"Ginny, let's go see what we can do about your room," Harry muttered, they had long been sitting in silence, listening to the occasional murmurings of the Aurors asking Mr. Weasley questions. They could tell from the tone of his voice that he was trying to be patient, but was desperate to disapperate to Saint Mungo's to see his son and be with his wife.

"I am quite practiced in construction spells," Luna said serenely as she tucked her wand behind her ear, "I did quite well helping Daddy repair our house. I can help you if you'd like, unless you are just saying that so that the two of you can be alone together?"

Harry grinned, "We'd love your help Luna, and I don't really know anything about construction spells."

The three of them got to their feet, and Luna started off down the hall with a slight skip in her step, calling over her shoulder, "Come now, I'll teach you."

Ginny smiled after her friend, grabbed Harry's hand, and pulled him down the hallway.

"Do you want to go with them?" Ron grumbled, not taking his eyes off of the kitchen table and absent-mindedly picking at a chip in the wood.

"No," Hermione replied quietly, "I feel a bit light-headed, I'd rather just sit here. You can go though, if you'd like."

For the first time since he had entered the room, Ron looked up, and his blue eyes widened when he took in Hermione; though a lot of it had washed away when she applied the Dittany, blood caked parts of her face and matted bits of her hair. Crimson stained the entire front of her glass shredded robes, and Ron knew her fighting style well enough to know that it wasn't someone else's blood, she didn't use cutting spells on people.

"Bloody hell Hermione! What happened? My god… are you alright?" Ron rushed around the table and knelt at her side, she was pale, and by the way she sat there, it appeared she was slightly disoriented. He quickly stood up again, and ran to a cupboard.

"Ginny told you that a Death Eater blew up the outside wall, I was standing at the window. I'm fine, Ron, I just feel a little light-headed is all. Maybe a little dizzy, too, but I'm fine. I've already applied the Dittany-"

She stopped when Ron pushed a glass full of cold water into her hands; "Sip it slowly," he told her, his eyes were earnest, and full of worry, "It helps."

"Ron-"

"Hermione."

She stared into his eyes for a long moment, then did as he said.

Ron sat back on his heels and watched her, guilt wracking him. He hadn't even thought of her, he hadn't even looked to see where she was. All he could think about was killing Death Eaters, his rage had overcome him. He hadn't even looked at her until moments ago.

Ron clenched his fists, angry at himself. He had yelled at her, a lot, the last week, and she had taken it for the most part with a calm that he hadn't known she had, and then she kept coming to comfort him, even though she knew he might start shouting at her. He felt sick with himself. Just that morning, he had been happy, actually happy, that she was yelling, even though it was about that awful day at Malfoy Manor… that is until she fainted… he wasn't happy then; he was panicked.

Ron still wished that she would stop being so damn calm all the time, to just let it out, like he was. He wanted to let so much more out to her, to shout without shouting at her, to ask her why all of these things had to happen to them. She was Hermione, she had to know the answers… she knew everything. He couldn't ask her what he needed to though, not while she was so closed off; she scared him.

He wished he had looked at her earlier; he had been far too obsessed with George, and what he had said to him. Ron knew someone had needed to tell him, but as his anger was fading, he thought he might have done more harm than good. He looked up into Hermione's face again; at least she was starting to regain a little color.

Hermione closed her eyes as she sipped the cold water; it felt incredibly refreshing on her dry throat, and she was already starting to feel better.

The discovery of how many young Death Eaters there were had disturbed her. That all of them were so willing to take up the awful duties of Death Eaters was sickening. She knew without a doubt that the girl that she had dueled would have tortured anyone as relentlessly as Bellatrix had done to her… no, this was not the time to dwell upon that. There were things to do, people to take care of. She was certain that there was a book that she had read somewhere that might be able to help George, but at the moment she couldn't remember what. She hated that- not remembering things- especially the important things that might help, like what book it was that had mentioned magical twin separation… she hardly ever forgot things that she read, but this one piece of information was eluding her; it was dancing just out of her reach, but close enough to taunt her. She wished she could erase her experience at Malfoy Manor and replace it with useful information…

In her mind she scolded herself, Hermione continuously found her thoughts wondering to that awful day… except for when she was fighting, like just an hour before. She was shocked to find how geared for it she had become in just the last few years, ever since they had started the DA. The adrenaline rush was strangely fulfilling to her, and the arsenal of different spells she always had at the ready made her feel… powerful. All else was forgotten when she was dueling, it was just her and her opponent. There was no painful memories, no trauma, no sadness; there was just her, her knowledge, her wand, her opponent, anger, and the plentiful fuel of adrenaline.

She opened her eyes and set the cup on the table. Ron was staring up at her from his kneeling position on the floor: obviously worried, and there was something else… guilt?

"Hermione-" he choked on a bit of emotion, "Hermione, I'm sorry."

She furrowed her brow in confusion, "What are you sorry for? You were right, the water did help…"

He dismissed what she was saying with a wave of his hand, "I'm sorry that… I didn't realize that you were hurt sooner. I was just… so caught up in everything else that I-… I didn't even realize that you were hurt."

"Ron…" Hermione pushed her chair away and knelt down in front of him so that they were at the same eye level, "I'm fine; you can't expect to keep track of me all of the time. I can take care of myself; just…" she reached up and touched his cheek tenderly with just the tips of her fingers, and a lone tear formed at the corner of one of her eyes, "just take care of you, ok?"

He grabbed her hand and gripped it tightly, like a lifeline, like he had seen Ginny doing to Harry as they sat at the kitchen table, when walked through the hallway, and when they said goodnight. At that moment he felt a fool. He had missed out on this comfort, and though there was that long kiss that they had had a few days ago, it hadn't been real; it had been two of them fighting away their own demons, neither caring at all that moment for another, but just fighting memories. Here, as they sat facing each other on the floor beside the kitchen table, it meant more than any interaction they had had since the battle ended.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he rasped, "I'm not as strong as you, I think. I'm just… I'm always so angry. All of the time."

"It's ok to be angry, Ron," Hermione whispered, the tear slipped down her cheek, and another followed close behind.

Fleur and Bill began to walk into the room but, in seeing Ron and Hermione, stopped in their tracks and backed out. Bill gave Percy, who had been following behind them, a hushed excuse of why they should go out into the garden instead of the kitchen.

"I'm angry at everyone, everything," Ron's voice was hushed, and painfully bitter, "I'm angry at George for being so messed up, at mum for trying to play along with him, at Percy for casting spells left and right, at Charlie for spinning his wand all the damn time… and I'm angry at you, for being too strong."

"I'm not all that strong," she sniffed, looking away from him.

Ron reached up with his free hand and rubbed a tear away from her cheek with his thumb, "Bullshit," he replied, "you're the strongest person here… except for maybe Luna, I don't think the world ending would phase her. She'd probably go looking for Trupely Fronsers or something loony like that," he grinned at her.

Hermione let out a small chuckle, "That she might…"

His face turned more serious as he asked, "Why did all of this happen to us, Hermione?" in that moment, when her deep brown eyes met his, he actually expected an answer he could hold on to, and actually held his breath. Hermione knew everything, right? She had to know.

"I don't know, Ron," she pulled her hand away from his and tried to wipe away another tear, but before she could, Ron pulled her close to him and let her cry into his shoulder as he wept quietly along with her and ran his hand over her curly brown hair.

X

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Author's note: This was what I call a 'cool down chapter'. Nothing much happened in it, but there was some fundamental character development that I hope I made clear. I also had fun playing around with a third person omniscient point-of-view; I think I did it well and without it seeming jumpy or confusing. Let me know what you think if it so suits you. Thank you again to all of you that have reviewed my story, I appreciate it greatly.