A/N

Apologies for the inconsistent postings. I've been dealing with what feels like one migraine after another. Anyone who experiences them knows that migraines and screens do not mix.

I also want to thank all of you who take the time to review. I really appreciate the feedback and support. Also this chapter marks over 40,000 words, which is likely more than I've ever written in my life :0

~Dot

Hermione had to wait to see Healer Stoica before she could leave Saint Mungo's. After waiting for over an hour, Ron's stomach began to rumble, so he headed up to the tearoom to get an early dinner for the pair.

They had long finished their sandwiches when Healer Stoica made his appearance. He had checked Hermione over once again and asked her about her previous day's experience.

It had been decided that she had not been hit by a spell or curse. But, Healer Stoica could not figure out why she had regained her memory. He had the pair go over their story over and over, trying to find any detail that they had missed.

"And what exactly were you doing, before she began to regain her memory?", he asked.

The pair looked at each other, they had left out the fact that they were snogging before the onset of Hermione's memory. Ron began stuttering, but Stoica raised his hand to quiet him.

"I see," Stoica said. "It would make sense, it is ancient magic." He began walking to the door, apparently content with whatever he had figured out.

"What would make sense?", asked Hermione. Both she and Ron not quite understanding what he was talking about.

"Love," he said simply. With that he went to exit, telling Hermione to call on him if she had any problems, but that she likely would not.

"I still don't know what he's on about," said Ron, waiting until the door closed and Stoica was out of the room to talk.

Hermione gave a small laugh.

"I think he means that us kissing brought back my memories, that love was the antidote, so to speak."

Ron still looked at her incredulously.

"If you think about it, it's what saved Harry when he was a baby. So there must be a way to magically quantify love," she opened her mouth to continue, but became lost in thought, thinking about how one would quantify love.

"So are you telling me," Ron asked, breaking Hermione from her trail of thoughts. "That if I had found you five years ago and kissed you, or even back when Charlie found you, that you would be back to normal?"

"Well, I think if you had found me in Germany, and kissed me, I would have been terrified, and probably tried to fight you. Same as if you had tried before I got to know you. I don't think that you just kissing me would count as love, not really. I'd have to want you to."

Ron pondered Hermione's assessment for a moment.

"Do you mean that you loved me when we kissed last night?", he asked.

This question took Hermione by surprise, and she had to think for a moment about what the answer was.

"I'm not sure that I loved you completely. But," she said, turning to face him, "I did fancy you. I wanted you to kiss me."

"Really?", Ron asked with a smirk.

"Well, you can be charming, when you want to be."

"Yeah, but I was mostly an arse to you this past month."

Hermione gave a smile.

"A charming arse," she responded with a wink.

Hermione and Ron apparated back to the burrow, where they were engulfed in hugs by both Molly and Arthur. After minutes of teary congratulations from Molly and back pats from Arthur, Hermione excused herself to bed. It was still early, but she was feeling exhausted and overwhelmed from the last day's events.

But, Hermione did not make it to Ginny's old room. She had barely walked up half a flight of stairs when she began to feel it. The walls felt like they were closing in, her breathing became laboured, and her heart began to race. Her mind was racing with all of that she had recently remembered, mostly focusing on the terror she had experienced during the course of her young life. And it was becoming overwhelming. Being trapped with Ron, being kidnapped, had happened such a long time ago, but with the recent recovery of her memories, it felt like it just happened. She felt bile rise up her throat that accompanied the familiar urge to get out.

Somewhere in the middle of this panic, Ron had appeared. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to soothe her. But, him enclosing her only made her feel more trapped. She pushed off his arms, taking his hands instead.

"Should we leave?", he asked her.

She didn't know how he knew what she needed, but she didn't ponder it. Instead, she nodded her head, and the pair apparated.

Apparating had knocked the wind out of Hermione, but it also helped her to feel a bit better. Maybe it was the wind on her back. Or the freedom of being anywhere and everywhere all at the same time.

The pair had landed into a small, dusty, and dark flat, which Hermione did not recognize.

"Where are we?", she asked. As she did, Ron used his wand to illuminate the room, giving her a better view of the flat.

They were on the first floor of a compact flat. They had apparated into the sitting room-come-dining room-come-kitchen. Hermione looked around. The furniture had no rhyme or reason; there was what looked to be a Victorian sofa and armchair, mixed with a modern kitchen, and a bright green laminate dining table. The flat was scarcely furnished. One sofa, one armchair, a small dining table with mismatched chairs, a bookshelf, and a side table. It would have seemed un-lived in if it wasn't for the clutter. The armchair was barely visible under the pile of clothing atop it. The kitchen and tables were covered with open books, empty plates, and the largest collection of half-empty alcohol bottles Hermione had seen.

"It's my flat," Ron said, a blush creeping up his ears. "Sorry," he said, while picking up a dirty jumper off of the sofa, "it was the first place I thought of. If I had planned for you to come over, I would have cleaned."

Hermione shook her head trying to voicelessly tell Ron that it was fine, but something felt entirely wrong. This didn't feel like Ron's flat at all, where was the quidditch merchandise, the set of wizards chess, or posters of the Chudley Cannons?

"How long have you lived here?", she asked, hoping that the answer would help to shine a light on some of her questions.

"Since I started working for George, we're in Diagon Alley."

"Oh," Hermione said. That meant he had been here for years. He moved here for work.

Work.

"Oh shit!", she exclaimed. "I have work tomorrow." Well, that wasn't exactly true. She didn't have work tomorrow. Jane did. "I completely forgot. I have to get my lessons, and we've got our meeting, and I have to find something to wear, and I should dye my hair back, and-"

"Hermione, relax", Ron said, rubbing her arms. "You were preparing to go home after the wedding, so I'm sure you have everything in order."

Ron was right. She had packed all of her things days before, and was planning on heading home (was it really home, now?) after the wedding. She had had her lessons prepared for months. What was she doing worrying about what she was going to wear, or her hair? She was spiraling.

"What do you need to do first?", he asked her.

This was good, a plan. Hermione liked plans. She had all of what she needed at her flat, so she could get her things from the burrow another day. She told Ron this, and they apparated to her flat.

But, as soon as they arrived at her flat, she began to feel panic again. She didn't go into a full-blown panic attack, but the sense of being completely overwhelmed was hard to shake.

"Why don't you get ready for bed?" Ron asked. "And I'll pop by mums and get some Dreamless Sleep. You do need your sleep."

Hermione nodded and headed to her room to change. She sat on her bed in her pyjamas, waiting for Ron. But, she didn't have to wait long, as moments later he knocked on her bedroom door.

He had poured the potion into a cup, helping to make it look less medicinal.

"Will you stay?", she asked as she took the potion from him. She knew it wasn't fair of her to ask, it was barely past seven and Ron wasn't likely to sleep that early. But, it had been such a long time since she had been alone, and as desperate as it felt, she didn't want to be without him.

"Of course," Ron replied without hesitation, walking to the other side of her bed and laying down.

She downed the foul-tasting potion and laid next to him.

"I should set my alarm," she said, knowing she needed to do this before sleep took her.

"I'll wake you, what time do you need to be up?"

"5."

"In the morning?", Ron asked, causing both of them to laugh.

"I have to be in early; we have a beginning of term meeting."

"Alright," Ron said, stroking her hair. "5 it is."

With that Hermione cuddled into Ron's arms, a peaceful, dreamless sleep overtaking her.