Disclaimer: I don't own anyone that you recognise, and I really don't own the plot either – it's pretty much a missing moment sort of thing.

An Influx of House Guests.

Harry wasn't sure why everyone had all come over to stay at the Burrow. He knew, of course, that it had something vaguely to do with the fact that Fred had passed away, but he just couldn't understand how they were helping in any way.

It hadn't even been a complete day after the battle, before people had started turning up. Even Ron didn't know who half of them were, though they were undoubtedly related to him. The place was overflowing with people, flowers, cards - most of which sang songs of condolence - and, perhaps worst of all, the visitors' pets. Frogs were leaping out of everywhere, rats were being chased by cats who in turn were being chased by dogs, there were that many birds that it seemed as though the house had turned into an aviary, and thought Harry could hardly believe it, someone had actually brought their horse.

He, Ron and Hermione had snuck out there several days after it had arrived, because Hermione had desperately wanted to ride it. Harry didn't know what it was with girls and horses, but it seemed as though he would have the chance to find out. The owner of the horse had flung open a window on the second floor, started shooting hexes at them, as well as an impressive string of curses, both of the magical variety and not, and then climbed out of the window, no doubt with the intention of doing something rather harmful to them.

Harry, Hermione and Ron hadn't stuck around long enough to find out.

To put it simply, the visitors just got in the way. All of them found one way or another to be in the same room as Harry, so that privacy was not an option, and meals were absolutely impossible. Indeed, Mrs. Weasley seemed to be spending all her time cooking, and not doing much else. Laundry had been stopped indefinitely, and, even worse, so had grieving.

Harry knew that this was just her way of coping, much the same way that Mr. Weasley's way was to tinker about in the shed and George's was to blow things up. It still didn't make things any better, though, because she knew that if she didn't grieve now, when she did, it would be so much worse.

As for Percy, Bill and Charlie, well, Percy seemed to be spending all his time in his room, only coming out for the odd meal. Harry had a suspicion that Percy felt guilty, as though he could have prevented it from happening. Harry knew that feeling, indeed, he knew it quite well; it was one that just wouldn't go away, no matter what anyone said. If he'd gone to confront Voldemort earlier, perhaps Fred would be alive. Perhaps Lupin and Tonks would be alive.

The last time he'd said that aloud, though, Ron had punched him. 'Don't say that they died for nothing,' he'd shouted at Harry. 'Don't say that.'

If the crack in his voice wasn't enough to stop Harry from voicing these thoughts, then the mild concussion he'd given him certainly was.

Having time to reflect, however, had made him realise that Lupin would be happier with his best friends, and he was, he was reunited with his very best friends. Harry also knew that Tonks would never have been happy had Lupin died and she lived. Though they left behind Teddy, he could grow up knowing that his parents were heroes of the highest order.

Bill and Charlie seemed to be coping better than the rest, but there was still the odd moment where either one would sit silently, gazing into nothing as if they were a million miles away.

And the rest of the families, the million variants of cousins, aunts and uncles that had come to stay, goodness gracious, Harry didn't even know where they were all actually staying, nor did he know exactly how many of them there were. One day there seemed as though there were two hundred, and then the next, most of them could have vanished. To wake up early and desire a cup of tea was a dangerous task, simply as you had to cross the minefield that was the floor to every room in the house.

He just wished they would all go away, however ungrateful that made him seem. He had been thinking very seriously about becoming a recluse and living in the middle of nowhere, where the nearest neighbours were fifty miles in any direction. He knew, though, that that was unfair; they were just trying to help after all. They were not, however, making things any easier on anyone, most of all, Mrs. Weasley. They were just serving as a distraction, indeed, a very stressful one. Where to put them for the night, what to cook for meals, and the fact that everyone seemed to want to bathe at the same time were hassles that Harry knew none of them needed.

A rather awkward moment had ensured the afternoon before, when he had been sitting alone in the kitchen with her, as she attempted to cook dinner for what seemed an entire army. When she failed to complete a sentence, he looked up at her, only to see her hunched over the kitchen sink, shoulders shaking, head down.

The only thing to do, of course, was to go over there and comfort her, but what was he to say to her? What was he supposed to say, to make her feel better? He didn't know the first thing about losing a son, and indeed, he hoped he never would. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, and then, deciding he'd better do the whole thing properly, he put an arm around her shoulders in a sort of one armed hug, squeezing her to him.

'It was for the greater good,' he said, and then, remembering The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, felt disgusted. 'I mean – well, he's a hero, and he was so brave, and I know that he would never have wanted to go at all, but if he did, he would have wanted to go fighting.'

Mrs. Weasley gave a half sob, and a half attempt at a laugh and then cleared her throat. 'I know,' she said. 'It's just – if it were anyone, I'd never have dreamed it to be Fred.'

They were silent for a while, a slightly awkward silence, one in which Harry racked his brains for something suitable to say.

'Well, it's not like you're never going to see him again, right? You will. In time.'

He remembered Luna saying something similar at the end of fifth year, right after Sirius died.

Mrs. Weasley gave him a smile, and wiped away the tears from her face. 'Thank you,' she said. 'For everything.'

'I don't know why you're thanking me,' he replied. 'If you'd never have met me, none of this would have happened.'

The breakfast table was surprisingly empty. So empty, in fact, that Harry was the only person sitting at it. No one was up, aside from Mrs. Weasley, who was tackling the rather alarming pile of washing in the laundry room, and Harry himself, who had woken up a dawn after yet another nightmare of the Battle, and couldn't get back to sleep. Everyone had finally left, thank God, had done so several days after the episode in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley, and so had Bill and Charlie, so it was only George, who couldn't face his flat alone, Percy, who wanted to make up for lost time, and the younger ones, who hadn't moved out as of yet.

That was the one thing that Harry was currently thinking about; where to move to. He supposed Grimmauld Place was the best option; he already owned it, it was a familiar, if not entirely welcoming place, and it was easy to get to. He had actually already almost completely decided to go there, and was now just trying to decide when to go.

The Burrow was a welcoming place, and he knew that it'd make Mrs. Weasley feel so much better if he stayed for quite a while. There was only one thing to do, he decided. Stay until Ginny goes back to Hogwarts, and perhaps even a while after, and then go. He wanted to ask Ron and Hermione as well, but he didn't know how Mrs. Weasley would take it; almost all of her children out of the house.

He took a deep breath, relishing in the quietness of the house, and the fact that, for the first time since the battle, he had time to himself. He'd been waiting for this moment since he'd defeated Voldemort, since the battle had ended.

Just as he was thinking of how wonderful it was to have privacy, and solidarity, the door to the yard opened, and a tall, freckly male strode through.

'Great morning, isn't it?' they said cheerfully, a wide, reluctant grin upon their face.

'You're up early,' Harry remarked suspiciously, as Ron stretched, yawning loudly in a self satisfied sort of way, and then flopped himself into a chair opposite and tried to battle ferociously with the grin, eventually eradicating it from his face. 'Why would that be?'

'Yeah, well,' he replied, a little smugly. 'Couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk.'

He helped himself to a slice of toast from the stack upon the table and spread jam across it, licking the knife when he finished. Harry watched, mystified, as a sheepishly smug grin broke out across his face.

'Really,' Harry asked. 'Why are you up so early? I've never known you to wake up early and want to take a walk.'

'Well,' said Ron, 'this past year's changed me. Maybe I just wanted to think things through.'

Though Harry was rather doubtful, he didn't press the matter. He supposed it could be because it was a beautiful sunny day, one of the warmest they'd had all summer. Even though it was not an hour after sunrise, the thermometer on the wall was showing that the temperature was in the late twenties. The rain that had been keeping them inside for the past week had finally let up the day before, so that the flowers were blooming, the grass was reaching incredible heights, and the pond was full.

It was a perfect day for a swim.

'Great morning,' Ron said again, his leg jiggling.

Harry was utterly bemused. For the first time since the fight, Ron seemed to be in absolutely high spirits. He gave a little start as Ron chuckled softly, and started at him, trying to figure out why it was so. Ever since the battle, Ron had been a mixture of anger, sadness, and a little bit of regret, so this good mood was most surprising, to say the least.

'Go on, then,' he said suspiciously. 'What's with the good mood?'

He was quite sure, now, that it wasn't to do with the warm day, or the lack of rain. And he knew that it wasn't to do with the fact that they could go for a swim later, if they wanted to.

'Hmm?' Ron said evasively. 'What good mood? It's a good morning, that's all. It's a beautiful, warm day.'

'Really,' Harry said. 'Why is it so good?'

'It – it just is. Did you notice that the rain's let up?'

'Yes,' Harry said. 'Yes I did. What'd you do? What happened? Come on, tell me.'

Ron cleared his throat nervously, and the grin grew into a self satisfied smirk.'Well, I er-' Ron trailed off, and Harry stared at him. Ron went a brilliant, bright red.

'I didn't know that shade of red was possible,' Harry said amused. 'Please, continue.'

But before Ron could answer, George came stumbling down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.'Morning,' he yawned. 'What are you both doing up this early?'

'Ron says he went for a walk,' Harry informed him. 'He also says it's a beautiful morning, and he seems to be really happy, for some reason.'

'Really?' George studied Ron closely as he took a seat at the wooden table. 'What'd you do, little brother?'

'Nothing,' said Ron. 'It's just a lovely morning.'

Harry and George exchanged a suspicious, amused look.'Come on,' George said. 'Out with it.' He yawned again, stretching his arms out, and almost hit Errol as he flew in with the day's mail. 'Oops,' he said, as he grabbed the mail and began flipping through the different letters, before placing them on the table and addressing Harry. 'You've got fan mail.'

Harry groaned slightly, and then looked at Ron impatiently. 'Out with it.'

'There's nothing to tell,' Ron said in a very smug tone, as he grabbed an apple from the basket sitting on the table.

Harry and George exchanged a look again, and then leant their heads close together, as Ron took a bite out or his apple, made a face, and then summoned a pastry from the cupboard. 'On the count of three,' George whispered, 'you disarm him, and I'll grab him in a headlock.'

Harry bit back a snigger, and sat back up straight, slowly and surreptitiously drawing his wand out of his pocket.

'One ...' George murmured, and Harry nodded. Ron, busy with his pastry, didn't notice. 'Two ... three!'

'EXPELLIARMUS,' Harry shouted, pointing his wand at Ron as George leapt out of his seat, rolled across the table, and grabbed Ron in a headlock. The clatter of Ron's wand echoed across the now silent room, as Ron gasped for breath.

'Now,' Harry said. 'Are you going to tell us or not?'

Ron swallowed, and then nodded, blushing a brilliant red again. 'Oh, alright.'

They waited. And waited. And then looked at each other in exasperation.

'Ron,' George said impatiently, tightening his hold on Ron's neck, 'the whole point of telling us is to actually tell us.'

Harry sniggered.

'Well,' Ron mumbled, 'I had a good night sleep, you know?'

George gave him a little shake. 'No, I don't know.'

'Well,' Ron swallowed again, 'perhaps it wasn't sleeping that made it so good.'

George let go of him in shock, and quickly say back down. 'Are you serious?' he said, and then began to laugh. 'Are you serious?'

Harry had no idea what they were talking about.

'Wow,' George said gleefully. 'My little brother!' He stood up, laughing. 'When I come back from the toilet,' he informed Ron, 'I'm going to tease you so much.'

Harry looked at Ron in bewilderment as George left the room. 'What are you talking about?'

'Well, you know... I er... well...'

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

'No,' Harry gasped. 'Really?'

Ron nodded; his grin now at the widest Harry had ever seen it, and the blush even redder than before.

'Really? Did you really?'

Ron nodded once again.

Harry laughed, and then sat back in his chair, observing Ron through slightly narrowed, amused eyes.

'Wow. You – ' he broke off as he saw Hermione descend the stairs, looking rather more feminine than she usually did. Resisting the urge to clap and cheer loudly, he smirked at her as she sat down at the head of the table, between himself and Ron.

'Good morning,' he said smugly to her. 'Was it?'

She glared at him. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Ron gave her a smirk and a wink, and she slapped him. 'Did you tell him, Ron?'

'No,' said Harry. 'But he was being a bit obvious about it.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Of course.'

Harry chuckled, and rose from the table. 'Well,' he smirked. 'I'll leave you two to it, then.'

As he walked up the stairs, he heard Hermione's slightly annoyed voice tell Ron off, the sound of flesh on flesh as she hit him again, and the sound of Ron chuckling. He paused at the top of the stairs as he heard George enter the room. George didn't even resist the temptation to clap loudly, his laughter echoing up and down the stairs. 'Good on you Hermi- ooff! What was that for?'

'Maybe,' Hermione suggested tartly, 'you should mind your own business.'

'I'm all wet, you mean thing!'

Upstairs, Harry lay down on his camp bed, frowning a little. He wasn't jealous, as such, because he knew how hard it had been for both of them to get together, and nothing had changed between the three of them at all, indeed, Hermione and Ron were no more politer to each other than usual, so it wasn't that at all, he was just, well, a little miserable that he hadn't been able to talk to Ginny yet. The fact that they'd all been very busy with the restoration of Hogwarts; not just the building, but the protective spells as well, the house guests, the lack of personal space, and the fact that her older brother had just passed away all contributed to the reason why he hadn't talked to her about anything of substance, but now with the house guests gone, and Fred's death somewhat in the past, he was absolutely terrified at the thought of telling her about everything.

It wasn't that he didn't want to share what had happened with her, it was more that he knew she'd be furious with some of the things that had happened, some of the risks that he took. And, a very small part of him was terrified that she'd come to her senses, and now wanted nothing to do with him at all.

He just missed her terribly, so bad that it was to the point where she was all he thought about. At every moment of every day, he had one eye on Ginny, and one eye on the person talking to him. If she wasn't in the same room as him, he'd find out where she was, and what she was doing. And, at the same time, he avoided her like she was the plague. It was, of course, rather difficult with him never leaving her side, and wanting to know where she was, and what she was doing, and why she was doing that at all hours of the day. It was also, of course, rather confusing for even himself to contemplate, but he did avoid her, because of the even more confusing reason; he missed her, and though Hermione would tell him to talk to her, if he missed her so, and though Ron would call him an indecisive idiot, and inform him in no uncertain terms to stop messing around with her or he'll punch him to next Thursday, he somehow couldn't bridge this gap, this gulf between them.

He didn't know how to bridge the gap. Say she didn't want to, because of the things he'd done, because of the year where he went off, and experienced things that she never would. Say she was angry that he didn't bring her, or jealous, or, even worse, say she thought he'd turned into a wanker? Say he really had turned into a wanker? Say he was arrogant, and cold, and unfeeling, and...

Oh dear. She did think he was arrogant, and cold, and unfeeling, because he'd been ignoring her for Merlin knows how long. He just knew it.

Perhaps he should become a recluse, after all. The fifty miles in each direction wouldn't even have to be a requirement, because – aside from the fact that he doubted there was anywhere in Britain where the nearest neighbour was fifty miles away – the year away had resulted in he being very good at hiding himself when he wanted to. Really, all that he had to do was get a tent, or find a cave. He could live in the mountains, or near a country village. During the winter, all he had to do was cast a few warming spells, and getting food was absolutely no problem at all; all he had to do was put on his invisibility cloak and nick a few things. Easy.

Or, instead of becoming a total recluse, he could change his name, leave the wizarding world, start a muggle career, and marry a nice, perfectly magic-less girl.And as a result, he wouldn't have to face Ginny. And the thousands of people bowing to his very name.

But, well, aside from the fact that he didn't want to jump over the first hurdle, if he didn't trip, fall or crash, if he made a clean jump, the rest of the race seemed very promising.

But, he told himself, he probably would trip, because she more than likely did think he was arrogant, and cold, and unfeeling.

Calling himself all the names he could think of, and creating quite a few rather imaginative ones, he pounded the pillow in anger. It did indeed make himself feel a little better; with each pound, with each hit, and with each name he thought of in his head, a little bit of his frustration seeped away.

'It's quite dead,' a voice said softly from the door. 'It's not going to…'

The voice trailed off as Harry looked up at her in shock, and she swallowed, braced herself, and said, 'sorry. I didn't mean to… I'll… Sorry.'

Harry opened his mouth to say something, anything, and then realising he didn't know what to say, closed his mouth again.

Ginny's eyebrows knotted, and Harry just knew she was absolutely furious at him. He hurriedly looked away from her, and down at his pillow, determinedly not looking anywhere in her direction. He heard her start to say something, and then heard her swallow again.

'Look,' she began – in Harry's opinion, she sounded rather angry – 'can't you just… Oh, never mind.'

Only when there had been silence for a good thirty seconds did he look up at the doorway; when he saw it was, of course, empty, he wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or glad.

He'll wait, he decided. It wasn't that he was scared; in fact he made a point of very firmly telling himself that at any moment when it seemed possible that his emotions would turn traitorous and admit that he was. It was just that it wasn't the right time.With that thought, he rose from his bed and got a change of clothes, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head asking if now wasn't the right time, then when would be?

And of course, the other problem was that he didn't know what to actually say to her. He'd have to have a very long bath to mull things over, he decided.

Anyone who leaves a review gets a calming cup of tea, especially made for you by Mrs. Weasley! I was planning on leaving it there, but I don't know, what do you think? Should I have a few more chapters? Any advice, tips or corrections would be lovely; I re-read endlessly, but always notice mistakes when I post a story anyway! I also know that some of you may think that Ron and Hermione's relationship moved very fast, but in this story it had been almost a month since the final battle, and that they had both liked each other for a very long time. It wasn't like a week after the final battle - now that would be a little unbelievable. Also, I said that the temperature was in the late twenties: I was, of course, referring the Celsius system, not the Fahrenheit one. For anyone that uses the Fahrenheit system, late twenties is an absolutely beautiful day, rather warm.