn't think I was in pain. I felt nothing.

I was numbing it, too, and my own words—Dumbledore's words, blimey—echoed in my head. I wasn't making any sense.

'Look...' After that dawning realisation, I lost it. I didn't know what I had concluded in the pub or what I was going to say before. I just knew that I was in pain, and couldn't release it.

'We need to talk. About... about everything. Ron, I...' Hermione began to tremble, and I jumped up, fearful. 'I can't stand it. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I don't seem to even breathe properly!'

She fell into my arms and I sat us both on the bed, hugging her as tightly as I could without hurting her. The tears were still refusing to come for either of us; it was as if we had to pick what was left of us before being able of gloating morbidly over an open misery.

As I rubbed up and down her forearm, I noticed the book again, thinking I had no idea what 'wuthering' meant.

I woke up to the ungentle sound of a door slamming shut. Ron was standing at the entrance of the room, holding a tray with what seemed to be supper for both of us, and he grimaced after the noise.

'Sorry,' he mumbled when he caught my eye. Handing me the tray, he strode toward the window and closed it. The earlier summer storm had brought a cool breeze, one of those that relieves people's spirits and makes things fly.

'I got us some kiwi juice,' he said, rolling his eyes as he sat in front of me on the bed.

'What time is it?'

'Around seven.'

'Did you fall asleep, too?'

'Yeah, until my stomach started to complain.' He grinned at me, already nibbling on a sausage roll. I smiled back a little timidly. Our conversation was etched on my brain, and it was clear that at some point we would really have to talk. I honestly didn't know if he would still be up for it, no matter his good intentions. Ron talking about his feelings, romantic or not, wasn't very likely, but I didn't know what kind of conversation he was expecting, actually.

He was staring at me again between bites. I didn't think he even realised, and that bothered me. It was an almost worried look, as if I had some kind of disease I didn't know about, or as if I was about to hit him and start yelling again, which wasn't at all unfounded, since that was what I had been doing all day. I grabbed a cheese sandwich that tasted like marmite and tried to ignore the voice that kept telling me to hide away from him until I could look at him properly again.

'I think we should go to Adelaide tomorrow,' Ron said, matter-of-factly. 'We've already checked the biggest cities in this state; I reckon we'll find your parents' whereabouts without necessarily going from town to town.'

My parents, right. For a couple of hours, my mind had managed to forget of the real reason why I was miles away from home.

'All right. We're in for a long drive, then; we should get going as early as—'

'No,' he said firmly. 'We're Apparating, Hermione.' As I began to protest, he cut me off. 'Cars use fuel, and if we plan on travelling around the country, we'll run out of money before we bloody know it!'

'I can't.'

'You have to tell me why!'

I stared at the greenish contents in my glass.

'I can't do magic.'

He left his own glass on the tray and put the remains of our dinner on the floor, waiting for me to go on. I took a deep breath.

'Since I got here, I haven't been able to perform a single spell. It's worse than when Harry tried to use that wand you got... This is her wand—'

'Was,' he corrected me. 'Harry took it, and he gave it willingly to you. That makes you the keeper—'

'Still... it's got all of her hatred... all of her dark magic imbibed, and it's as if it was blocked to me now.'

'But you've used it since we were at Shell Cottage and not only for simple spells. Through Gringotts and through the battle, that's the only wand you had and it worked all right,' he tried reasoning.

'I was fighting for my life back then. For our lives. And at Shell Cottage... Well, it all felt like a nightmare, a really vivid one, but still a dream I thought I could wake up from when everything was over. I was aware of the damage that wand had caused to me and many others, but I knew it was still a tool. Remember what I've always said? The magic comes from the wizard, not the wand? I had trouble, but I still held on to it.'

'You mean you don't anymore?' he asked carefully. I shook my head.

'I know it's true, even with what Harry told us about wands imbibing their owners' powers. But I... I feel as if this—this disgusting thing—as if it's an extension of her remaining here to torture me!'

I began to sob earnestly, and I found myself crushed against his chest again. There were tears now... I couldn't remember the last time I had cried in the past days. The tension in my throat somewhat loosened as the salty stream ran freely down my face, and I heard Ron whispering something like, 'You're crying,' but it could have been, 'Don't cry,' since my sobs had increased.

'Have you tried a different wand?' he suggested softly when we separated.

'I don't have another wand.'

'I mean somebody else's. Why don't you try with mine?'

I waited until my hiccups were almost gone to speak again, noticing the panic in my own words.

'What if it isn't the wand? What if it's me?'

'It's not you—'

'You don't know!'

Ariana Dumbledore's image appeared in my mind. It was true I felt fearful of the wand, but I had tried, I really had, on my first day here. It had been pointless, like pumping water out of an empty well.

'We won't ever find out if you don't try.'

Ron took my hands and brushed a large thumb over them. I looked up at him. There were still sadness and exhaustion in his eyes, but his smile was warm and reminded me of the Ron I had met at Hogwarts, the one who had hardly displayed more emotions than joy about Quidditch and disgust about homework but who, when he felt something strongly, you knew it was a big deal.

'Can we... can we wait for that? I could side-long Apparate with you... as long as you don't splinch me,' I suggested, and he nodded, smiling even wider.

My lips turned into a real smile, too, as his grin became laughter. When it died, I raised a hand, with one of his still covering it, and cupped his face lightly, feeling my heart clenching again.

'I'm sorry about before. It was stupid. I wasn't thinking clearly—or at all—and I went overboard—'

'Don't blame it on yourself.' He removed my hand and looked away. 'It's not as if I backed away. I was the one who kissed you and pulled you to the back seat, remember?'

It was small comfort, though, and thinking about how close we had been that afternoon made me aware that I was in my underwear under the towel robe since my clothes had been soaked when I had arrived to the hostel.

'Well, an early start would be the best, Apparition or not,' I piped up, jumping to my feet and wiping away the remnants of tears on my cheeks. 'We should finish eating and go to sleep.'

Ron stood up, too. I had to resist my desire to kiss him again and struggled for a moment before turning to the bathroom. If I continued to ruin things like that, we both could end up as lonely as ever.

'Hey, cheer up.'

We were sitting by a lake on the Mount Lofty Ranges, near Adelaide, after spending the day in erratic search. The sunset light caught on some strands of brown hair, making them look golden, but I was more concerned about the way her tears shone too.

'I don't think I'll ever find them, Ron,' she whispered.

'Don't think that way... We will. We—'

But I had no material proof of that I was right. I had no facts, no logic to show her that we would, and I had repeated that we would find her parents so many times over the past days that I didn't know if she still believed me.

'I promise.'

She cried harder. The previous afternoon, I had felt relieved when she started crying. I wanted to know that she could cry; now I wanted her to stop. I could hardly bear the sight without breaking inside.

'We're only starting,' I said softer. 'There's still a lot of country to check before giving up, don't you think? C'mon...'

'You've got that right, but what if they're not here? They could have moved or be on holiday or they could have been found... They might not be together anymore. It's not so simple, Ron, when I did it...'

Hermione bit her lip, trying to contain the flood in her eyes with her small knuckle.

'You were trying to save them. Don't think about this anymore.'

There was something I could do to distract her, and me, from our failed search... only she wasn't going to like it. Besides, I wasn't sure about it at all. I tried to convince myself that it was nothing, but if her suspicion was right that she really couldn't do magic, and I had dragged her into this... I would never be able to forgive myself if I had to stand there and do nothing.

'We better go back to the hostel, it'd be pointless to keep searching for the day,' she said gloomily, attempting to push up from the ground with her hands.

'Wait. We can stay here for a while. It's a nice day.' Her eyes looked questioningly at me. Nice day, really?

'We have time,' I went on. 'I was thinking... why don't you try now?'

'Try what?'

'To do magic, with my wand.'

'Ron, we're in a public place. There're people all around... Muggles.' She was stating the obvious, but in her voice and the way her eyes moved nervously, I saw something else.

'Follow me,' I said, and without giving her an option, I took her hand, pulled her up and dragged her along until we reached a set of big bushes under which there was a small, covered clearing.

'What are you doing?' Her eyes were round in surprise; I guessed the only reason why she hadn't resisted was that she was just taken aback.

'No one can see us here.' I offered my wand. Hermione didn't take it and stared at me. I sighed and drew back my hand for a moment. 'Why didn't you just ask for a different wand before coming here? They gave you money... I don't know how I didn't think about that.'

'Things were quite disastrous, Ron. They saw I had a wand, and I didn't ask for one either.'

'Well then, why didn't you? If at first you just felt repulsion—'

'That was it. I didn't think it would be such a big deal. Whose wand would I have taken? And I... I couldn't have said that I was afraid of the wand. We had just gone through a war, for goodness' sake!'

Weakness. That was what she had been afraid of. I knew the feeling all too well as to think strange of it.

'Please, Hermione,' I said, holding out my wand again for her. 'If it doesn't work, it won't matter, really. We'll figure out something.'

Her trembling fingers closed around the wand. She closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly, then pointed at some pebbles scattered around us and said, 'Wingardium Leviosa!'

I watched them hovering a few inches above the ground; it wasn't like her, it wasn't her magic.

'See?' she said, smiling half-heartedly before looking at me. 'It's not the wand.'

I snatched the bloody thing from her hand, looked menacingly at it and held it out for her again, saying, 'I lend my wand to you, Hermione.' As Hermione kept staring sceptically at me, I prompted her, 'Come on, now, take it!'

She tried again on the pebbles.

'Accio!'

The force of her spell wasn't enough for the rock to reach her open hand.

'This is—I'm sorry, Ron.'

A low branch hit me right on the face as she scrambled out of our clearing and ran away.

After that dreadful first attempt, Ron didn't give up on me. I wasn't angry at him for doing it; I felt rather grateful, in fact. But every time I took his wand and pronounced an incantation and I couldn't feel the magic flowing through my whole being as usual, I felt hopeless. The third day I tried, though, something changed.

'Wait,' he said, and standing behind me, he cradled my right hand with his and told me to do it.

'Alohomora,' I said, and the door opened easily, smoothly. I was speechless, but Ron, in rising delight, made me try spell after charm after jinx, going from the simple ones I remembered learning in our first year at Hogwarts to the most difficult ones, always supporting my hand with his.

When he was satisfied with my performance, he spun me around, grinning, and hugged me. That was when I started crying silently and hugged him back.

Day after day, Ron kept me practising, on my own now, under his tender watch. I appreciated his efforts more than I had ever appreciated anyone's efforts for anything before because he kept me going. We still had no clue on my parents' whereabouts; all we knew is that the Ministry of Magic in Australia didn't have any records of Muggles dead by magic during the last year, which didn't mean that they couldn't have been killed by untraceable magic or kidnapped and murdered somewhere else. Even so, Ron had promised to me that we would find them. And I believed him.

I was also worried about him. We had been in Australia for a week, and I hadn't seen him getting letters from home. But in the last couple of days, he also seemed to grow quieter and sadder when he wasn't around me.

As Ron agreed on sharing his wand with me, I decided I no longer needed Bellatrix's, and we found a way to dispose of it. On the afternoon of our eight day, we climbed to a deserted cliff and, giving me his wand, Ron squeezed my hand and waited.

'Incendio.'

The walnut wand cracked innocently under the small flames as we watched. I sighed, relieved.

'Ron?' He looked at me promptly. 'Have you got word from your family, or Harry?'

Ron shook his head, but his ears gave him away. I knew he was lying.

'You can tell me... Is anything wrong?'

'No. I'm really sorry. I didn't want you to worry, that's all,' he said, admitting there was such letter but still refusing to speak.

'Tell me.'

He cast a glance at me before sitting on a rock. 'George is still not doing well. He's locked in his flat and refuses to receive anyone or go out for anything. Mum's in a state, she's doing worse because of this than because of Fred... because, y'know, Fred's gone, but George's here, and he won't even...'

His voice cracked. I hadn't seen him so vulnerable since... since I couldn't remember when. Not even at his brother's funeral had he looked like that. He had stood through it in grief that I could feel, but without showing it at all. Dropping to my knees in front of him, I put my arms around his shoulders and pulled him towards me. We stayed for a moment like that, with his head pressed against my shoulder, breathing deeply.

'And Harry,' he continued, 'he seemed to be doing all right, but then he flipped or something and he went to Grimmauld Place alone until Fleur yelled at him—'

'Fleur yelled at Harry?' Bill's wife had showed a lot of character and bravery compared to the part Veela girl we used to know; however, I couldn't picture her screaming at Harry for any reason.

'Yeah, Ginny said she just went there and told him Mum was bad enough as it was and we didn't need to worry about him, too, not for something as stupid as "feeling guilty about George".'

He broke away and smiled sadly.

'You should go,' I said. My reasons for coming without him in the first place were strong, and no matter how good it had been to me to have him with me, it would just be selfish to hold him here while his family was falling apart in pain.

'What are you saying?' He made an annoyed gesture, as if trying to shake off a fly.

'They need you. You really should be there, Ron, they need you more...' I swallowed, aware of my lie, '... more than I do.'

Did they, really?

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Listen to me, Ron—'

'Hermione, I told you I'm not bloody going! I won't make any difference there. George or Mum or Harry won't listen to me either, I'll get sucked into the general sadness because I'll know I'll be useless, and meanwhile, I'll keep thinking that I was doing a lot more here with you! What do you want me to go for?'

He looked daringly at me while I took notice of the small mound of ashes at my feet.

'I don't want you to go.'

'Then why are we having this conversation?'

'Because you look like you need to be there, Ron. You're worried, and —don't try to deny it— I know you've probably asked yourself what would change if you were there before I did...'

'Of course I'm worried. But... look, they understand. They won't hold anything against you, if that's what you're thinking, and I won't, either. I'd be here even if you didn't love me back. I'm far better here, where I can clear my head about what's going on there and focus on something.'

There wasn't a pause, something to mark the moment in a dramatic fashion and hint that he had been planning on saying that, but I caught the three words that made me forget the rest of whatever he had been saying.

'You do?' I muttered.

'What?'

'You said "love me back" so does that mean...?' I looked questioningly at him. Ron seemed a little confused, another sign of that he hadn't really realised what he said, but after I asked him, he looked a little taken aback, maybe just like me, and nodded.

'Do you?' he asked hoarsely.

'Yes, I—'

Before I knew it, he was kissing me. And the outside world dissolved.