A/N - Hello, dear readers! The structure and pacing of this story is going to be a bit of a departure for me. I intend to tell it as a series of vignettes. Imagine, if you will, that your view of each scene shrinks and fades to black at the end, the way silent movies used to do back in the day. (Filmmakers call it the "pinhole zoom," or "iris-in, iris-out." You're probably too young to remember it, but ... well ... it's the effect that was in my head when I started writing this! Google the words "pinhole zoom grolsch" and you'll find a great explainer with examples.)

Anyway, the result I'm hoping for is a less plot-driven experience but rather a story told through vignettes that focus very closely on Ron & Hermione's emotional world as they piece their lives back together in the immediate aftermath of the war. I hope you like it.

Holly.

oooOOOooo

Chapter 1: Boy To Man

"Umm, Dad?"

The unmistakable sound of his son Ron's voice, paired with the soft knock at the doorway of the shed, drew Arthur's attention away from the workbench, which had always been his haven but never more so than in these days following Fred's funeral.

Despite the grief that had threatened to consume him these few weeks since the war's end, Arthur felt his lips curl upward, amused at the note of aspiring manliness that his son's tone conveyed. He was still a boy, Ron was, but he'd matured, hadn't he — the war had seen to it. And Arthur anticipated what Ron had come there to discuss. This was man's business Ron was bringing to him. Someone his son cared for very much, felt responsible for, would even *die* for, was in pain and needed help, and Arthur knew full well that his son would do what he must to provide that help whether Arthur approved or not.

He turned to face the doorway and smiled wider still at the sight of his Ronald, illuminated from behind by the amber light streaming from the kitchen window across the lawn. Ron's hands, which once might have been thrust into his pockets in exasperation and nervousness in such a situation, were now firmly set, grasping each hip. His shoulders, which had widened considerably in the course of the war, were set straight, his chin upright. Yes, he'd come to his father with a purpose, Ron had. It occurred to Arthur that perhaps Ron was more fully a man than he'd reckoned.

"Come in, son," Arthur said gently, gesturing toward the stool across from his own by the workbench.

Ron seemed to deflate somewhat at his father's conciliatory tone, as if the battle he had been girding for might not happen after all. The right corner of Ron's mouth rose, almost in apology, as he stepped in to join his father and begin what he still expected would be an awkward conversation.

"Cheers, Dad," Ron murmured softly as he settled onto the seat. "You OK? Haven't seen you since dinner," Ron added. This tack surprised Arthur somewhat. Given Ron's earlier, nearly defiant posture, he hadn't expected an inquiry about his own state of mind.

"Oh yes, son, I'm quite all right, all things considered," Arthur replied, flicking his hand toward the half-deconstructed muggle toaster oven that had absorbed his attention until then. "Just tinkering a bit. The heating elements in these muggle roastery contraptions are right fascinating. Quite delicate things, really."

"Hmm," Ron hummed with a slight nod of agreement, fingering the disconnected wiring and pursing his lips.

After a moment, Ron straightened up and faced his father again.

"Dad, you know I'd never do anything intentionally to disrespect you and Mum or the house rules," he said firmly — perhaps a bit more firmly than he'd intended.

Arthur merely nodded in response.

Ron diverted his eyes to the cloth-covered wires again, twiddling them feebly. Arthur picked up the screwdriver he'd laid next to the toaster, studying it closely. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Ron straighten up again, and Arthur privately cheered at the sight. He heard his son draw in a deep breath.

"Hermione needs me, Dad."

Arthur returned his gaze to his son and tilted his head slightly, a silent invitation to continue.

"She can't sleep. It's … well … she's frightened. Not during the daytime, but when it's dark, mostly. She can't get through the night without breaking down, Dad, and it's gotten so that she's afraid to close her eyes. Ginny says Hermione hasn't slept at all since we returned to the Burrow — that is, not until last night."

Arthur knew this to be true. So did Molly. Since Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys had returned to the Burrow, both Molly and Arthur had heard the unmistakable sound of someone tossing and turning violently in her bed from within Ginny's room, the low murmur of girls' voices, the creak of the stairs as someone — presumably Hermione — crept down to the lounge each night in search of a book to occupy her mind in the wee hours. Arthur and Molly had discussed it, the two of them, in the privacy of their bedroom. Both of them had noticed how weary Hermione looked, how jumpy she was, how dark the circles were becoming under her eyes. It had gone on every night — that is, until last night, when the entire house was awakened by a half-deafening scream.

Arthur had quite literally fallen out of bed at the sound, pulling himself upright in time to see Molly spring through the doorway and toward Ginny's room, throwing the door open to find Hermione sprawled on the floor between the beds, her back arched awkwardly, eyes shut tight, twitching and squirming as Ginny helplessly nestled her friend's head in her lap in an attempt to soothe her.

Hermione, her face streaked with tears falling from her still-closed eyes, had gasped as Molly dropped to the floor and took Hermione's hands in her own. "Nooooooooooooo!" Hermione screamed in response at an eardrum-splitting pitch, and though Ron's bedroom is by far the farthest from Ginny's in the house, he was the next to barrel into the room, chest heaving, having flown down the stairs and vaulted onto the landing, nudging Arthur aside before the sound of Hermione's shout had stopped ringing in their ears. "Nooooo! No! No!"

"I can't wake her," Ginny choked, looking desperately to her mother, then her father, then Ron and finally Harry, George and Percy as they all crammed into the doorway. "She fell asleep a little while ago for the first time in days, thank Merlin," Ginny continued, running her hand over Hermione's hair, "but now she can't seem to wake up. She's having some sort of nightmare."

Taking Hermione's face in her hands, Molly again spoke soothingly, even as Hermione writhed in Ginny's arms. "Hermione, you're all right, darling. We're all here, sweetheart. Wake up, Hermione," she pleaded. "Wake up, dear."

"Stop!" Hermione cried, this time at a slightly lower volume, though her face was still contorted in a pained grimace. "Please, please — please stop," she moaned. "Noooooo," she continued, thrashing her head left and then right in Ginny's lap. "No!" she cried, still louder. "No, please! Please … Ron … Ron! Please!" she wailed, twisting on the floor. "Ronnnnnnn!"

In a flash, Ron dropped to his knees, eyes wide, and took his mother by the shoulders, guiding her gently but firmly aside. He reached out his arms and scooped Hermione up off the floor to cradle her in his lap, pulling her close against his chest and burying his face in her hair, not caring that nearly his entire family was watching.

"Shhhhhhh," he whispered as he began to rock her slowly in his arms, forward and then back. "Shhhhhh, Mione, I'm here. I'm here. It's all right. You're safe now. You're safe. They won't hurt you anymore, love. I'm here."

From where Arthur stood, jammed between George and the bookshelf, he could see little more than Ron's arms encircling Hermione's back, and though he chastised himself mildly for intruding on such an intimate moment, he couldn't help but be glad to see a sign, finally, that Hermione was moving of her own volition as she lifted the arm not pinned between her and Ron's chest and draped it around his shoulders, clutching him close.

"Mione," Ron had whispered again into her hair, and Hermione sobbed anew, though something about the sound of it that time told Arthur that she was, at least, awake.

Indeed, Hermione had pressed her face tightly into the crook of Ron's neck and was soon crying softly in his arms as he continued to rock her gently, back and forth. "Oh Ron," she sputtered when she could finally get her breath. "Ron," she continued, curling up more firmly against him. "I was so … oh, I'm so sorry …"

"Shh," he said, cutting her off. "None of that. You're OK now. That's all that matters."

With that, Ron shifted and somehow — Arthur wasn't quite sure how he'd managed it, because he'd never have reckoned Ron was quite strong enough — he'd stood up, with Hermione still in his arms, and turned toward the doorway. The motion had given Hermione a view of just how crowded the room was, and her face grew even redder, this time clearly in embarrassment. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry, everyone," she said sheepishly. "I, did I … oh, I didn't realize …"

"Nonsense, dear," Molly had piped up as she patted Hermione on the cheek. "We're all just glad you're all right."

Hermione sniffled and nodded, but before she could say more, Ron had sidled past the crowd and through the door, carrying Hermione with him without further comment, leaving a roomful of flabbergasted Weasleys and one not-so-flabbergasted best friend in his wake.

As the boys filed out of the room and Ginny flipped back her covers to return to bed, Molly and Arthur had been left to merely gape at one another and wonder at what exactly they'd just witnessed. In defiance of every longstanding Weasley house rule, Ron had apparently just carried a *girl* up the stairs to his bedroom — in full view of his entire family — and retired for the remainder of the night. And not just any girl. *Hermione.* But more striking than that had been the intimacy of the scene that had just played out. Ron, apparently, was the only one of them who could truly help her in that moment — and, furthermore, he was the only one she wanted. In her desperation, she'd called out to him and he'd responded. And he'd responded in a way that suggested that, even if there wasn't a fully formed romantic understanding between them, there was at least a mutual affection that went much deeper than their years of friendship had previously suggested.

"She was tortured, Dad," Ron said evenly, bringing Arthur's attention back to the present as Ron's voice broke the silence that had been filled for the past few minutes only by the sound of cricketsong.

"I reckoned as much, Ronnie," Arthur said, placing the screwdriver carefully onto the bench and turning his full attention back to his son, who was sitting facing him, his hands gripping his knees. "Would you … would you care to talk about it?"

Though Ron's eyes stayed focused on his father's, Arthur could see his son's Adam's apple bob as he gulped in a deeper-than-usual breath of air. After a moment, Ron shook his head slightly. "Someday, yes, I'll tell you about it, but … not now."

"No worries," Arthur answered. "When you're ready, I'm here."

"Thanks," Ron breathed, and the silence resumed, punctuated only by the hum of the crickets.

"She's afraid to sleep," Ron continued eventually, his voice now gravelly with emotion. Arthur noticed the knuckles on Ron's hands had whitened as he gripped his knees tighter. "That is, she's afraid to sleep without *me,* I mean."

"I see."

"She tried, she really tried, to sleep in Ginny's room all these nights. I didn't know it was quite so bad. I mean, I knew she'd been having trouble, but I didn't realize she wasn't sleeping *at all.* But, I dunno," Ron continued with a shrug, "maybe she just got too used to having me and Harry around during all those nights on the hunt."

Arthur looked down at his feet and crossed them at the ankles. "I notice it wasn't Harry's name that she was crying out in her sleep."

Arthur lifted his gaze in time to see Ron stick out his lower lip and blow out a puff of breath that rustled the fringe above his brows. "Yeah, well," Ron mumbled, his eyes roving over the length of the workbench. "I reckon I make her feel safe is all."

Arthur couldn't help but smile at this. He'd seen the tender way Ron held Hermione's hand with both of his as the family sat gathered in the Great Hall immediately after the final battle. He'd seen, after dinner the next day, how Hermione laid her cheek against Ron's upper arm as they sat together on the sofa in the lounge, and how Ron had rested his cheek atop her head in response. Ron had clung to Hermione for dear life throughout most of Fred's funeral, and she'd borne up under it admirably, stroking his back rhythmically and occasionally wiping the tears from his cheeks with her palms.

"You love her, don't you," Arthur said — and Ron's eyes, which had been exploring the shelves beyond his father's head, snapped back to meet his in a flash.

Ron gulped but then nodded once. "With all I've got," he replied solemnly.

"Have you told her?"

After a brief pause, Ron nodded again. "It wasn't the right time, but yeah, I told her," he said.

"I rather think there's no such thing as a wrong time to tell someone you love them," Arthur said with a scratch of his chin. He folded his arms and once again had to suppress a mild grin at Ron's classic reaction — ears reddening, hand rising reflexively to the back of his neck, the muscles threatening to burst the sleeves of his ill-fitting T-shirt at the gesture a reminder of how much his son had grown despite this familiar posture.

"Well, maybe it wasn't the wrong time so much as, I dunno …" Ron muttered, his voice trailing off as he scanned the shelves beneath Arthur's workbench, as if searching for the right words. "I just … I didn't want her to think I was saying it … you know, declaring myself … because I felt sorry for her." Ron lifted his eyes to his father. "It was at Shell Cottage, you see."

Shell Cottage. Arthur had a faint understanding of what that meant. Bill had told him privately what state Hermione had been in when the trio arrived there that dreadful night. And Arthur had patched together other particulars from snippets of conversation since the funeral — chief among them, a detail that Harry told Molly and Arthur outright on the day of the battle: Hermione's parents were dead. Bellatrix had told Hermione so as she'd tortured her. Molly and Arthur of course comforted Hermione as best they could, and though she accepted their attentions with some grace, it was clear that the only one who could really get through to her, the only one whose company she openly sought, was Ron. Harry, it seemed, was also a welcome companion to Hermione in these painful days, as was Ginny, but the glow of contentment that occasionally came to Hermione's eyes despite her grief — that was entirely Ron's doing.

"I hope she knows I really meant it — really mean it," Ron continued.

"I'm quite certain she does, son," Arthur said softly, enjoying the look of relief that washed across Ron's face. "And I daresay she feels the same."

Ron blushed and looked down at his trainers. "That makes me the luckiest bloke on Earth, I think."

Arthur chuckled. "What a gift it is to be able to feel that way after everything we've been through," he said.

Ron smiled but then sobered, shaking his head as if to clear it and then straightening up to address his father directly again.

"So, that's what I'm getting at, Dad," he said in a newly confident tone. "I reckon it's my job to take care of Hermione now, and I think maybe I'm the only one who can. She needs a lot of things, but she needs rest first and foremost — and, for whatever reason, she needs me to be nearby so she can get that rest. So…" He paused and gulped for air before proceeding. "So, she needs to sleep with me."

Arthur was by no means stunned by Ron's declaration, nor was he inclined to oppose it. But he was an experienced enough father to know that, for Ron to truly believe he was in the right, to truly believe this breach of protocol he was arguing for was appropriate, he'd have to feel he'd made his case forcefully and completely. And so, Arthur arranged his face in what he judged to be a mildly compassionate blank — and said nothing, merely crossing his arms and nodding as if deep in thought. The chirp of crickets, meanwhile, rose to fill the silence.

"We wouldn't be doing anything inappropriate up there, Dad," Ron continued. "Things haven't gone that far between us. Even last night, all she did was collapse next to me and sleep — and she slept through the night for the first time since the battle. Harry was there, too. As long as we're beneath your roof, we'll keep to your rules — but this one has to be broken, Dad. I wouldn't say so if it wasn't so necessary, but it is," he said, rising to his feet. "I won't let Hermione suffer like this if I have the power to do something about it, and this I can do. I can be near her when she needs me. We can make other arrangements — Harry's already offered Grimmauld Place. All in all, I think it's best for everybody to be together here right now, at least for the next little while. But if you can't live with the idea of me and Hermione sleeping in the same place in your house, I'll understand — no hard feelings. We'll move on. But she will not spend another night alone and suffering. That's just not going to happen ever again."

Arthur glanced up to see the blazing look in his son's eyes and felt a wave of pride overtake him. His boy had become a man indeed. He still had much to learn and would doubtless make many more mistakes on the journey ahead of him, but in its essentials, the die was cast. He wasn't going to do something behind his parents' back. That was what a boy would do, not a man. No, he would do this on his own terms. No apologies, no explanations. Hermione was his, and he took care of what was his. That was that.

Arthur sighed and lifted his left hand to Ron's shoulder, smiling inwardly as Ron's rigid posture softened. Ron had stretched himself upright to his full height as he made his proclamation to his father, elbows bent, hands on hips, feet slightly apart. But now he eased into something like his usual easygoing stance, though there was still a hint of eagerness in his face, a hope that he'd been understood.

"I hear you, Ronnie, and I'm sure your mother will understand once I speak with her," Arthur said through a soft smile, blinking back tears. "She loves Hermione, too, you know."

Ron exhaled slowly and reached out to shake his father's hand. "Cheers, Dad," he replied. "Thanks so much."

"Now let's head back up to the house," Arthur added as he rose and reached up to clasp his arm firmly around Ron's shoulders. "I hear there's treacle tart for pudding."

oooOOOooo

A/N — OK, so I set aside the angsty story, "A Dream Goes On Forever," thinking I can retool it — and I will! But, in the meantime, I ran across some two-year-old notes for an entirely different Romione story that I had sketched out and, frankly, forgotten about. I liked what I saw and decided to knock this one off first and then turn my attention back to "Dream."

This story will be darker than some of my other stories, I think, because there's a lot of grief going on here. Fred is dead, of course, as are Dobby, Tonks, Remus … and Bellatrix has told Hermione that her parents are dead as well. So there's a fair bit of pain to sort through, and I expect this story will explore how that process affects and deepens the bond between our favorite couple.

I hope you enjoy … please let me know what you think. If you've read any of my other fics, you'll know that I am quite the review junkie. Favorites and follows are always welcome, but reviews are a special treat, because I get to hear what you think in your own words!

Many thanks for reading!

Cheers,

Holly.

P.S. — If you crave more Romione reading while you await my next update, why not check out my other fics: "All In," "One Punch: A History," and "What's Changed — And What Hasn't." Be forewarned: They're M-rated. Still, there's some good stuff in there in between the smutty bits.

P.P.S. — If you like my stories, I'd be honored if you'd share them with your fellow Ron & Hermione shippers. Many thanks!