*Harry's Pov*

I remember that morning so clearly.

After the battle, I tried to remember everything clearly. I would wake up and just inhale, fill my lungs to capacity and wonder at everything that had gone right. I didn't like to remember what had gone wrong so early, and still don't. Mourning is best done later in the day.

Morning became hopeful for me. I still associate the sunrise with gratefulness, awe, and sometimes the smell of Ginny's hair on my pillow. That morning was one of those.

I never really found out how Ron felt about me sharing my attic cot with his baby sister, even if all we were doing was sleeping…mostly… Anyway, I remember that day particularly because Ginny was upset. All the sadness and horrors heaped onto her during the war were still fresh, but on top of that, Ron and Hermione were leaving that day to go fetch Hermione's parents.

I woke up to her trying to get closer to me, as if that was possible in the tiny twin bed. I knew what she needed and pulled her tightly, perhaps too tightly, against me, needing comfort, too.

"I'm worried." She said, playing with my fingers. I knew what she meant. Ron and Hermione were dealing with the war's events as well, better than the rest of us, though. I think it's because they finally had each other.

Whatever the reason, the feeling of being around them was soothing. They were a constant source of comfort to me. Everyone was, but with them, it was different.

I suppose that's when the change really began. There had always been a sense of the volatile around Ron and Hermione. All their fights and tension whipped around them. They were predictably unpredictable in what would set one or both of them off.

I know now it was because they were in love and had no other way to show it, but still, it was what I had secretly enjoyed for years about my best friends. If two people, seemingly so dissimilar and completely wrong for each other could stay friends, then maybe a screwed-up little orphan savior could lead a normal life.

In my mind this makes perfect sense, so just go with it. But then, the change.

The chemistry between Ron and Hermione seemed to immediately adapt necessarily. She held him while he cried and he held her hair after she drank too much at a memorial ceremony. There was a sense of security wrapped inexplicably around them. That was the beginning of the change.

They had disappeared one night and re-appeared the next morning different. They were surrounded by a feeling of rightness that I soaked up like a sponge. I was with them a lot, those days, trying to cope and loving those two people who seemed so sure of something, even if it was just the other.

I think everyone took comfort in them. In the fact that they could be seen at family dinners, amid the silent, tense, gatherings, completely at ease. It was peaceful to see him bush his fingers across the back of her neck as he passed by, see her lean back against him on the couch and fall asleep. Everyone watched this, our one source of happiness in a period of crippling sadness.

But now they were about to leave. Here's when I first noticed it. At first, it seemed like nothing that Ron should go with Hermione. It was simple, expected. But the more I thought about it, the more puzzled I was. Why did he want this? It made no sense.

Ron had maybe met her parents twice. Maybe. Surely she wanted to go alone? Surely she wanted to see her only family and revive them, tell them about the war by herself? It would be messy and emotional and those things weren't exactly Ron's cup of tea.

Besides that, Hermione had always been so independent. She spelled them herself. Couldn't she fix them alone as well? My conclusion was that Ron didn't want her to leave, and I was struck by how pathetic this was.

Don't get me wrong, Ron's a great guy and all, but his brother had just died, along with countless other friends, and he was fixating on Hermione. Hadn't he left us in the woods? She was strong enough to stay, but he wasn't strong enough to let her leave?

The more I thought about it, the more certain I was, and Ginny thought so, too. Whenever I tried to bring it up, he would just shake his head and say something like, "Don't worry about it" or "I just have to", which had really just solidified my thoughts.

That morning, though, laying with Ginny practically on top of me, trying to take in as much of her as possible before she had to sneak out, I wasn't so sure I wouldn't do the same, but I tried not to think too much about that.

Ron came in from wherever he had slept with Hermione that night (probably Hermione's twin mattress on Ginny's vacated room floor), and Ginny left, meaning I had to try and sleep without her the last few hours before the house woke up.

Ron was pulling last minute clothes into his bag.

"So how long are you going to be gone?" I asked. Surely five, six days tops would be enough to put things in order. Maybe seven for sightseeing?

"Three weeks."

My eyes, previously closed, snapped open.

"What?!" I sat up and put on my glasses. "Why? It won't take that long, will it?" Ron shrugged and kept packing. "Does your mum know?" I demanded, my mind still blown at the idea of them being gone for almost a month. Ron sighed and turned around to face me.

"Yeah, and she doesn't like it."

"Well neither to I! We need you both here. It's like-" I stopped myself but Ron knew me too well.

"It's like we've already forgotten? Like I don't realize every day that my own brother is dead? Or Lupin or Tonks or any of them?" He sat down on his bed. "Look, I know. We still haven't forgotten. I'm a bloody wreck and she's not much better. We just…We need a break."

I noticed the bags under his eyes and the lines on his face. He looked tired, but so did the rest of us. Suddenly, I remembered Ron after he'd saved his first goal in Quidditch, and suddenly, I remembered that we weren't supposed to look like this. Not even close.

"We?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"Yeah." He scrubbed a hand over his face and snorted a laugh. "I'm a 'we', now. An 'us'." He went back to packing and I lay back down. I paused, not really wanting to ask, but…

"Are you going to marry her?"

"Yes." I winced at the certainty there, the complete lack of a pause. No consideration, just the truth. He didn't turn back around.

"I mean not now, obviously, but yeah. Three, maybe four years from now?" I nodded silently at the ceiling beams.

A lot of people think that we're too young at eighteen to be thinking about this stuff, but in our lives, young was at about twelve years old. We grew up fast and we grew up together. Honestly, I couldn't see it going any other way. Ron snorted and closed his bag, dumping it on the floor.

"I've practically been married to her for years now, anyway." I grinned back because it was true. Ron lay down and tried to get a few more hours of sleep.

At breakfast, Mrs. Weasley was in a state. She was slamming pots and pans, practically throwing eggs at a bowl, and chopping bacon strips with unnecessary force. Hermione sat in her chair, looking pale, and grimacing whenever the pan/egg/cleaver went down. None of us tried to make conversation.

Standing in front of the fireplace later, we all said goodbye and were all thinking how empty we would be without them and their security. Ron murmured something in Mrs. Weasley's ear, and when she let him go she nodded, saying, "I know."

Hermione stepped into the fireplace looking tense. She raised her head to say the address, and her eyes fell on Ron, who would follow right behind her. In that one split-second, she looked so scared, vulnerable, that I actually stepped forward to hold onto her, to shelter her in some way. But then she was gone and so was Ron.

Mrs. Weasley, later that day, was an odd mix of sad, hopeful, and resigned. I was forced to face facts. Ron wasn't leaving because he wanted to. When he had said, "We need a break," what he'd meant was, "She needs a break." Hermione was the one who hadn't wanted to be without him.

It seemed I didn't know my friends as well as I thought, and that one of them was stronger than I'd ever imagined.