A/N — Holy smokes, people! Angst is tough! The problem, for me, is that I ship these two lovebirds so hard, it's nearly impossible for me to imagine a scenario that keeps them apart. So I confess: I am really, really struggling with this story. Angst simply might not be my thing.

It's *so* not my thing, in fact, that I have already gone back and made a tweak to Chapter 1. Early readers of this story will recall that I had originally written Hermione to be 23 years old in this tale. Egads … I just couldn't come up with a plausible way to keep them apart for five years. So I went back and dialed Hermione down to age 21. Still … I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep this up! Anytime I read them — and certainly when I *write* them — I just so want them to be together. And happy!

Oh well … I *think* I've plotted out something that will work despite all my reservations. If I can't make this angstiness work and be believable in the next chapter or two, however, I might bag it. We'll see. Read on and tell me what you think! Your prompts and ideas are most welcome!

Holly.

oooOOOooo

Chapter 2:

Hermione slid the glass door open and stepped out onto the balcony, noticing how pleasantly mild the night air felt despite the late hour. It had been unusually warm for the past few weeks — and the odds were good that Harry and Ginny's wedding day that upcoming weekend would be sunny and pleasant. She smiled at the thought. Harry and Ginny. They were so happy. She couldn't think of anyone who deserved happiness more than Harry, really — he'd been through so much. And Ginny, too. Losing Fred had been devastating to her in the beginning, but she'd bounced back — all the Weasleys had, eventually — mainly because they were all made of incredibly strong stuff. Their love for one another was so durable, despite all the challenges. She was so glad she'd have a chance to see them all again for the weekend's wedding festivities.

As she lowered herself to sit down and stretch out on her chaise lounge, it occurred to her that she couldn't remember the last time she'd even been to The Burrow. She couldn't wait to see it again. It would be a homecoming of sorts.

She leaned back and sipped her wine, taking in the view as the humid breeze brushed her curls away from her face.

No matter how much she tried to force her thoughts toward the upcoming nuptials of her two dear friends, her mind kept creeping back to the dream that had awakened her in the first place. That damned dream. How she wished she still had Professor McGonagall's Time-Turner! If she had, she would go back to 2 May 1998 in a heartbeat and do so many things differently. Well, one thing in particular. She would act more quickly on her instinct to save Lavender Brown. Ron's reflexes, however, had been quicker — no mystery, she supposed, since he was destined to become the top recruit in the postwar Auror Academy — but by being the one to save Lavender's life, Ron had unwittingly changed the course of Hermione's life as well as his. Her challenge, since then, had been to learn to live with the regret, the guilt, the jealousy and the heartbreak. Sometimes she very nearly thought she'd managed it, managed to get on with things, to get on with her life. And then — well, then she would lay eyes on Ron Weasley and it would all come flooding back.

She'd been stupid. She knew that now. She'd been quick to judge, as she always had been, defensive and timid as hell. She'd been so insecure — all the more so because she'd kissed him just an hour or so earlier, in the Room of Requirement, and that was perhaps one reason why his subsequent actions stung her so much. She'd *kissed* him. She'd kissed him and yet, somehow, the events of the day unfolded differently than she would have wished, and she'd wound up spending that first night after the battle alone. Well, not exactly alone — in the semi-reconstructed confines of Hagrid's hut, bundled on the settle with Luna Lovegood and pretending to be thinking of anything other than that kiss. That damned kiss. She thought she must have misinterpreted Ron's response, must have overthought it somehow — she was prone to that sort of thing, wasn't she. He must have simply kissed her back in the heat of the moment because, well, for all they knew they were about to die. It meant no more than that. Yes, she reasoned, that had to be it. What else could explain where he spent that night, in the wee hours after the battle?

With benefit of hindsight, she knew she couldn't blame Ron for what happened — not completely, anyway. When she and Ron had re-entered to the Great Hall after accompanying Harry to the Headmaster's office and disposing of the Elder Wand, they returned to a scene of tumult and confusion. The battle's survivors were surveying the damage, retelling their tales of the struggle, mourning the dead and nursing the injured. From across the vast room, Hermione and Ron could see the rest of the Weasleys still gathered where they had left them — in a quiet circle surrounding Fred's lifeless form. Fred was covered in a cloak now, and Hermione felt a shudder run through her at the realization that he was well and truly gone. Ron took her hand and pulled her along to follow him.

Just then, from the opposite direction, a familiar but weak voice rang out: "Ron. Ronald Weasley."

Both Hermione and Ron turned see where the voice had come from and discovered it was Lavender Brown, laid out on a cot next to the Hufflepuff table, being tended by Parvati and a weary-looking orderly in a St. Mungo's lab coat. She stretched her arm out pleadingly in his direction.

"Ron, please," Lavender rasped, and he took a half step forward before turning back and looking at Hermione. She squeezed his hand and nodded toward Lavender as if to say, It's all right. Hermione took a step backward and Ron headed toward Lavender, kneeling beside her and taking her outstretched hand. He grimaced at the sight of her. Her face was terribly bruised, livid slashes across her left cheek. She had two similarly red and oozing slits at the side of her neck as well, cuts which showed no sign of responding to the ample amounts of Dittany being applied by the orderly.

"I wanted to thank you," Lavender said in a rough voice that was barely audible above the din of the crowded room. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"Lavender, I—"

"I was sure I was done for," she muttered, cutting him off and grasping his hand tightly in both of hers with a grip that was surprisingly firm for someone who seemed to be so terribly hurt. "I just wanted you to know how much it means to me that you did what you did for me, Ron. You were so brave, so—"

"Lavender, it was nothing," Ron replied, trying to pull his hand from hers and then giving up when he realized he couldn't manage it without jerking his arm away from her — a motion that he reckoned would be quite unseemly under the circumstances.

"Don't say it was nothing," she said much more loudly, a hint of anger in her voice. "You saved my life, Ronald Weasley. That's not nothing."

"Of course," Ron sputtered. "I didn't mean that. It's just, well, I'd have done what I did for anyone — it was just the right thing to do."

"And you did it," Lavender responded, her grip on his hand tightening almost uncomfortably. Her face was reddening, her brow furrowing as her breathing shallowed. "You saved my life, Ron…"

She gasped for breath and, with a jolt, began quivering violently — so powerfully, in fact, that the cot began to shake noticeably.

"Lavender! Lavender! Can you hear me?" cried Parvati, looking to the orderly. "What's happening? What's wrong with her?"

"She's taking a turn," the orderly answered as he pressed a bony hand against Lavender's sweaty forehead.

It wasn't long before the noise of Lavender's convulsions caught the attention of Madame Pomfrey from across the room. She came running over. "Dear Merlin, she's going into shock," Madame Pomfrey bellowed, extracting her wand and Levitating Lavender's cot. "We need to get her to the hospital wing stat," she added, and Madame Pomfrey, Parvati, the orderly and — quite to his own surprise — Ron moved in unison alongside Lavender's cot, which was carrying her with remarkable rapidity out of the Great Hall and toward the infirmary. Lavender's grip on his hands was viselike — though he'd given up trying to extricate himself. No matter his feelings for Lavender — and he considered her, at this point, no more than a friendly acquaintance — he was rattled by the thought that she might die before his very eyes and of course he wanted to do all he could to prevent it. And so, though he had no intention of doing so originally, he soon found himself kneeling next to Lavender Brown's bedside in Madame Pomfrey's ward, praying and hoping against hope that she would pull through.

Hermione saw and heard none of this, of course. When Ron first left her side to answer Lavender's call, she had drifted over to the far end of the room to join the Weasleys, and was soon engulfed in Molly Weasley's arms. "Oh my dear, sweet girl," Molly sighed as she crushed Hermione against her chest. "Oh my dear, when I think what you've been through. Oh heavens, I've been so worried about you — all three of you," she continued, leaning back and taking Hermione's face in her hands. "I was especially worried for you though, dear," she said in a quieter, more intimate tone, tears streaming down her cheeks. "A girl — a powerful girl, mind, but still a girl — out there Merlin only knew where, fighting against Death Eaters. Death Eaters! I was so frightened for you — I could hardly have been more worried if you had been my own daughter, my girl. I'm just so relieved you're here and you're in one piece."

Hermione, still reclining on the balcony of the posh London flat that was bought and paid for by the Ministry—an award presented at the Order of Merlin ceremony the week after the war—sniffled at the memory of that moment in the Great Hall, the last truly intimate conversation she'd had with Molly Weasley. Molly had, at one time, been her second mother, for all intents and purposes, and they'd stayed in touch over the years. But there was a distance now, both physical and emotional. Hermione gazed through the sliding glass doors and into her well-appointed, Modernist living room and laughed to herself. What she wouldn't give to trade this tastefully furnished space for the homey comforts of The Burrow.

She smiled at the thought that she'd be ensconced at The Burrow once again in just a few days' time. She would, by necessity, be in close quarters with Ron for the first time in years, and the thought made her nervous and excited at the same time. Would Lavender be there? She had no idea. Only time would tell.

oooOOOooo

A/N — See what I mean? I want Ron to tell Lavender he's happy he was able to help her and then walk away. But … but … well, he doesn't.

There's more, of course. Stay tuned!

Holly.