Author's note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

Hogwarts: Assignment #10, Etiquette Task #1, Write about someone trying to rest

Dedication: Angel!

Warnings: Survivor's guilt; PTSD

An Expert in Sunrises

The Burrow had survived the war. That by itself was a welcome mercy.

The house had obviously been a target to the Death Eaters since Bill and Fleur's wedding, and Mum and Dad had been followed and monitored closely too. Mum had spent the war finding footprints in her vegetable patch and putting off feeding the chickens on some mornings when the house was being surveilled. When Ron had been spotted at Malfoy Manor and they'd had to go into hiding, the house had been roughed up as Death Eaters came looking but they hadn't burned it to the ground. Ron suspected that they'd harboured some weird hope that they could snatch up Order members or rogue Weasleys still swinging by the house.

Anyways, he was thankful to see the Burrow after the battle. The rogue Aurors, led by Kingsley, had cleared the house of any traps or curses. There were some smashed windows to fix, some overturned drawers to return to their spots, and some clutter to fix. But it was nothing that a large family of wizards couldn't fix in an hour. The ghoul, mercifully, still sat in the attic undisturbed—something Ron didn't really know how to explain and was a bit afraid to ask it. It seemed happy to see them and have some company, but didn't seem keen on moving so Ron took one more look at his flamboyantly orange bedroom and went back downstairs to find Hermione and Harry.

They were in the living room, where Harry was busy respooling some of Mum's yarn and Hermione was putting albums back on the shelf in alphabetical order. They both looked up when he came in and he offered them a smile, which they didn't reciprocate, and sat on the ground with Harry to help him.

Mum came in, hazel eyes damp with tears. Ron quickly saw why; she'd come in from the kitchen and was holding one of her clock's golden hands, which had gone limp and split in two down the middle. His stomach turned itself completely inside out when he realized it must be Fred's.

"You three are staying here," Mum said decisively. "I know, I know, you might have other plans and Grimmauld Place is yours, Harry, but… but you three will stay here and rest and eat and be taken care of for a little bit. At least until summer is over."

Ron looked at his friends. Secretly, he was relieved. He had no idea what the world held now that the war was over. He hadn't really thought that far since that would have felt like jinxing everything that they were doing. He was sure that they weren't done yet, that there would be things left to do. Namely, he had to bury one of his brothers. Some Death Eaters had escaped from the grounds once Voldemort had fallen and Harry would inevitably be pummelled with questions about where he had been and what had happened. The Burrow felt like a good landing place for them, as they went through all of that. Somewhere safe and warm and familiar where they wouldn't be on their own.

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said finally. "If you'll have us all, we'd be happy to stay."

Mum nodded again, tears now threatening to spill over. Ron wrapped her up in a hug before they did and felt himself melt a bit against her; he was finally back with his Mum and so much had gone wrong but Ron was selfish and human enough to want his Mum to be okay. Mum hugged back, and started crying when Harry and Hermione finally joined them.

Ron didn't have the heart to tell the ghoul in his room to go back to living between the walls of the house and hang out with the pipes. Harry agreed. Plus, he had no idea how they'd even go about getting the ghoul's smell out of the room, anyways.

So they set up camp in the living room, lining up spare mattresses and piling on blanket upon blanket upon blanket. They'd fall asleep sharing heat, the window cracked open so they could hear the bullfrogs in the pond or the crickets chirping. They'd wake up one by one, entangled and scruffy, and once all three of them were lucid they would tuck their things away so that the living room could go back to being a living room. Sometimes, they would wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs and fresh bread Mum was cooking up for breakfast. Other times, they would wake up midafternoon, completely spent, and the entire house would stop holding its breath and watching how loudly they stomped around.

Ron slept in the middle, between Harry and Hermione. He often woke up in the middle of the night with Hermione's hair in his mouth or one of her legs hooked around his. Harry tended to drift closer to them as he slept, occasionally clasping Ron's sweater or getting so close that Ron could hear him mumble and mutter in his sleep. It always took the two of them a bloody hell of a long time to fall asleep and settle down. Hermione tried moving up to Ginny's room to resume her usual sleeping arrangements at the Burrow, but after three sleepless nights she came back down to the basement and slept with both of her fists wound tightly in Ron's shirt. The three of them hadn't slept apart from one another in so long, apparently it would take them a while to ease away from each other. Or to sleep soundly at all. Sometimes Ron woke up in the middle of the night to Harry sitting upright and staring into nothingness, or found his cot empty. He could usually track his best friend down to the front porch or to the kitchen where he'd be staring at the Marauders map or going over old issues of The Prophet until Ron dragged him back to bed. He lived in fear that he'd find him with Ginny one day, but that was nor here nor there.

The point was, they were mostly doing it. They were mostly sleeping.

When Mum put the Burrow back together after the Death Eaters trashed it, she found a rocking chair in the basement. Apparently it had been a gift from Aunt Muriel when she'd been pregnant with Bill, but Mum had always favoured the more comfortable chair that Dad had made her.

Ron claimed the chair for his own and planted it on the front porch, facing the chicken coop, the shed where they kept the broomsticks, and the apple orchard which was fully in bloom. When he woke up and the other two were still sleeping and had had good nights, he went to sit on his porch chair like a little old man. He knew it was a very old-man thing for him to do because sometimes Percy brought him a cup of coffee and joined him. They didn't talk much, they mostly just looked out at the scenery with an unspoken understanding that they were both happy to be back here.

Dad saw them there one morning, when he started going into work, and he started joining them the weekend after that. Ron offered him the chair, and Dad shook his head and told him that it was his. He sat on the front porch with Percy and a cup of coffee of his own.

"Have you read this?" Hermione asked, sliding over today's copy of The Prophet.

Harry picked it up and arched an eyebrow when he saw the headline.

"If I had known that you and I had had a torrid affair while Horcrux-hunting, I would have let you have the last piece of toast," Harry said, pushing away the paper. Ginny snickered.

"That's not funny," Hermione said. "Who wrote this?"

She turned back to the paper and clucked her tongue.

"Rita Skeeter—of course it was that horrible woman! Let's see how wonderful of a journalist she is after a letter to the editor triggers The Prophet's ethics committee…"

"Hermione, it's not worth it," Ron said.

She turned back to him.

"What do you mean it's not worth it?" Hermione protested. "She's telling lies!"

"Yeah, but she's Rita Skeeter," Ron said. "She's basically a tabloid writer. I'm sorry she's writing about you again and you're upset, but if you fan the fire she's basically going to find a way to spin that into something that sounds more passable. We can burn the paper, if that'll make it better."

Hermione paused and sighed.

"You're right," she said, sitting back down at her seat. She folded the paper again and offered it to him. "Do you want to read it before I throw it in the fireplace?"

"Nope," Ron said. He impaled another sausage on his fork. "You know I don't bother with the paper."

"Come on," Ginny said, getting up and tugging at Hermione's sleeve. "Let me go set something on fire for you to roast that paper over."

"Not in the house!" Mum called from the kitchen.

The two of them vanished and Ron paused his eating, sensing Harry's eyes on him.

"You really haven't read a single paper since this all stopped?" he asked.

"Nope," Ron said. "And don't I look happier for it?"

From his spot on the porch, Ron watched the sunrise.

"That's a nice one," Percy said. Ron hadn't realized that his brother was watching through the screen door, but he didn't startle when Percy stepped out and joined him. He was holding a cup of coffee and the pot, too. He gestured to offer Ron a top-up and Ron stuck out his mug for it.

"It is," Ron said as Percy poured. "Clouds are just right to reflect all the light."

"Is that what makes a good sunrise?" Percy asked.

"Yup," Ron said. He'd been watching lots of them.

"I'm going," Harry said.

"Perfect," Ron said, not looking up from the edition of Quidditch Monthly in his hands. He had lots of reading to catch up on. "So go."

Harry chewed his lip and paced across the living room again.

"What's it going to do?" Harry asked. "If I'm there or not? I'm not testifying today…"

"You're not," Ron said. "You don't have to go."

Harry paced some more, chewing at his lip. He'd taken out a Snitch to play with, as a way to distract himself, but he was too distracted for his distraction to properly distract him from his currently dilemma. The Snitch actually followed him as he paced.

"I've been to so many of these," Harry said. "And... I don't particularly care about August Rookwood."

"You really don't," Ron said. He'd missed a really good sale on Keeper gloves in February, shame. "Nobody cares about August Rockwood."

"Exactly," Harry said. "But should I..?"

"Harry," Ron said, closing the magazine. "You're torturing yourself, you know that, right? It doesn't matter if you should go or not. Do you want to go?"

Harry hesitated.

"Yes," Harry said. "Yes. I want to see every last one of them tucked away to Azkaban."

"Then go," Ron nodded.

"But I don't want the Wizenmagot to look at me the whole time or for reporters to ask me how I feel about the trial after," Harry said.

"Great," Ron said. "So don't talk to them. Just go in, sit quietly, watch what you need, and leave immediately after."

Harry nodded, processing these instructions and weighing their feasibility.

"Can you come with me?" he finally asked.

"Sure," Ron said. What was it to him? He didn't care about August Rockwood, but he sure did care about Harry. "Hey, did you want to replace the Firebolt? There's a coupon in here for all Sky Scraper brand broomsticks and products, and I don't think it's expired yet."

Percy was already sitting on the porch when Ron stepped outside, George huddled next to him. Both of them sat with their hands wrapped around tea cups and blankets thrown over their shoulders. They turned to see Ron.

"Morning," Ron said, going straight for his chair.

"Good morning," Percy said. "I remembered that thing you said, about how there were always beautiful sunsets after thunderstorms. As it turns out, there's a meteorological reason for it—clean air scatters light, and rain cleans the air."

"Interesting," Ron said. "I guess we'll have a good one this morning—that storm was wicked."

"I brought George," Percy said. "I thought he'd like to see."

George offered a little wave but didn't say much, which was normal for him nowadays.

Ron dragged the chair closer to his brothers and they waited for the sunrise.

Kingsley seemed a little startled to walk out of the Burrow and see Ron on the porch.

"Hello, Ron," he said.

"Hullo, Minister," Ron said, stressing Kingsley's new title as they all did in a goofy, constant celebration. He pushed himself back so the chair would start rocking. "I thought Mum said you were staying for dinner."

"I fully intended to and it smells lovely in the house, but duty calls," Kingsley said.

"Sorry about that," Ron said.

"I know what I signed up for," Kingsley said.

"For the record, better you than the last guy," Ron offered. Kingsley laughed.

"You know, I spoke to Harry earlier," Kingsley said, leaning against the porch railing. "He asked me if he had to return to Hogwarts and finish his seventh year if he still intended to be an Auror. I told him that it would be at the discretion of Hestia Jones, our new Head Auror's, but that we may be able to make an arrangement. I've heard stories about how valuable you were during the Horcrux Hunt and the Battle of Hogwarts and thought that I would extend the same offer to you."

"Thanks," Ron said. "But I'm not thinking that far ahead."

"No?" Kingsley asked. There was a smile teasing his lips. "You seem quite pensive, sitting on your chair and looking out into the world. Well, I've got to be off now before a small fire grows, but Auror training wouldn't begin until the Fall anyways. Do let me know what you think, when you start thinking about it."

He offered Ron a wave before walking off.

Ron was essentially developing a sixth sense that allowed him to wake up within minutes of Harry getting up and creeping out of the living room. Ron saw the kitchen light glowing faintly and found his best friend sitting at the table, looking over scraps of parchment. He looked up when he heard Ron's footsteps.

"Did I wake you?" he inquired, worried.

"Nah," Ron said, walking to the sink. "Needed some water. Why are you up?"

"I just…" Harry took a deep breath and Ron managed to get a sneaky look at what he was reading. It was his testimony from Narcissa Malfoy's trial.

"I just hope I did enough," Harry finally said. "I hope I explained it properly and said the right thing to…"

"To do what?" Ron asked. He drained his cup of water. "To save her?"

"The Malfoys did so much wrong, and I don't care about all of them, but she… she saved my life in the forest," Harry said.

"You saved your own life by being both really clever and the bravest person I know," Ron said. "Your job isn't to save Narcissa Malfoy, Harry. If the Wizenmagot decides to send her off to Azkaban, that's not on you. Your job was to tell the truth and you told it."

Harry nodded.

"I did," he said.

"I know it was the first time you really talked about what happened in the forest," Ron said. "You know, to… to people that aren't Hermione and I."

"Yeah," Harry nodded. He shifted in his seat. "I think I'll have to tell the story again, once The Prophet decides they want to hear the whole thing."

"It's not your job to do that either," Ron said. "You did what you had to do, alright? Now sleep, if you can."

Harry nodded. Ron didn't want to blow his cover, so he put his empty cup of water in the sink and went back to bed. About twenty minutes later, when he was feigning sleep with Hermione firmly holding on to his waist, Harry came back to sleep.

It wasn't like his friends' sleeping patterns had regulated themselves in any significant way, but Ron was still surprised to see Hermione emerge from the Burrow as the sky began to turn orange. She was barefoot, her hair in the usual disastrously messy ponytail she slept in, wearing an enormous jumper from some Muggle museum and pajama shorts.

"Good morning," Ron said, digging his heel into the porch to stop his rocking.

Hermione nodded her greetings, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she did and looking around at how the Burrow looked in the early morning.

"You're up early," Ron said.

Hermione nodded.

"Percy told me you're often awake in the early hours," Hermione said. "I couldn't fall back asleep and so I thought I'd join you."

"Please," Ron said. He put his cup of coffee down and Hermione drifted towards him. She sat on his lap and leaned against him, bringing up her legs so that they rested on her chair. She leaned her head against him and turned to look out in the same direction as him.

"It's so quiet," Hermione said. "I'm not very used to the Burrow being quiet."

"We're not really used to quiet at all," Ron said. "Getting there, though."

"I'm glad you are," Hermione said. She sighed and leaned against him a little bit more. He readjusted to hold her a little bit tighter.

"How do you do it?" she finally asked. "How are you… I feel twitchy just waiting for the paper to arrive in the morning and Harry's always so worried about all the loose ends being tucked in just right. But you… you're doing well enough to hold us all together."

"This chair is really comfortable," Ron said.

"Be honest," Hermione said.

"It is, honestly," Ron said. He kissed her hair. "More comfortable with you here now, of course."

He knew that Hermione smiled even if he couldn't see her. He decided to tell the truth, then.

"You know how you always chastised me for doing the bare minimum in school?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. She sounded somewhat sheepish, even if they both knew she wasn't wrong.

"Well, it's saving me now," Ron said. "I did my job in this whole thing. I stood by Harry as best as I could, even if I faltered, and I got him out of this alive, even if he was dead for a little bit. Voldemort's dead and there are no more Horcruxes. And because I know that and because that's all I needed to do, I can rest now. Harry, he keeps thinking he has to do more or that he hasn't done enough because everyone's always needed so much from him. Voldemort stole his whole life, so it's hard for him to see that that's over. And you, you always do the extra credit. So you're just looking for what to do next, convinced that it's your responsibility. I think both fo you are going a little bit crazy."

"I think we are," Hermione admitted. She snuggled into him. "What do you recommend, since you're the expert at this?"

"The sunrise is soon," Ron offered. "Then maybe I can go make us coffee and you can try out the chair."

He was sure that this didn't make much sense to Hermione, but she nodded and settled back against him.

Word count: 3294