A/N: So…..IT HAS BEEN WRITTEN! Once, again, very sorry that it's taking so long, but, you know, life and such. So terribly unavoidable. Anyways….ENJOY!

Hermione's confusion as to the young man's whereabouts did not subside, but feeling drained from the walk, she apparated home, eyebrows twisted in confusion.

With a loud crack Hermione appeared in the living room.

"OH DEAR!ARTHUR, ARTHUR!!! SHE'S HOME" Hermione could here Mrs.Weasley's voice, crackling as it always did after a fresh batch of tears, as she screamed for her husband.

"HERMIONE DEAR!!WE WERE WORRIED SICK!! A WHOLE HOUR LATE!!

We were so used to you coming home everyday promptly at the lastest ten, and look, ELEVEN O'CLOCK!!!"

"I'm sorry Mrs.Weasley, but I was cleaning out the kitchen and I lost track of time." Hermione blurted out an excuse, thinking it best not to mention her wandering around a deserted graveyard and running into a disappearing stranger, for fear that Mrs.Weasley may very well have heart attack.

After convincing Mrs.Weasley that she was alright, she dragged her feet up the stairs to her room, shutting the door carefully, exhausted. The Weasleys were so vulnerable, and she knew that their deepest fear was to loose someone else, especially her, who had being fruitlessly trying to sew back together what was left of the family.

But as she shut and locked her door and started to change into her oversized t-shirt she often slept in, she felt strange. An eerie feeling that she had been sensing since almost four years ago.

She felt like she was being watched.

She looked around, as she often did when these feelings ensued, checking and asserting herself of her surroundings. One of the healers who had dealt with her at St.Mungo's after the battle had told her these reoccurring feelings were only from her depressed, chaotic state, and that they were all psychological. Yet she couldn't help to think other wise.

Suddenly, something caught her eye.

Too her horror, she saw the silhouette of a head in her window, though black by the light. She froze, unable to move, unable to scream, almost hypnotized, just as she had been the earlier when staring into that dreaded cemetery. Then, as she blinked, it was gone. She rushed to her window, unlatching its sides and throwing it up, sticking her head out and looking from side to side.

But no one was there, or anywhere.

And she was reminded that her room was on the second floor of the house, far to high for anyone too poke in their heads and peer in. Yet she could feel eyes on her as she shut off the lights and went to sleep, though finally she drifted into a weary sleep, tired and lost.

He moved the drapery, swiftly and softy away with a jerk of his hand, moving at unnatural speeds throughout the house.

He knew she had seen him there, he knew the way she had looked at him. Afraid. And why wouldn't she be?

When he had realized that she spotted him, he rushed behind curtain in the next hallway over, zooming through an opened window. For the last few years he had been doing this, sneaking through a home so familiar, yet now worlds apart, if only to see what had become of it all.

He did not go into the master bedroom, remembering how lightly Mrs.Weasley slept.

Instead, he went into the twins room, looking around, and spotting one, Fred, asleep over many crinkled papers, and the other, George, sprawled along the floor, snoring, a quill fallen out of his right hand and forms to buy shares to a used broom shop on the outskirts of Hogsmade scattered about the floor.

He wedged one of the papers from under Fred. Plans for new joke items. He read some of the messy notes surrounding some of the crude drawings, concluding what afew were.

A game of exploding snap that released itching powder. Wands that, no matter what spell cast, would cause eggs to crack over the head of it's user, and a pair of shoes that caused the wearer to walk backwards.

But from the surrounding scribbles, he could see the designs crossed out countless times, and he concluded that, although they tried, none of these seemed to work properly.

Lifting Fred up gently, he placed the paper back the way he found it, laying the tired twin on top of it.

He then moved over to George.

Reading over the paper, he was disgusted. He knew of their addiction to stocks. Crumpling the paper into a ball, he tossed in into the trash bin. And with that, he left.

Next, he went to visit Ginny.

He looked apon the young red head, grinning to himself slightly, as memories of bat-boogy hexes filled his head. He looked down on her.

She looked so peaceful now, but he knew of how moody she was during the day.

He could see grey circles under her youthful eyes, feeling a pang of guilt.

He searched through her drawers in her night table.

To his interest, he found an unsent letter, written hastily, and read it, knowing that the girl would not stir.

Dear Harry,

I know how terrible everything has been. I know what Ron's death has done to you, done to us all, although I know it must have been more difficult for you, as you were there when it happened…when…oh, I can't even bring myself to write it, but we all feel the same pain. I can't tell you of what it's like hearing the latest Quidittch victory and not thinking of how happy Ron would be to hear the Cannon's won, or how strange our quiet meals are, and if not quiet, then torturous.

But Harry, I must confess, that still through all of this, one of the most painful things is watching you from across the dinner table on one of your monthly visits, or seeing you off on one of your auror missions, and seeing your face blank and unattached.

Ron's gone Harry, but everyone's just stuck.

Stuck in this rut.

We have to move on, and no one will until you do.

Harry, you've become emotionless. You rarely eat, and can barely sleep. And there's something I must say, if it's the last thing I do.

I love you.

Oh God Harry, I love you so completely. You're the last piece of sanity I have left, and your not even there. Even the ghosts at Hogwarts are more tangible than you. It's like you lost your soul to a dementor.

You don't cry, or laugh,

Hell, you don't even smile.

Harry, your almost dead to me. Have you forgotten your promise? We only ever parted in the first place because you thought I wouldn't be safe. That Voldemort would use me as a tool against you.

But it's over Harry. He's gone. And you never kept your word. You lied to me.

But I'm waiting here

I'll always be waiting here

But I doubt that you'll ever come find me.

With my dearest love,

Ginvera Weasley.

So she still loved him, but hadn't found the courage to mail the letter. He looked it over, spotting the stains of tears on the page, cried while the letter was written

He heart got heavy. But one such as him should be void of emotion, as he tried to empty his heart.

And so, he moved on.

Into her room.

When entering, her sweet fragrance filling his nostrils, more so than any mortal could

ever possibly sense. Rose wafted around her, cradling her perfection with sweet

scent.

But she had been depleted.

As he drew nearer to the bed, he could see the lines etched under her eyes, showing how

many late nights she had stayed up. She was paler than ever before, her once creamy

peach skin now rougher.

Of course, even her face's dramatic loss of color could not compare to his own.

She mesmerized him, just as she had always done. He looked about her room. It

was clean, though not with the same gleam it had once had, showing how tired she gotten.

For him, everything around here was an indication of how well she was. And she did not seem well at all.

But he looked back at her now.

And he silently approached her bedside, bringing himself on his knees so that he could stare, eye level, at her beauty.

Her hair, once tied back firm and tightly, was now messily falling from the straning band that almost seemed to struggle to hold back the mass which was her hair.

And he had never seen anything more beautiful.

And overcome with emotion, he made a very stupid mistake.

One that would cross their two worlds and change their lives forever.

Ronald Weasley leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to Hermione's.

A/N:

CLIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFY! Isn't it just tantalizing? I'm practically TORTURING YOU! Ok…fine….not really. Please forgive me, but I feel as though I've just consumed a barrel of PURE SUGAR!! Now, I'm going to have to edit this myself, because, once again, my editor is possibly the slowest person on the market…and that's coming from me….who rarely updates.

Honestly, I thought this chapter would just be more filler, but I guess something important happened. I'm a terrible author, I know, I don't even have an outline or anything. I'm just trying to go with the flow heee and see what comes up. Either way, I'm rather proud of this chapter, even though it's short. I loved how the letter from Ginny sounds, I was so proud of it….

Anyways…things have been rather busy. Plus, I've started writing another fanficiton (what…I get bored easily…) that takes place in the Marauder era, and I've had to think up a bunch of OCs. So yes.

Not to mention the HIDEOUS amount of homework I'm getting.

Either way, that's all for now..