Hermione watched her father and the Minister leave the room. Her eyes trailed up the ornate banister, something her parent's also had in their home in Britain. She felt jolts of déjà vu as she glanced around the living room, finding things so uncannily similar to her old home. The way her parents had arranged the sofas, in a kind of semi-circle. The intricate objects settling casually about the room, tying the entire scene altogether.

At this very moment, things were complicated. A bubble of elation was inside of her; her parents had forgiven her. A wave of unease settled over her, though, as she finally took a good, long look at Ron. To say that he looked glum was an understatement. There was something raw about his eyes, and the only movement was his pale, nimble fingers pushing his hair out of his face. Hermione was hesitant to approach him, as she never completely saw him behaving like this.

The tension in the room was smothering, and she needed to escape. She'd go to Ron when he looked at least a tiny bit welcoming; right now he looked like he wanted to be alone.

"I'll go make tea," She said automatically, brushing her knees with her fingers as she stood up. Harry nodded at her once, and then went to the sofa Kingsley was previously sitting in. Ron didn't give any sign of listening, and she gave up on trying to receive a response.

Hermione made her away around the living room, expertly maneuvering between couches and tables as she walked into what was the kitchen. She poked around, and once again, found many similarities between the kitchen back in Britain and the one here. The long, sleek counters were polished, without a trace of splatter or crumbs. A lonely looking mug was on one end of a counter, and Hermione found ceramic containers lined with parchment holding tea leaves and herbs. The stove had four burners, with a small pan that still had some porridge left over in it from breakfast. Hermione almost felt like she was snooping, feeling like a trespasser in this foreign kitchen.

It was right then and there that she realized the ache inside of her, the longing for returning home.

"Mate," Harry said softly, prodding Ron with a hand. "Are you okay? You've barely said a word all afternoon." He hesitantly sat down next to Ron, after retrieving the bag of baked goods Mrs. Weasley had left with Kingsley earlier. He was famished, and planned on going into the kitchen to give them to Hermione to serve with tea, but he wanted to talk to Ron first. He knew how Ron felt, considering he himself lost his parents, a godfather, a classmate, a fatherly figure... the list was endless. All Ron needed to do was open up, and Harry would be there, ready to offer comfort.

When Ron said nothing, Harry tried again. "I know how you feel, Ron."

Ron looked up, his blue eyes blazing. "Do you, Harry? Do you?" His teeth were clenched, and he looked angry.

Harry felt an irritation rising up in him. Of course he did! He was only seventeen, and had lost practically every lifeline he had. Ron still had a good seven family members to go back to, didn't he? Harry knew he needed to be patient though; his friend wasn't used to this type of loss. "Of course I do, Ron. In case you forgot, my parents aren't... they aren't here."

The anger almost dissolved in Ron. He felt like a git at this point, questioning Harry about something that was so obvious. "But," His voice faltered, "You didn't really know them, did you? I mean, Fred was... I knew him for seventeen bloody years!"

Harry considered this for a moment. "You're right," He admitted. "I was so young when they died, and I grew up being nurtured by Aunt Petunia before I knew it." He made a face. "I cried a lot when I was younger, though. In my cupboard under the stairs." He laughed bitterly. "When I finally did find out what happened to them, and how they died, there wasn't really any pain left. I barely even understood it. There was remorse, though, and sadness, but by the time I could properly grieve, there was... nothing left to feel, I suppose."

Ron said nothing, and instead focused on his fingernails.

"I did know someone though. He was essentially like a father to me. I spent a good part of my life not knowing a thing about him, and when I finally learned of his existence, everyone told me he was a crazed murdered that betrayed my parents."

Ron immediately knew who he was talking about. "Sirius," He whispered.

Harry nodded, pushing a hand back over his unruly hair. "When I met him... remember that night in third year? We were in the Shrieking Shack, and Sirius and Remus explained everything. I think the moment Sirius asked me to come and live with him... let's just say that's a good enough conversation to cast a Patronus."

"I felt so cursed when he died. I felt like... like, at last, I was experiencing a death of a parent. The bad part was that there were so many other ways I could have handled the situation. I could have used the two-way mirror Sirius gave me, or I could have told Snape, even if he was a git, or I could have tried harder at Occlumency..." Harry trailed off. He didn't want to continue. He tried to compose his nonchalant demeanor, but it was hurting him on the inside to talk about his godfather. "You know what the worst part was?" Harry's voice was almost inaudible..

"W-what?" Ron asked, willing himself to listen.

"After he died, Dumbledore came back to Hogwarts. He told me about the prophecy for the first time... about how I had to kill Voldemort. More than anything, I wanted to be with Sirius. Hell, I wanted to be with my parents. And then Dumbledore decides to tell me that I have to kill the Darkest wizard of our age. I don't think anyone knew how alone I felt. I kept shoving people off, but the smallest bit of me really wanted to talk to someone. The only problem was that the people I wanted so badly weren't here anymore." He paused, wondering if he should continue or not. Ron looked at him expectantly.

"Look... I'm not asking you to jump up and act like everything's fine. Because it's not, and Merlin knows when things will get better..."

"Mate, if this is your idea of a pep talk..."

"... but you're forgetting something really important. You're not alone. You could walk to the edge of the Earth and you wouldn't be alone. You could crawl into some dilapidated shack in Knockturn Alley and you wouldn't be alone. You could, I dunno, sit in the stomach of the Giant Squid and you still wouldn't be alone. There's always gonna be people there for you. All you have to do is seek them out."

Harry stood up and grabbed the bag with Mrs. Weasley's food. He strode off into the kitchen, leaving Ron to contemplate his words.

"Reparo," Kingsley muttered, pointing his wand at the window. The cracks etched into the surface of the glass repaired themselves instantly, and the sun once gleaming blindingly through them was subdued. He turned around, finding Mr. Granger sitting on the edge of a twin bed, holding a frame in his hands. Kingsley walked hesitantly towards him, not wanting to disrupt the obvious peace.

Jack traced his fingertips over the photo. A younger-looking version of his wife and himself smiled back at him, their fingers intertwined. He remembered the day vividly; it couldn't have been more than a year ago, after all. The two of them stood side by side on a beach with their feet hidden beneath the warm sand. He wore a pair of board shirts and a t-shirt; she wore a daring summer dress. He smiled at the ridiculous sun hat that completed her outfit. He bought it for her as a joke, but he was completely surprised when she obliged to wear it. He remembered her body leaning towards his, her whisper dancing in his ear. It's the thought that counts. And the proof was right there as their infectious smiles penetrated through the glass and touched Jack in a way he couldn't understand.

He caught sight of Kingsley staring at him, and noticed the fixed window behind him. "Thanks," He said genuinely, standing up. "Jean's been on my back to fix that for days."

Kingsley nodded in response. In a flash, he was standing next to him, pointing a finger at the photograph. "You two look very content," He observed.

Jack nodded. "Australia did wonders for us. You know... I've always thought this photograph was missing something, even after it was developed. I think I finally figured out who's supposed to be right there, standing between us."

Kingsley chuckled. "Took you long enough."

Hermione walked over to the sink, placing a kettle under the tap. The water sounded hard and loud as it hit the kettle, further embellishing the silence in the kitchen. She turned on the stove, leaving the kettle to boil. Wandering aimlessly around the kitchen, she found what she was looking for. It was sitting in the middle of a cupboard, surrounded by an array of spices. A glass container filled to the brim with the white crystals had a label on it. Sugar. Even in Australia, her parent's meticulous characteristics existed.

The kettle whistled and she walked over to the stove, marveling its spotless had been a long time since she used a stove, and even longer that she used a Muggle appliance. Tracing the flat surface with her fingertips, she was startled when she heard footsteps in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Weasley gave this to us before we came here." Harry's voice echoed unnaturally throughout the kitchen as he walked towards Hermione in strides.

She wordlessly took the bag from him, silently thanking Molly for her resourcefulness.

"I thought we could..." Harry trailed off, not bothering to finish his proposal. Hermione was already removing a plate from another cupboard, and taking the muffins out of the bag one by one.

"Need some help?" Harry asked. Not bothering to wait for her answer, he began to remove mugs from the same cupboard. Counting out six, he continued Hermione's task of arranging muffins on a plate while she placed a few teabags in the kettle. They moved around quietly, keeping out of each other's way and further enunciating the prolonged silence. Hermione was the one to cave in and break it.

"How is he?" She gestured towards the living room where Ron was presumably sitting.

Harry remained silent for a few seconds. "I think he'll be okay. We just... we just have to remind him about the things and the people that will always be there for him."

Hermione nodded, and continued to stare hopelessly at her hands, trying not to cry. Ron was hurting, but he wasn't open. He wasn't asking for help, and his stubborn side was emerging as he continued to brood by himself. He looked and felt so... touchy, as if he'd push himself away from anyone who tried to break through.

In an instant, Harry was by her side, hugging her. "He needs you," He whispered softly. "One of these days, he's going to admit it. But we can't push him." He pushed a few tendrils of hair out of her face, as she leaned her chin on his shoulder. "Besides, all three of us have been through almost everything. It wasn't supposed to be a big party after Voldemort was destroyed, you know?" His voice wavered a bit, but he used up every bit of pent-up energy to continue. "There are pieces to pick up, and so many people are gone... I know one thing, though. Together, there's nothing we can't do. And I'll be damned if we can't get through this."