A/N: Sorry again about the wait. It's hectic here. Incidentally, somebody brought up my 'airports, see it all the time' John reference – yes, it was Mayer-related, and I'm a bit astounded if you haven't picked up on the rest of them! *grin again* … ah well. ~Let's move it along~ (how 'bout that, 'tsk tsk'?) Shez XO

~

There were only three weeks left of their last school year, and for Ron the days passed strangely, and seemed too long. Ron and Hermione had been excused from classes, as had a number of other students, namely those suffering the trauma of losing their friends or being held hostage by Death Eaters. Several had gone home early. Needless to say, there weren't many students attending proper lessons. They drifted in and out haphazardly, and nobody did any work. They sat in the warm air, or swam, or chatted quietly in the common room. People cried sometimes. The mood was sombre, but also, somehow, less oppressive than one might expect.

It was as though even the weather knew Voldemort wasn't around anymore. The sun shone and shone like it didn't know how to do anything else.

Ron was out of the hospital by the end of that first new day, and exhausted in the evening. His family en masse, and all filled with concern (understandable, but frustrating) wore him out. Hermione came into his dorm that night and spent the night in his bed. They didn't do anything, just slept beside each other. She did the same every night, in fact. He was glad she came – no matter how wearying his family members were, he still wasn't ready to be entirely alone yet.

Once he was alone, he'd have to think about it all, properly, and that didn't sound too appealing.

The dorm was pretty quiet that first night, with only Ron and a remarkably subdued Dean. Seamus had gone home. Harry wasn't conscious. And Neville was still missing.  He turned up, thankfully, the next morning. Luna Lovegood insisted on joining the search party who were venturing into the forest, and, mysteriously, was first on the scene when they found him. Some people – Ron's brother Bill, who'd showed up to help, included – said that it was like she led the way to Neville. He thought she might have a bit of the Sight, the real Sight, and Ron didn't know what to make of that. He was bloody glad Neville was OK though. According to what he heard from Hermione, which was a version of the garbled story told her by Luna, Neville had managed to escape from the people who were escorting him across the grounds (to where, he didn't know – they were lax in their security, probably because he didn't look threatening). He'd then run directly into the forest, found centaurs, given them a breathless message about Hogwarts being under attack, and then fainted.

The Centaurs, being rather deliberate creatures, had decided to take a few days to mull all this over and consult the stars. Neville had been stuck with them since – but was now back at Hogwarts, and stuck fast to Luna instead. They barely left each others side, and though Ron never saw them kissing or anything like that, he understood that they were sharing something important, and he was glad for both of them.

Draco Malfoy was a different story. Every day, he went up to the hospital wing, to visit George and Ginny – and every day, he had to pass Malfoy's bed, screened from the rest of the ward by a white curtain. He didn't know what was wrong with the Slytherin (he'd been injured in the battle, Dumbledore said, but maybe he just didn't want to hand him over to the Ministry). He didn't really care, either. He just wanted him away, and in Azkaban preferably, or at least somewhere out of sight where he wouldn't have to think of him.

About a week after the attack, and Voldemort's demise, Ron was passing through on his way to say goodbye to George. The twins were Flooing back to London. George claimed he couldn't stand one single solitary day more of both his mother's and Madam Pomfrey's fussing, and had hissed into Ron's ear the previous evening: "We're leaving, and that's it. Don't argue. Don't tell Mum."

So, things being as they were, Ron was in the hospital wing very early that morning, and passing Malfoy's curtained-off bed when he heard what sounded like a mutter.

He nearly went on, but stopped when he heard it again.

It wasn't just a mutter. It was Malfoy, muttering: 'Weasley'.

He stood exactly where he was for a full minute, trying to control his temper, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to hear what the guy had to say.

In the end, he found himself pulling back the curtains and stepping inside. He had a vague idea that he'd tell Malfoy exactly what he thought of him – but lost all notion of this when he actually saw him. He had a red, scabbing cut running diagonally across his face, all the way from his right temple to his chin. It would leave a deep scar, Ron was sure. His face was paler than usual, his hair loose instead of slick, and his eyes had a heavy, dead, hopeless quality that made Ron lose his words. His wand arm was in bandages.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" Malfoy said faintly, after a long silence. "It's not like you've never seen somebody with a scar on their face before."

Ron shook his head briefly, and Malfoy sighed once before speaking again.

"How is everybody?"

Another pause. "Alright," Ron managed eventually, in a strangled voice. "A few people are hurt or dead dead, but then, so's Voldemort."

"So it seems," Malfoy said, and hesitated, his eyes flicking away. "And – how is she?"

"Who?"

"Your girlfriend."

His eyes came back to Ron's, and they were half-desperate. Once, he would have felt angry at his questioning, but suddenly there wasn't anything particularly infuriating about Malfoy anymore. He'd lost his sting. He was pathetic really, this faded golden boy, who had nothing and nobody left in the world, and had wasted his energy on attempting to please others, and picked the losing side in this battle they'd been fighting for so long.

It was odd, and unsettling. For the first time in his whole life, Ron felt sorry for Draco Malfoy.

"She's OK," he said finally, quietly. "She's not very happy, but she's not hurt, which is the main thing."

"The main thing," Malfoy repeated, and nodded once. "Well – good."

Another long silence. Ron wondered whether he should go, and was about to make a move when Malfoy went on.

"When Mother died, and Father disappeared – I really was with Dumbledore. I wanted to join him. I wanted something, anyway. I wanted people to like me, I suppose, and I wanted to do things my way for a change, and not just Father's. That hadn't mattered before, but I'd had the summer to think it over, and I decided that I wanted to, for me."

He said all this very stiffly, as though he wasn't used to explaining himself to people. Obviously he felt he had to say something, and Ron found that he was rooted to the spot, and actually listening.

"It didn't work out exactly as I'd planned, of course, because I don't think people believed me. I didn't believe myself sometimes. But I thought I'd persevere, because what else is there to do when you're a lone wolf? You've always had Potter and Granger – Hermione, I mean –" Here he tapered off, and seemed at a loss. Ron thought that the term 'a lone wolf' was pretentious, and typically Malfoy, and hated that Hermione had come up, but still he felt that pity, and didn't try to stop him.

"I fancied her," Malfoy said slowly, studiously avoiding eye contact. "And I suppose I had for a while, but didn't know what to do with it, because Father would have gone mad. Once he was gone, I tried to be nicer, and she was nice herself – because she's a nice girl, isn't she?" He met Ron's gaze briefly, and Ron nodded. Yeah, she was a nice girl. "Well," Malfoy said, sounding tired, "you got her in the end. You were always going to. And you all hated me – maybe not hated, at least in Potter's case, but you only tolerated me, and when Father's head appeared in my fire one night – it was after we had words at Christmas – I suppose I gave up. Dumbledore's way hadn't worked, and maybe the Dark Lord's would."

"It didn't," Ron said, his voice cracking from lack of sleep and his prolonged silence. Malfoy jerked his head to face Ron, and gave a painful half-smile.

"No," he said, "it didn't."

"What you did was really awful," Ron said then. It wasn't exactly accusing, or even angry, just a factual statement. "You hurt a lot of people, and killed some, and helped a bad wizard try to do some absolutely bad things. You shouldn't have done it – helped Voldemort. People change, you know. They – we couldn't have hated you forever. You should have just – waited."

"People change, do they?" he said coolly, and even Ron could see the hypocrisy there, because he'd always been the first to say that Malfoy would never change.

All of a sudden, he didn't want to have this conversation anymore, and spun on his heel to leave. Two sharp words from Draco followed him out.

"Weasley – thanks."

Ron went to find George.

It wasn't until later that he realised Malfoy, in all of his explanations, hadn't offered up a single apology.

He didn't mention the conversation to Hermione.

~

Two weeks after the battle, Harry woke up. It was mid-morning, and Ron and Hermione were in the process of leaving Harry's bedside to meet Ginny for a walk (Ginny having been up and about for a few days now, and so worried about Harry that they were forced to distract her).

Ron was halfway out the door when Hermione gave a cry, and he turned to see her covering her mouth with her hand. She was looking at Harry's bed. He came back into the room – and his friend was lying there awake, squinting at Hermione, the sun from an open window shining light full in his face.

"Harry," Ron said from the doorway.

"Hi, Ron. 'Mione," said Harry, without much of a voice, and Ron felt his throat constrict.

Don't cry, he told himself fiercely, there's nothing to cry about.  

"You're awake," Hermione said softly, and Harry shifted just slightly, and winced.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "I am."

A long, long silence followed this, and Ron moved closer, to sit on the end of Harry's bed. Hermione came closer too, and perched on Ron's knee. She'd never done this before, and as Ron looked at Harry – awake, alive – and felt Hermione's weight on his legs, he broke into a smile.

"Well done, mate," he said eventually. "You're all in one piece."

"Think so?" Harry rasped.

"Voldemort's dead," said Hermione softly. "You killed him. They found his body, and the Death Eaters are gone, and the school's back to normal."

"Dead?" This seemed about all he could absorb. "Voldemort?"

Ron and Hermione nodded, in sober unison. Harry stared at them, and then at his bedcovers, and then blinked heavily a few times and pressed his lips together. Ron didn't know what was wrong, but then Harry let out a long breath, and closed his eyes, and his shoulders began to shake.

He was crying.

After a few moments stunned pause, Hermione and Ron both leapt into action.

"Oh Harry!" Hermione said, on a half-choked sob, and she threw her arms around him. He hugged her tightly, and then Ron (who had tears on his eyelashes now, and didn't care who saw) hugged both of them, and they were locked in a tight three-person embrace until Mrs Weasley came in, and then they were four.

He'd been wrong – there was something to cry about. Voldemort was dead, and he'd done horrible things, and now he was gone. It was life they were crying about, and the passage of events, and the uselessness of wasted time and wasted lives, and freedom, for the first time in years.

And it was relief, more than anything. Just – relief.

Seeing Harry cry, Ron believed that it was over for good, because Harry would only let himself do that, only let himself give in, if he knew that he'd never face Voldemort again.

~

On Ron's last evening at Hogwarts, he found himself unable to sleep. Harry had vacated Hermione's room that day, and was meant to be back in the Gryffindor dorm, but had snuck out to see Ginny instead. He wasn't even supposed to be up yet, but Ron wasn't going to deny him 'alone time' with his girlfriend. He could probably use it. He hadn't taken the news of Lupin's stable-but-critical condition in St Mungo's very well, and was very quiet. Dean had gone home too, along with Seamus, and Neville wasn't in bed. Visiting Luna again, he suspected. It was very quiet, and Hermione hadn't shown up yet, and his deeper thoughts were just beginning to harass his more conscious mind when she knocked softly on the door.

"Come in," he called, and she did so, and he heard her feet padding lightly across the carpet. She pulled back his curtains and he put back the bedcovers so that she could hop in. She did so, and kissed him briefly before positioning herself so that they were spooning, her back against his front. He slid his arm around her waist and let his hand come to rest on her belly, and they were silent for a little while.

"You know, you don't have to knock," he murmured eventually.

"It's polite."

"There's only me here."

"You could have been busy."

"It's midnight. With what exactly would I be busy?"

"That's your business," she said archly, and he nudged her once.

"Very funny."

"Where's Harry, anyway?"

"Off with Ginny."

"You think that's alright?"

"I think it's alright, or I would have said something."

"I think it's alright too."

"Good."

A long silence. He rubbed her stomach in small circles, almost unconsciously, liking the way it felt under his hand, and beneath the thin cotton of her nightie she came up in goosebumps.

"Are you cold?" he asked quietly, and she shook her head.

"No. That tickles a bit. In a good way."

"Right. Shall I stop?"

"No."

She pressed her back against him, and he swallowed. They hadn't done anything like this in a while, since before that last ill-fated quidditch game. She'd slept in his bed every night, but they hadn't – well, there hadn't really been the inclination.

"Do you want to?" Ron said, still quiet, and this time she paused before nodding, and turning to face him. Her expression was serious, and he kissed her, because he loved it when she looked serious like that. It drove her crazy when they were trying to do homework – 'Do you only ever think about sex, Ron?' – but she didn't say anything this time, just kissed him back, and then kissed his chin and his ear and his neck. She tasted like mint toothpaste. Pretty soon, he was fumbling with the ties of her nightie, glad that it was night and she wasn't wearing a bra, and meanwhile she was pulling off his boxers, and her hands were hot, and then she was on top of him, and then he wasn't thinking very coherently at all.

Afterwards, with her half-asleep and curled up in the crook of his arm, he realised how much he'd missed this. With her, it wasn't just sex. Sex was too small a word. It was warmth and comfort, and a gift somehow, every time.

He didn't know how to tell her this, or get his thoughts into words, so he just let her sleep. For a while, he watched her, but eventually became so tired that he couldn't keep his eyes open.

He dreamt badly. From across a crowded room, he saw Lucius Malfoy point his wand at Hermione, and couldn't get through all the people to save her. She kept disappearing, and then reappearing in other places, so that he never knew exactly where she was.

~

A/N: More to come, ASAP. ~you can cross the line whenever you want to~ Shez