AN: I've heard that kneazle's and pygmy puffs don't deliver mail. I honestly thought they did, probably because of my sometimes incomprehending mind. I'm sorry if it confused anyone! But, in my story, as Ginny and Hermione's familiars, they deliver mail... Author's rights, right?

The Meaning of Love

Luna and Minerva

Winds of Autumn

Ron stormed up the hill, heading blindly for his only consolation as of late. She'd been there for him when Harry had been dealing with the shock of what had happened, and when Hermione had been so terrified to leave her room that talking to her had been impossible. For nearly a month, he'd dealt with things on his own. He'd dealt with the loss of his brother and the impact of Voldemort finally gone, had realized that no matter how hard he tried, he just wasn't good enough for Hermione, and he'd grown up. When he'd been close to breaking, she had stumbled upon him, on one of her crazy adventures. That day, they had become friends. Probably closer friends than he'd ever been with Harry or Hermione, even if it had happened in the span of an hour.

She'd gotten the story out of him, had let him cry without noticing he had, and they had talked. They had really talked, the conversation deeper than any he'd ever had with anyone else, analyzing the actions and the consequences of the war and how each of them had changed from it. She'd understood, and she had helped him understand.

She would understand; she always did. It didn't seem to matter to her what they had been through, what had been accomplished only months ago. She was still the same. Flighty and out there.

He smiled, even in his blind rage. She was so... amazing. Even with her out-there ways, she always had something smart to say, something to cheer him up. And, best of all, she cared. She didn't pretend or listen with half an ear. She stopped what she was doing, made eye contact, and gave him her all.

It was almost scary how her whimsical eyes suddenly went serious and you could almost see the thoughts there. It was scary how she made him feel things he'd never thought possible. It had scared him before, but now... Now it was so normal that he rarely thought about it.

Clearing the hill, he smirked slightly, seeing her blonde hair in the sunshine as she sat beneath their tree. Their tree... It had a ring to it, Ron thought. Something completely theirs.

Her head swiveled, her clear blue eyes cutting into him even from a distance. A slow smile curved her lips, making Ron's knees tremble. Quickly closing the distance between them, he plopped down beside her.

"What's bothering you?" she asked, setting her book aside.

"Luna, do you ever think that we're drifting apart? Me, Harry, and Mione, I mean." He struggled not to turn his head, look into her eyes. She saw too much.

"I suppose you are. Harry has his own world of problems that he has always had to deal with. Things he tried to keep from touching you and Hermione, as you are his best friends. And Hermione... She's so different from you that I wonder often how the two of you have gotten along so long." Luna turned, taking his hand in hers. "Tell me what happened, Ron," she said softly.

Ron sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his freckled face and up through his mess of red hair. "Hermione. She's pregnant. I guess... George found her, and she tried to keep it a secret. She can't keep it anymore though. She was raped and now she's pregnant." He paused, letting this sink in. He felt Luna squeeze his hand in encouragement, and sighed as he went on. "I got mad. I yelled at her, made her cry." He grit his teeth, turning to look at her. His savior in the darkness of the past year. "I yelled at her, made her cower in a bloody corner! She was crying, shaking, begging me to stop." He closed his eyes, unable to believe his own actions.

"You had the right to be angry, Ronald. She was your best friend, and yet she kept something that huge from you. I can understand why she did it, though. How would you feel, telling her and Harry you were raped?" she asked softly, touching his cheek gently. She'd come to care for him a great deal in the time they'd been friends. Lately, he'd been coming to her more and more often, their talks getting longer and more serious. A few times, they had fallen asleep in the warm summer nights, under the tree they often sought out for shade.

Ron sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I guess you're right," he said softly. He hated to admit it, but she was right. Hermione had only been trying to spare him and Harry from further pain and demons, hoping against hope that she wasn't pregnant with the man's baby. But she was. She'd had to tell them. He gave a humorless laugh. Harry had probably taken it better. He wondered how long it would take for Harry to realize that Ginny wasn't who he wanted.

"How long of Harry helping her do you think it will take?" Ron asked Luna softly, shifting down to lay back, his head resting comfortably in her lap. Luna smiled, stroking his hair as a distant look came to her eyes.

"I don't know. I suppose it's up to Ginny, how bad she wants to keep Harry." Luna's explanation of the situation struck Ron as more logical than most people believed possible for her. He frowned.

"How long have you seen it?"

Luna laughted softly, the sound washing over Ron and teasing his senses. "Since fourth year." Ron nodded. "Maybe you should try to help her?" It was a stupid thing to say to Ron. She knew he held a grudge, and he would do so against Hermione simply because he had been the last to know. They had dated, had shared things that she hadn't shared with anyone else, and she'd trusted in others before him. To Ron, that was the deepest betrayl.

Ron snorted, giving Luna just the reaction that she had expected. "No way. She's got all them to help her. She didn't think she needed me then, what makes her think I want to help her now?" he demanded. Luna shrugged, leaning her head back against the rough bark of the tree, her fingers running through the silky, long red strands of Ron's hair.

"You know what dad got me?" she asked, her tone dreamy again. Ron grinned. Her limit of seriousness had been used.

"No, what?"

"More earrings," she said, giggling softly as she pushed her long hair back to show him her ear. There, dangling from her dainty lobe, was a little upside-down quidditch player on a broom. "He said he hoped you would like them," she added mistily. Ron chuckled. It was so easy to tell when she wanted a compliment, fishing or not. It was the look on her face, split between prideful and stricken at what she'd just said, at the hidden meaning that he was sure to pick up.

Perhaps it was Luna. Perhaps it was maturity. Ron could easilly pay attention to her now, could easilly pay attention to everything when they were together, for that matter. Perhaps it was her. He felt like the protector when he was with her, like he was the man, like he had to step up and be better. With Harry and Hermione, he'd always been in the middle, stuck between loyal best friend and follower. Closing his eyes, he pushed the thoughts away, unwilling to dwell on them. He didn't want to dwell on them, and bloody hell, he wouldn't.

"They're perfect," he said softly, shifting his gaze from the earring to her face. Grinning, he sat up and stood, offering her a hand. "You think your dad will mind if I drop in on you for lunch?" Luna giggled, letting him help her up.

"Of course not, Ron. Daddy loves the company." Taking his hand, Luna led Ron down the hill to her house, recently rebuilt after the explosion with the artifact that should not, under any dreamy, seductive thoughts, been in the house. But, of course, she had her fathers love of questionable, highly unusual objects, and she knew that she wouldn't have been able to turn it away then, either. She did regret, however, that she had to recreate the portrait of friends on her wall.

Or maybe she didn't. She'd drawn her and Ron right beside each other this time, just as she felt they should be.

Hermione fiddled nervously as she sat across the desk from McGonagall. The older woman watched her, her eyes hard and understanding at the same time. She waited patiently, her hands folded on the desk in front of her, watching Hermione.

"Professor, I really don't know what they want me to talk to you about. I mean..." Hermione shrugged, her gaze skittering along the room, away from McGonagall.

"Call me Minerva, Hermione. I do believe you've earned that right, as well as my respect." Her lips tightened briefly, pain reflecting behind her glasses as she leaned forward. "I'm about to tell you something, Hermione, that I've never told anyone."

Hermione lifted her head, frowning slightly as she watched Minerva, as she was now allowed to call her. It would be a strange transition at first, but she would get used to it eventually. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

Minerva closed her eyes briefly, then reached for Hermione's hand. Hermione surrendered it, surprised at the warm grip that Minerva held. "When I was near thirteen, I... I found myself in a position extremely similar to your own." She swallowed. She had thought that she'd gotten over it, but now she wasn't so sure. If it helped Hermione, though, she would relive the pain.

"Oh, Profe... Minerva," Hermione breathed. She squeezed the other woman's hand, offering the same comfort that Minerva had offered her. Minerva waved a hand, as if doing so could wipe the event away from her past.

"It was quite a long time ago, dear. I just thought... talking to someone who could relate might help." Minerva shrugged, glancing up at the portrait of Dumbledore.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, thinking. Minerva could almost see the cranks turning, producing thoughts and answers to her own dilemmas. "It does make me feel a bit more comfortable sitting here across from you," she murmured, her hand drifting from her lap to her still relatively flat stomach. "I'm keeping him, Minerva," Hermione breathed, offering a small smile. "And he'll love everyone, reguardless of their background. He'll respect women, know how to study properly, be a wonderful friend. And he'll know how to love."

Minerva smiled, reaching across the desk to pat the young woman's hand. "Good. I'm happy for you." And she was. It wasn't every rape victim that could come to terms with it and recognize a resulting baby for the miracle it was. They never forward with their life and learned to trust men again. But she could see the strength to move on in Hermione. With Harry's help, of course.

Hermione smiled, then glanced around the office, so different yet so familiar. McGonagall had changed it up just a bit, but there were still traces of Dumbledore everywhere you looked. It was a nice feeling, being close to both beloved teachers. "May I ask a favor, Prof... Minerva?" Hermione asked, knowing it would take a while to get used to conversing with her prior professor on a first name basis.

"Of course. Ask away," Minerva answered, drawing her gaze away from the portrait of the ever-smiling, knowledgeable-even-in-death Dumbledore.

"Don't let the Malfoys find out." Hermione's eyes were hard, fierce, and Minerva fought a smile. The girl would be a wonderful mother.

"Of course not. If they don't already know, I'll do my best to keep it that way," Minerva agreed. If Narcissa and Draco got wind of Hermione's pregnancy, they would surely come after her, probably in an attempt to rid the girl of her baby. It would be a stain against the Malfoy name if word got out, and they couldn't have that.

Hermione nodded, then rose. "If its alright, I think I'll go back now. Harry must be worried," she said, the worry evident in her eyes and the way she chewed on her lip. Minerva nodded, settling back in her chair and watching as Hermione flooed away.

"She's in love with him." Minerva looked up, meeting the sparkling gaze of Dumbleore's portrait.

"How long have you seen it?" she asked, smiling softly. Dumbledore's lips twitched up into a smile.

"Since I saw her petrified on that hospital bed, clutching the only thing that would warn her two best friends."

Minerva nodded slowly, the information sinking in slowly. Even if Hermione hadn't realized it then, Dumbledore was right. The deep loyalty had been there since Harry and Ron had rescued her from the Troll their first year. Perhaps not as deeply for Ron, since it was a common occurance of his to say mean things to Hermione. Hermione had always been the brains behind the brawn, but she had fought just as fiercely as Harry and Ron.

"They would make a fine couple," she said with a smile. The portrait laughed softly, nodding in agreement.