Harry couldn't form proper thoughts as he followed Hermione down the steps of Grimmauld Place. They would have to fly to the Burrow, as Hagrid couldn't Apparate. Harry had often observed that Hagrid looked too big to be allowed in almost any situation, but seeing him mount a broomstick was utterly absurd. The handle was barely up to his chest and Harry had quantifiable reservations that he would even get off the ground.

'Shall I Apparate, Harry?' asked Hermione. 'I don't have a broom see.'

'You can come on with me if you want,' said Harry. 'I'm sure it'll support us both.'

Hermione threw her leg over the broom and Harry scooted on behind her. Their bodies were pressed together and Hermione threw him a little smile over her shoulder and pushed back into him. Harry cursed the bad timing, even in light of the nature of the crisis, and took off after Hagrid who was already some way ahead. Hermione, who Harry remembered didn't like flying, was gripping onto Harry's hands very tightly as he guided the broom in flight. The Firebolt quickly caught Hagrid's broom and they flew on in silence.

It was late evening by this time and wispy clouds hung slightly above the trio as they flew. Summer was passing quickly and the Autumn air was chilly at the height they were flying. The sharp air mixed with the moisture of the clouds to freeze Harry's face as he shot along. Hermione in front of him was tense and her rigidity told Harry that she was probably thinking exactly as he was.

And there was only one topic. Who had died? Harry hated himself for doing it but he couldn't help but prioritise, to formulate a list of whom it would be least painful to part with. In spite of, perhaps even because of, their recent falling out Harry put Ron at the bottom of his list. The very thought that their final parting would come at a time then they were on such bad terms chilled him in a way harsh weather never could. It was all he could do to put the idea from his mind and focus on flying.

Then there were the other Weasley's, any number of whom could have been at the Burrow at the time of the attack. Fred and George were easily his favourites and he would despair greatly if either of them were the victim. Bill on the other hand, Harry thought, is half-werewolf now so perhaps it would be a blessing for him. But then that would devastate Fleur, for whom Harry had always harboured something of a tender spot, and he wouldn't want to see her upset, or dead for that matter.

That thought brought him on to Ginny. His thoughts on her were so convoluted that he had trouble deciphering them. He didn't want her dead, to be sure, but he thought he could deal with it if she had. Their relationship had deteriorated to such an extent that the selfish part of Harry's brain felt it would be easier without having to deal with the fallout from that. He chastised himself for thinking any death could be easy to face. In spite of this, he couldn't but own to its truth, or think that in any case Hermione would be there to help him get over it. It was then that he remembered that if it wasn't for him she would still have been there, she might have been in the line of fire. The thought made him give her a purposeful hug and grip her fingers as tightly as they were digging into him.

'What is it?' she called back to him.

'Nothing,' he replied. 'I'm just glad you're with me.'

'That's quite scary,' said Hermione.

'What is? What's scary about that?'

'Not the thing itself,' said Hermione. 'I was just thinking exactly the same thing. It was running through my mind, word for word. Then you said it.'

'That is scary,' said Harry. 'I'd better get back to my Occlumency soon.'

'Occlumency couldn't keep me out, Harry,' said Hermione. 'Not from you, anyway.'

Harry returned her warm smile with one of his own, enjoying more than he knew he should the feeling of her hands smoothing his own and her bushy head cradling back into his neck. It wasn't soon after, as if some cosmic force was conspiring to keep Harry from any happiness, that the outline of Stoatshead Hill came into view. The Burrow, silhouetted against the gently rising morning sun, stood a short distance away and Harry could almost taste the scent of sorrow drifting up on the air.

Hagrid landed first with all the grace of a gymnastic buffalo and Harry imagined that the Weasley's would know they had visitors by the gigantic thud. He, himself, touched down with much greater deftness. Hermione dismounted and, despite the impending bad news, Harry couldn't help but grin to himself at the look of disappointment on her face. She, he could tell, despite the grave situation had enjoyed that ride just as much as he had.

No sooner had they stowed their brooms safely in the shed in the garden than Mrs Weasley was crossing the yard towards them. She drew Harry and Hermione into a hug, telling them both how much she had missed them and how worried she had been. Harry could see by her face that she had been crying. A lot. Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin blotchy. Harry felt his heart sink for he knew that whoever had been killed had been one of her own.

'W-what happened?' said Harry uncertainly.

'It was You-Know-Who,' said Mrs Weasley. She spoke in a tone which suggested she was all cried out. Her voice was as tired and strained as her face. 'I knew it was only a matter of time before one of us went. There's just too many of us fighting in high places to not be targets. And in the end we lost one.'

'Wh-who was it, Mrs Weasley?' asked Hermione tentatively.

'Charlie,' said Mrs Weasley, like she'd already told the tale to a thousand people. 'It was Charlie.'

'How did it happen?' asked Harry.

'You-Know-Who set a dragon loose. Charlie went to help reign it in. He was so brave, hardly anyone else tried to help. Too scared to get involved in case You-Know-Who targeted them. They managed to tie it down but just as they thought it was subdued it lashed its tail. Charlie was hit. The Healers said it would have been instant. He wouldn't have known much about it. That's some comfort, I suppose. He didn't suffer.'

Her tone drifted off. There wasn't anything to say and Harry felt that anything worthwhile had probably been said already by people more eloquent than himself. They followed Mrs Weasley as she led the way indoors where they were met in the kitchen by the surviving Weasley's, Fleur, Tonks, Lupin and several others Harry didn't recognise. As soon as he and Hermione were in sight Ron approached them. He looked at Harry's hand, intertwined with Hermione's. Harry couldn't remember that happening. He knew he should draw away, but her touch was comforting in the grief. From the vice like grip she was giving him he suspected she felt the same. He couldn't have broken contact even if he wanted to, which he didn't.

Ron nodded towards a quiet corner and led Harry there. He could barely look at Hermione, but his expression was strained, regretful, along with the lines of anguish cut deep by his brother's death. The three of them huddled close, spoke in whispers, mindful of the absent dead.

'Thanks for coming,' Ron mumbled.

'Of course,' said Harry. 'How are you all doing?'

'Mum's been a right state since it happened,' said Ron. 'Ginny's been pretty much the same but Dad's been as bad as anyone. He hasn't spoken a word for ages.'

'Maybe he's in shock,' said Hermione, glancing at Mr Weasley slumped at the table looking glazed.

'That's what mum thinks,' said Ron, following Hermione's gaze to his father. 'But I don't think he's even spoken to her very much. Speaking of speaking, do you both have a minute, you know, to talk about things? About what happened with us?'

Is this really the time, Harry thought. He was amazed when Hermione replied with exactly those words. It was the second time in quick succession. Harry reeled a bit from the connection.

'I just want to clear everything up,' said Ron. 'Hermione? Will you take a walk with me?'

Hermione looked like she'd rather do anything but, until Harry gave her an encouraging smile and a look that said plainly 'just get it over with'. Hermione nodded mutely and followed Ron into the garden, leaving Harry quite alone near the kitchen. He trained one ear on the back door, half-expecting raised voices from a classic Ron/Hermione row. He hoped Ron wouldn't upset her. A possessive, corrosive force rose like a torrent in Harry's chest. He genuinely concerned himself with what he might do to Ron, if Hermione came in tear-stained.

Then another concern hit him, and this one was a low blow to the gut. What if they were making up? Or, ten times worse, making out? What if Hermione was thinking herself hasty in breaking it off with Ron? It occurred to Harry now that Hermione had never formally told Ron that they were finished. He might logically think that she simply wasn't talking to him after their spat and the nasty manner in which he spoke to her.

It was certainly feasible.

That was simply the nature of their relationship, the way they often were with each other. It was how their life together would have been. And Hermione had tried to make herself content with that.

The thought sat ugly on Harry's mind and he found himself aching at the very notion. Aching for an imagined Hermione's downtrodden status. Belittled, unfilled, content - because she was afraid she had little other choice. Harry hated this train of thought, depressing and desperate. But it answered one potent question for him.

He definitely fancied Hermione.

He couldn't pinpoint the moment it had happened, but the truth hit him like a Bludger to the face. There was no longer any doubt. Ron couldn't make her happy.

And Harry was dying to prove that he could.

And she so totally deserved to be happy. Harry utterly, completely fancied her, and the force of it was overwhelming, now it was swimming through him, threatening to consume him. Only now, as he thought on it, shifting from foot to foot and awaiting her return, he found the concept of 'fancying' woefully childish and inadequate in relation to her. He had fancied Cho, Fleur, Ginny. Even Luna was fanciable, but too eccentric for Harry's taste, despite her big heart. Hermione superseded such a notion. Harry feared to think what name he would give it. These sensations were so new and raw to him, he was loathe to make such a monumental leap.

But it was there, unvoiced and unacknowledged, sitting in the back of his mind, waiting to be processed and weighed. His heart sighed wearily, and tapped its foot with thinning patience.

Harry shrugged back his grandiose ideas and stood looking around at the Weasley's instead, unsure of what to say. He had never been very good in situations like this. He remembered the time when he'd seen Mr Weasley bitten by Voldemort's snake and they had all gone to Grimmauld Place to wait for news. He hadn't known the right things to say then and the situation felt almost identical now. He decided it was best to stay silent, to not intrude on the grief and speak only when spoken to.

Ron and Hermione were gone for ten minutes. It seemed like a lifetime to Harry, but when they returned he was encouraged. Hermione gave him a little smile and Ron nodded somewhat awkwardly. It was if they'd shared a secret and Harry wasn't allowed to know it.

'We've... well, we've cleared everything up,' said Hermione quietly. She had tucked up close to Harry. He shifted nervously. He wasn't used to being nervous around Hermione. He didn't know what to do.

'Yeah, we've cleared the air, sorted everything,' Ron continued. Harry's heart nosedived. What exactly did sorted mean? Were they back together? Harry felt sick at the idea.

Hermione seemed to sense the rise in Harry's anxiety. Her eyes danced, almost gleefully, as she processed the possibilities of Harry's change of mood. Or was he just imagining it?

'We've agreed our break-up was for the best,' Hermione said. There was such relief in her eyes that Harry couldn't help smiling at it.

'Yeah,' Ron agreed. 'Neither of us liked the idea of kissing a sibling, and that's what it was like. Just wanna say sorry, mate. I didn't want to put you in the middle of it. I was a selfish twat about the whole thing. Hope you don't curse me for blaming you.'

'Not at all, mate,' said Harry, now swept with relief himself. 'You're not the first one to have that idea. Me and Hermione were only talking about that yesterday.'

Ron's eyebrows shot up suggestively. He looked curiously from Harry to Hermione, then back again. Whatever devious thought was crossing his mind, however, he kept to himself. Harry couldn't help but feel oddly exposed at Ron's shrewd expression though. It was as if he'd read Harry's diary, and knew his deepest secrets, and was letting him know through a look. At that moment, Harry was glad he didn't keep a diary. Imagine that getting out?

'So, are we...are we all okay now?' Harry asked to break the simmering tension.

'Yeah, think so,' replied Ron, casting a questioning look at Hermione. She nodded her agreement.

'Well...good,' said Harry. 'We never do well apart, do we? No chance of beating Vol - You-Know-Smegging-Who - if we're fighting each other',

Ron leaned in close to Harry (and consequently, Hermione, as she was so close), cast a surreptitious glance at his gathered family, and asked quietly if they had had any luck with the Horcruxes.

'Yeah,' said Harry, keeping his voice low. 'We found one at Hogwarts, d'you believe that? Gryffindor's armour was one. It was the suit in the corridor by the painting of the Fat Lady.'

'Wow,' said Ron. 'It was right under Dumbledore's nose all that time. How did it get in though? Surely You-Know-Who would have had to make it into a Horcrux fairly recently.'

'Not necessarily,' said Hermione. 'He was trying to learn to do them when he was at school. One of his first killings might have been made when he was still here and he used the suit of armour then. Maybe when he used the basilisk to kill Moaning Myrtle. Plus, we don't know how long the suit has been at the school. It looked a lot older than the other ones.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Harry, who could sense an argument brewing. 'It's been destroyed anyway. All other whys and wherefores are irrelevant.'

'You destroyed it?' said Ron, sounding both impressed and disappointed to have missed it. 'How?'

'I made it possess me and Hermione had to curse me till the part of Voldemort's soul was destroyed,' Harry explained.

'You let it possess you?' said Ron, both sounding and looking horrified at the thought. 'You took a piece of You-Know-Who's soul into you? By choice?'

'Pretty much,' said Harry, alarmed by the burgeoning awed look on Ron's face. He had quite enough star struck fans and he didn't need his friend to be one too. 'I forced Hermione to do Unforgivable Curses on me. I shouldn't have done that. I feel awful about it.'

'Wow,' said Ron. 'You're both mental!'

'It had to be done,' said Hermione sniffily. 'There wasn't any other choice. But hexing Harry to within an inch of his life was hardly my idea of a fun afternoon. I didn't think that fighting Voldemort would involve us fighting each other, too.'

'What was it you liked to say?' said Harry. 'Voldemort spreads enmity and discord from within? Or something mad like that.'

'Y-you remembered my words?' said Hermione. Harry noticed another sweeping semi-grin cross Ron's eyes as he looked between them, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived.

'Well, you did keep saying them,' said Harry. 'Kind of ingrained on my skull after that.'

'Shut up, Harry,' said Hermione, playfully slapping his arm but grinning all the time. 'I do not keep on about things.'

Harry coughed trying to conceal a veiled 'SPEW' within it. Even Ron gave a half-smirk to this as Hermione slapped Harry again.

'Which reminds me,' said Harry, and he explained about Dumbledore's will and all the things he'd been left.

'Money! He gave you money?' said Ron in disbelief.

'Lots of it,' said Harry, who was feeling embarrassed about this now. 'I don't know why.'

'That's obvious,' said Ron. 'You always were his favourite and he never had any children of his own, did he? You were probably the closest thing he ever had to a son. He might have even felt like you were a bit.'

There was a knock at the door that interrupted the conversation. Fred got up to answer the door, opening to a tall, thin man with wispy orange hair. He was some relative Harry had never met.

'My uncle Gerald,' said Ron. 'He's the Accountant we never talk about. Better go and say hello.'

Ron sidled away to join his family as they accepted the commiserations of the newcomer. Harry sidled up to Hermione feeling more apart from the Weasley family than ever.

'I could use some air, Harry,' said Hermione. 'Shall we leave them to welcome their uncle?'

Harry nodded enthusiastically and followed Hermione to the door. They passed Fred and Bill on the way, both of whom shook Harry's hand and clasped him on the shoulder as they thanked him for coming. This made Harry feel even worse as he just felt more useless than ever.

Once in the garden, Hermione led the way though the back gate and into the field behind the house.

'Nice path,' said Harry irritably as his shoes sank into soft mud.

'Sorry, I just couldn't stay in there,' said Hermione. 'The atmosphere - its so dreadful. If death could ever be a presence, that's what it might feel like. Its's horrible. I don't know what to say about Charlie to the family. I feel so terrible for them. What can you do though? They are all family and they can console each other, much more than we can. I feel so outside of it.'

'Me too,' said Harry. 'Perhaps its better that way. We don't feel it as much.'

'Are you joking?' said Hermione. 'I feel it badly. I just keep thinking -'

She broke off suddenly and looked away.

'Thinking what?' asked Harry.

'I just keep thinking,' said Hermione slowly, 'what if...what if it was you. I couldn't stand it, I just couldn't. Does that make me a terrible person? The Weasley's have just lost a son and all I can think about is...well, myself. I couldn't bear it if that happened to you. If you die, Harry, I don't think I could go on.'

'What are you talking about?' said Harry. 'That's a silly thing to say. Of course you could go on.'

'I couldn't,' said Hermione. Her voice was so fragile that Harry felt a searing urge to hug her, in case she fell to pieces.

'Why are you saying this?' said Harry. 'I'm not going to promise I won't die, you know I can't, but I don't like thinking about what you'd do if I did. Where has all this extra concern for me come from?'

'This isn't extra concern, Harry, I've always been this het up about you.'

Harry's heart skipped at the words, the idea. He was sure he wasn't breathing normally. That couldn't be healthy. He felt his heart had crouched expectantly. It was going to do something rash any moment, whether Harry felt powerful enough to stop it or not.

'I've just been thinking over the last few days,' Hermione went on.

'What - more than normal? Because I doubt that's possible,' Harry teased.

'I'm being serious.' And she utterly was. 'I've been thinking about some of the things you've been saying to me - about me - and some of the things I've been feeling because of it. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, actually. It's had me all shades of confused. I've been pushing these thoughts back for ages, until you started saying those things to me. Then I couldn't help it.'

'What things?'

'The sorts of things that I've wished you would say to me for years, but that I thought you never, ever would. Not you. Not to me. You'd never say things like that to me, because there was no chance in hell you'd ever think them. No matter how often I fantasized that you would.'

Harry was deeply curious now. 'Are you ever going to tell me what things, or do they have to remain in a fantasy world of my own?'

'Things like...you find me attractive,' said Hermione, adorably shy in her delivery of the words. 'You did mean that...didn't you?'

For a second, Harry allowed himself to dream where this was going. His heart started to pound hard again, thudding in his ears and causing him to shake like a leaf in a gale. Harry, bravely, as fitting his persona, took Hermione by the shoulders and turned her to him. It was time to throw caution away.

'Hermione - I've never meant anything more sincerely.'

She gasped. 'I just can't imagine that, Harry. Or why. Can I ask you a question, and demand total truth?'

'Always,' said Harry gently.

'Promise? Promise you'll tell the truth. If you have ever been my friend, had even the slightest inclination for me, please promise to answer this truthfully.'

'I promise.'

'Is there...do you think...Merlin, this sounds ludicrous to even say...do you think there would ever be a time, a way, that you could...fancy me?'

Hermione looked on the verge of tears such was her nervousness at the statement. It was so cute that Harry forgot to answer right away. Hermione saw it as rejection, and moved to qualify her question.

'I mean, not as much as Cho or Ginny, or good-looking girls like that,' she said quickly. 'I'm not that stupid. But would you...have you...ever thought about me like that?'

Harry stepped in close. His bravery was replaced by something else...assuredness, certainty. It didn't quell the nervous fluttering, but his heart and body now ached for a pay off that as little as ten minutes ago seemed a world away.

'Hermione - I do fancy you. Right here, right now.'

She sucked in a breath, perhaps the most surprised one she had ever taken. 'You...you do? Since when?'

'It's been coming on so gradually I hardly know,' said Harry. 'But I only knew 100% for sure when I was standing back there in the kitchen. I thought, if you came back and said you were back with Ron, I might hex him.'

Hermione laughed. 'Don't do that. He was very understanding.'

Harry was confused. 'Understanding. About what?'

'The real reason for our break up. Ron was right all along. I couldn't stay with him, because I've only ever wanted to be with you'.

For all of Harry's certain hope, hearing Hermione say the words floored him. He would have fallen, he was sure of it, but at that moment Hermione stepped into him and pressed her lips to his. He returned her kiss, deep, tender, filling in blanks in his heart he hadn't known were so vast. Hermione filled them all in one brush of her soft lips. The kiss became a hug, one that lasted for the longest time. And there, in the field behind the Weasley's garden, two lost souls became one.