Six weeks. It was disconcerting, truthfully, the way six weeks could feel a lot more like six minutes in the aftermath of grief and trauma. Hermione hadn't even really noticed the cool chill of spring burning off in the sunny summer rays as May gave way to June. There was too much to do, too much to carry.
The immediate aftermath of the battle had been horrific for the whole trio as they shouldered their sorrows and put on smiling faces. Prophet reporters hounded their every move, even as they retreated back to the Burrow. It was the only place that made sense. Harry had the worst of it, of course. The Boy that Lived more times than anyone could count at that point, the Chosen One. Reflecting on his near-death experience (or was it actual death? Hermione had spent days obsessively researching the limbo Harry had described himself being pulled into after Voldemort finally hit him with the killing curse and found no concrete answers) had been put on hold in favor of meetings with newly-appointed Minister of Magic Shacklebolt, a full workup at St. Mungos, and what had become the full-time job of dodging photos and waving off owls begging for exclusive interviews.
Hermione and Ron had fared only slightly better. Hermione, especially, was still getting used to being a household name, much preferring her previous anonymity. Ron handled the fame slightly better, glad to be shaking off the shadow of his famous friend in favor of his own talents. They all three suffered silently at the memorial, held just a fortnight after the battle's end in what remained of the Great Hall. Hermione was only grateful that Kingsley had the good sense to not ask any of them to speak as Ron clutched her hand tightly, staring intently at the place where his brother's broken body had lain just fourteen days prior.
Still, there were days where everything seemed almost... normal. That was the curious thing about healing from the aftermath, there were days that could trick you into thinking nothing was amiss. When the warmth that normally surrounded the Burrow returned, as the Weasley family dined in mis-matched chairs in their tiny kitchen, the small space illuminated by candlelight.
Tonight was one such night. Bill and Fleur had flooed to the home in the early evening to join the clan for dinner with Percy following just a few minutes behind. The table felt full and jovial, the empty chairs packing less of a punch, though the lack of explosions and Mrs. Weasley's scolding was sure to ache if any one of them dwelled on it for too long.
"The minister said we'll be starting the Hogwarts rebuild soon," Percy said to the table as he helped himself to a large portion of shepherd's pie, passing the baking dish to Bill on his right. "Likely early next week, wanted me to ask you lot if you'd like to help." He waved his fork toward the trio and Ginny, seated side-by-side on the other side of the long dining table.
Harry shrugged, looking to Ginny beside him, who smiled. "Guess it's the least we could do, seeing as we destroyed the place."
"Harry, dear, no one thinks-" Molly began, before Harry laughed, the sound cutting her off.
"I was kidding, Mrs. Weasley. Still, it feels right to go back and help rebuild. Be part of putting together the world after... all that."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully, her fork hovering in front of her mouth. "You're right, Harry. I think we should do it." Ron, mouth full of food, nodded enthusiastically in agreement, placing a hand on Hermione's knee under the table as he did so, causing a slight flush to rise to her ears.
"Do you think George-" Harry started, before Ginny's hand shot up from the table, grasping his wrist and giving him a look. Harry cut himself off, and the rest of the table shifted uncomfortably. George hadn't made it to the dinner table in weeks.
"Splendid!" said Percy before taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. "I'll let Minister Shacklebolt know first thing tomorrow."
The table all smiled at Percy's use of the minister's official title. None of them could quite bring themselves to refer to Kingsley as such just yet, though for what it was worth none of them could imagine a wizard better suited for the job. The table lapsed into side conversations, the chatter consistent as the group attempted to fill the room with words. Hermione listened contentedly, poking at her food as Ron, Harry, and Ginny chattered about the announcement of the return of the quidditch season. The Prophet had reported that the World Cup would continue as planned the following year, and it had been a bright spot for her three friends.
As dinner wound down, Bill and Fleur stood to take their leave, citing Bill's early morning as a reason for their early departure. Mrs. Weasley looked up from her cleaning to give her son a kiss on the cheek, wishing the couple safe travels as they headed back to the sitting room to floo home.
Hermione picked up the leftover shepherds pie off the table, bringing it to Mrs. Weasley at the sink. "Would you like me to vanish the leftovers, Mrs. Weasley?" she asked, setting the dish down on the countertop next to her.
"Oh no, dear," Mrs. Weasley gave her a kind smile. "I haven't gotten to saving George's plate just yet."
Hermione nodded, placing a hand on Molly's back in understanding before heading into the sitting room. The fire was alive and roaring from the departure of the eldest Weasley. Ron was seated on one end of the sofa with Harry facing him, cross-legged on the floor with Ginny's head in his lap, a table set up with wizard chess between them. Harry was squinting at the figures from eye level, trying to determine his next move as he absent-mindedly played with Ginny's hair. Percy had evidently made his leave as well, returning to his flat in London.
"Gonna study some more, Hermione?" Ginny asked, twisting her head toward the sound of Hermione's footsteps, peeking around Harry's chest. Ron looked up at the mention of her name, a goofy smile crossing his face.
"I think so," Hermione replied, toeing off her shoes and socks before grabbing her Advanced Charms textbook off the end table and settling into the sofa, her legs draped over Ron's lap. "I know Professor McGonagall said she would arrange for private lessons once a week for my NEWTs once the school year started, but I only have six months until December and I want to take them by then."
Ron shook his head and snorted as she flipped open her book to the page marked by her bookmark. "Only you would take the hardest wizarding exams after being given honorary marks," he said. He looked down at the board as one of Harry's pieces moved across the checkered squares. "Knight to F3."
Hermione looked up from her page, rolling her eyes at Ginny before leveling Ron with a look. "Well, Ron, some of us want to feel like we worked for our accomplishments."
"Well we did work for them, didn't we! We destroyed a bunch of bloody horcruxes and Harry killed the most famous dark wizard of the century," Ron said, his eyes now trained back on the board.
"Yes, but we had a lot of help with all of those things. I mean honestly, Ronald, do you think we could have done any of that without Dumbledore or the Order or any of the, quite literally, hundreds of people that showed up to fight last-" Hermione was cut off by Ron's lips crashing into her own. She had been so wrapped up in her defense that she hadn't noticed him leaning across her body for the attack. She shut her book in reflex.
"Ugh," Ginny wrinkled her nose, pushing herself up so she was sitting next to Harry, tucking her legs under the chess table. "Must that be your solution every time?"
Hermione pushed one of Ron's shoulders, laughing at the wink he gave her as he flopped back down into his spot. "You know it's because I think you're brilliant, Hermione, that's why it seems so unreasonable," he said. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Ron had already turned to look at his sister. "And I don't want to hear a word out of you, Gin, not after the two of you snogging each other at every opportunity sixth year."
He gestured to her and Harry, who had suddenly become very interested in his rook, but Ginny justed scoffed.
"Please, like the rest of us didn't have to suffer through Lav Lav and Won Won the entire year before!"
"Oh, I know you didn't just go there!"
Hermione laughed softly to herself, cracking her book open once again as the two continued to bicker. Harry raised his voice to announce his next move, but Ron had apparently gone deaf to his best friend. Eventually, both Weasleys ran out of steam and Ginny flopped back into Harry's lap, rolling her eyes.
The evening passed in much of the same way, the boys getting through two rounds of chess before Ginny stood up with a yawn.
"Well, I'm off to bed," she said, kissing Harry's head gently while he reached up to grab her hand. "I'll see you lot in the morning."
Harry's arm outstretched as she walked away, their fingers falling apart at the last moment. Hermione had gotten through a full chapter on duplication charms, but she wanted to push herself for one more, so she stayed sprawled out as the boys set up another game. Soon, though, her eyes grew heavy and Harry and Ron's chatter became like white noise. Before long, she had fallen asleep, her book landing on her chest with a thud.
The fire had died down to embers by the time Hermione woke, an afghan thrown haphazardly over her body in the hours since the others had vacated the room, her book sitting back on the end table, a bookmark dangling out the top marking her page. She smiled sleepily, sitting up to relocate to Ginny's room before a slight crash in the kitchen caused her to jump.
She was grateful to still be wearing her robes, her wand tucked into an inner pocket that she now reached for, cautiously pulling herself up from the sofa. Her bare feet made little noise as she padded across the room to the kitchen door, her wand aloft with her silent lumos charm illuminating the tip. The short walk felt like an eternity as she went over the protective charms and spells the Order had placed over the Burrow in the weeks since the war. She knew, logically, it was unlikely that a Death Eater was waiting for her in the kitchen, but that didn't keep her heart from trying to jump out of her chest.
She winced at the creak that sounded as she pushed open the heavy wooden door, swinging it open to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered form standing in front of the pantry.
"George?" Hermione whispered, lighting the candle on the kitchen table with her wand to illuminate the room. George jumped a bit, wheeling around to look at the witch.
He looked awful. He had grown skinnier in a way that could rival Ron or Harry, with dark circles framing his eyes. In the first week post-battle, seeing George had been like a sucker punch for anyone who knew and loved him and Fred. A constant reminder that his twin was gone. This George, however, was like a shell of his former self. The only remaining resemblance seemed to be his hair, still that brilliant red, grown long to hide his missing ear.
"Merlin, Hermione," he mumbled, a piece of bread lodged in his mouth. "About scared the pants off me."
"Well, I could say the same to you," she replied, not unkindly. "Thought maybe a death eater had gotten through our defenses."
George smiled, but the gesture was hollow, not reaching his eyes. "Sorry."
She dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand, walking silently to the other side of the kitchen to open the old cast-iron stove, one of the few survivors of the fire Bellatrix had set on the old house. George's eyes followed her blankly. She pulled out the warm plate that was nestled inside, setting it on the weathered table. "Your mum left a warming charm on it," she said in explanation, giving him a small smile. "I'm glad you're eating. Goodnight, George."
She couldn't quite discern his mumbled response as she walked back into the sitting room, closing the heavy kitchen door behind her. She summoned her charms textbook on her way to the stairs, the tome flying across the room and safely into her grasp before she took the stairs two at a time to Ginny's room, planning on slipping into a quick and quiet sleep again.