A/N: The rules of the game remain the same if you READit, you must REVIEW it! (or, rather, you SHOULD or you OUGHT to because takes very little time and it earns you…well…I don't know yet, but it'll be good!)

Thanks to my TWO reviewers—wow that's a sad number! I'm expecting more this time! (please?) And of course, my lovely beta, Kat!

-Aly

Disclaimer: Still not JK. And I honestly hope you won't forget that. It would be sad if you did…I mean, really…

Chapter 2: Three Months

She decided she would leave the room, just to go downstairs and escape the sameness of her life since Ginny's death. She was sick of the baby blue walls with pictures of the smiling Weasley family, of her and Ginny laughing in front of a muggle ice cream parlor, and more pictures of the four of them in various locations around Hogwarts, taken by Colin Creevey, and posters of Quidditch stars zooming around and winking from their spots on the wall.

She was sick of the dusty floor, the closet and dresser filled with Ginny's clothes that likely would never be worn again. She was sick of the annoying whirring of the fan that Mr. Weasley had excitedly installed on Ginny's ceiling four summers prior that would randomly stop throughout the day, before stirring to life once again.

She was sick of the open door and people tiptoeing past with breath held, trying to hold in their own sniffles and mask the pain in their eyes as they looked through the doorway at Hermione's defeated form. She was sick of delivered meals and strained conversations, of careful avoidance of any inquiries to their own lives following Ginny's death.

More than anything, though, she was sick of being avoided.

It wasn't a sudden decision—at least a week of careful examination of her mental and emotional capabilities to handle such a nerve-wracking expedition. She had been building up her courage and willpower to do this one small thing to move on, and a small bubble of hope that it would succeed had been building in her heart, no matter how she tried to suppress it. She wanted life but the guilt of Ginny's death still loomed over her delicate state.

On the day she had given herself as her deadline, she stepped out of the room. The hall was empty, and her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was highly aware of all the small creaks of the house around her. She was nervous. Her steps were slow and careful as she approached the stairs and she paused for a moment, drawing in a deep, wavering breath before stepping down. The handrail was her lifeline, and she clutched it with sweaty palms and white knuckles as she descended the stairs and entered the living room with silent steps.

The once loud Weasley family was gathered, spread out on the worn couches and chairs of the homey living room. Their faces were blank, stares empty, and not a word escaped their mouths. Their red hair seemed dull and lifeless instead of vibrant and cheery as it was…before.

Mr. Weasley's arm was wrapped around a silent Mrs. Weasley, whose shoulders were shaking with hiccupping tears that were barely audible as she leaned against his side, cheek against his shoulder as he let her tears sink into his shirt. His eyes looked watery themselves.

Fred and George were lying on the couch with heads at opposite ends, their hips touching as they fiddled with loose threads on the pillows behind their heads. Their faces held no hint of their smiles, instead looking morosely off into space.

Bill and Fleur were on the loveseat, her head resting in his lap and her eyes were closed as he stroked her hair gently, but he wasn't looking at her—he, too, was looking at something in the distance, as if not aware of the world around him.

Ron was sprawled across a chair with legs draped over one side and an arm thrown across his eyes, his other brushing the floor in a pendulum motion. The only Weasley absent was Charlie. None of them noticed her standing there with a shocked expression on her face.

She had forgotten what day it was, and, upon realizing the date, she drew in a wavering breath. Her carefully constructed willpower shattered as her frozen form crumbled and she let out a small whimper, barely audible, even in the heavy silence. She spun and ran back up the stairs with tears gathering in her eyes.

As she threw herself onto her bed, she released her sudden tears, and in her emotional breakdown, did not notice a redhead enter the room behind her. He sat down on the bed beside her, and she barely felt the warm hands gently rubbing her back in circles as she cried. Eventually her tears subsided and she lay still, drifting off to sleep as the hands continued their rhythmic movement.

She woke up as the sun started its long descent to night, and felt the pressure of eyes watching her. She turned her head to see a worried-looking redhead sitting on the chair beside her bed and watching her with deep blue eyes. She regarded him solemnly for a moment before his soft voice penetrated her thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

She shook her head—no—and closed her eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears that were in imminent. He reached towards her and, half-laying beside her (A/N: think butt still in chair), wrapped his arms around her. She turned her body and buried her head in his chest, clutching his shirt between trembling hands as she murmured, "I miss her, Charlie."

He felt his heart break a bit at her frank words, spoken with such sadness. He wrapped his arms more firmly around her waist as her tears fell into his shirt, pulling her closer to him as he shifted so that he was lying beside her and rubbed her back. He murmured into her ear, "I know, Hermione. I miss her too."

He felt a tear run down his cheek and land in her mass of curls. His voice cracked as he continued, "But…Hermione, love, she wouldn't want you to waste away in this room with only memories for company. She'd want you to live. It's been three months, after all. Three months of wishing and missing her, but that doesn't change anything. The situation is no different today than it was then—she's gone. You can't stop your entire life forever—you'll eventually die, and never have known anything different."

He felt her nod her head against his chest before she spoke again. "I know that, and it makes me feel pathetic. I am sick of sitting here in my own misery and feeling as if I'm the only one suffering from her death when I KNOW I'm not! It hurts…a lot…to see your family, gathered in silent grief, unable to move on and know that I have the same problem."

She paused, drawing back to look into his eyes, and Charlie remained silent, listening for all she had to say. He knew she needed to say it to somebody—her closest friends were not listening, and he was there and offering comfort. "If she were still here…" her voice faded into nothing.

She took a shuddering breath before continuing. "…She would do everything in her power to make everything normal again. But she's not and…It's been only three months…but these three months have been an eternity. It's hard to imagine years without her…or them…if three months alone are that painful and…empty. For awhile I continued as usual, but it was horrible, being separate from the only people I have left. And everybody was hurting—the War took so many. I supposed Harry is hurting more than me. He refuses to talk to either me or Ron. Ron…" she sighed.

"He's not…who I though he was and he's no the boy I've known for eight years. I used to like him…love him even…but now I don't KNOW anymore! He confuses me and I'm so mad at the both of them for deserting me. I mean… I loved Ginny too! She was my best friend and, in essence, my sister too! I don't get it—I don't want to lose my other best friends of eight years—EIGHT years, Charlie!—when I just lost my best friend and my parents and so many others."

She choked back a sob as she continued, pulling back from his embrace and sitting up, scrubbing at her face furiously with the palm of her hand. He sat cross-legged to face her as she continued to bare her soul to him.

"But there's nothing I can do now. I just wish….I had a time-turner, so that I could go back and save her. I wish I did when I could have…stopped her before things got out of hand…everything would be so much different. I wish—"she swallowed abruptly, her voice almost a whisper now. "I wish that it had been me instead of her."

She swallowed again as tears sprung to her eyes. Charlie immediately pulled her to him, looking down at her with sparks of anger in his deep eyes. He struggled to hold back his anger as he said, "Hermione, don't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault—NONE of it is! If anything, it's Voldemort's fault for the war; the Death Eaters fault for the attack; Harry's fault for leaving you two to fend for yourselves; both Ron and Harry's for not standing together with you when all three of you need each other."

He took a breath and felt his anger subside into pity and a strong urge to make her understand that she couldn't hold herself accountable for all the wrongs of this world. "Don't blame yourself for Ginny's death—you're not the one who held the wand. You didn't take her life after torturing her in front of her closest friend. It's not your fault."

He lifted her chin so that she was looking him in the eyes. Flickers of emotions ran across her face before settling back into attentiveness. She would listen to what he had to say, and for that, he was grateful.

"You didn't ask for this fate, for this life, for this war, and you can't keep blaming yourself for any of that. The people that the Death Eaters killed didn't deserve to die—but neither do you. You are still living, don't kill yourself with grief and blame because you did NOTHING. You are a witch—a bloody brilliant one at that, the smartest in your generation. You're a great friend, you're brave, you helped save the wizarding world at great personal risk, and you will be one of the people to restore it to what it will be."

She looked up at him, eyes glittering with emotion. "Thanks, Charlie," she whispered and pecked him on the cheek. "I needed that, so much."

He smiled, "Anytime, Hermione. Come on now, we should get downstairs."

She shook her head. "Not today."

He sighed and dropped it—for now. "Tomorrow, then?"

She looked up at him and he could see the wheels turning in her head. "Maybe," she replied.

His smile grew and he got up, then lightly kissed her forehead and left the room, turning just before entering the hallway and looking back at her. "I'll hold you to that," he laughed and went downstairs to join his family.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. BY THE WAY-- THE GAME IS STILL ON! REVIEW! (s'il vous plait!)

-Aly