True to her word, Fleur was gone when Hermione woke the next morning. The cot and blankets were back in the closet and the extra pillow was on the foot of Hermione's bed. She got up and put on her dressing gown, braided her hair, and went downstairs. There was a large cauldron on the stove. Hermione glanced out the kitchen window to see Bill and Fleur in the herb garden. Bill looked penitent. Fleur looked irritated. She had a handful of something green in her hand and was gesturing with it as she made some point. Bill nodded. She looked away from him. He touched her cheek and she stepped into his embrace. Fleur was a couple of inches taller than Hermione but Bill still towered over her as he wrapped his arms around her. Hermione looked away from the private moment and started making tea.

A few minutes later, Fleur came inside and dropped the handful of greens into the cauldron.

"What are you making?" Hermione asked.

"Hangover potion," Fleur said. "There were only two bottles in the potion cabinet and I imagine we're going to need a lot more than that."

"Do you need any help?" Hermione asked.

"No, it's done," Fleur said. "I'm just letting it cool before bottling it, but they can take it warm. Temperature doesn't affect the properties."

Bill came in a few minutes later and had a ladle full of the potion. Hermione handed him a cup of tea. "Thanks," he said.

Percy was up next. His curly hair was puffed high and unruly.

"Hangover potion?" Fleur asked. She held out the ladle to him. "Careful. It's still hot."

"I don't care," Percy said and took the ladle. He blew on it for a minute and then drank it down. He looked at Fleur. "How did you manage to make it taste good?"

"I add mint at the end," Fleur said. "It also has the added benefit of improving the breath at the same time."

"Genius," Percy said.

"I'll get some porridge going," Hermione said. "We've got funerals to attend in a few hours."

Bill went back to bed.

xXx

The oatmeal porridge was ready and Hermione and Fleur were eating when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came into the kitchen. Mr. Weasley took one look at the large cauldron of hangover potion and gave a stern look to Percy.

"The drinking was not my idea," said Percy, who was hunched over his own bowl of porridge.

His father sighed and sat down at the head of the table. Hermione handed him a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea. Mrs. Weasley stood in the center of the kitchen just staring.

"Come and sit down, Molly," Mr. Weasley said. She quietly complied and Hermione handed her a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea as well.

"I don't know what we'd do without you two," Mr. Weasley said to Fleur and Hermione. "It seems like every time something needs doing, one of you is there to handle it."

Fleur and Hermione both assured him they were happy to help.

Ron was the next up. Fleur gave him the ladle for the hangover potion and when he was done drinking it down, he realized Hermione had left the kitchen.

"Where'd Hermione go?"

"Back upstairs. Probably wanted to get in the shower before the rush," his father said.

"Right," Ron said, looking toward the stairs.

xXx

The rest of his family and Harry all eventually made their way downstairs, but he didn't see Hermione again until it was time to go to the first funeral. She held out her arm and he took it, but no words were exchanged between them for the rest of the day until they returned from the last funeral.

Hermione started for the house, but Ron called to her. "Can I have a word?"

Harry and Ginny glanced at them and exchanged looks before going inside.

Hermione folded her arms and turned around to look at him.

He cleared his throat. "I'm really sorry about last night. I didn't mean to get so drunk and then when we got back I shouldn't have…" he shook his head. "I'm sorry for pawing at you like that. It was drunkenly stupid and I apologize."

"Okay," Hermione said and turned back around to go inside.

"Wait, Hermione, what…I mean…um…is that it?"

She turned back around. "What else did you want?"

"Dunno. I just…aren't you going to…" He shrugged. "Anything?"

She glared at him. "Have you just given up on speaking in complete sentences?"

"What?"

"You're not actually saying anything. Conversations with you lately have more gaps than words. I don't know what you're trying to say, but whatever it is, it's not coming across."

He blinked at her. He knew she was right. He couldn't seem to express himself to her since the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. He knew what he wanted to say, but somehow when it got down to actually saying it, the whole thing fell apart in his mouth and nothing but rubbish came out. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Yes," she said. "That part I got." She turned around and went inside.

Ron wanted to scream. A week ago, they'd been a well-oiled machine. They knew their roles. They'd survived Malfoy Manor. They'd survived breaking into Gringott's and escaping on a blind dragon. He'd even boldly gone behind that curtain, despite her protests, and helped her heal her burned legs. A week ago, he'd felt like a man. Now, he somehow felt like a kid again. The baby-brother. The sidekick. Harry seemed to have embodied his new role just fine as he shook an endless number of hands and spoke solemnly to every grieving person who came his way. Ginny stood by him like they'd been doing this funeral gig for years. But somehow, he and Hermione had fallen apart. A week ago, she'd been the go-to problem solver. Double Side-along Apparition, no problem. Complex security wards, no problem. Figuring out how to get into Bellatrix's vault, no problem. She was a bloody genius, why was she doling out porridge every morning like a House Elf? He stared at the Burrow in all its lopsided glory. All he'd wanted when they were on the run was to come back here, to feel safe again, but now that he was back, it all felt wrong. It was too small, too crowded, too sad, too much of his past and not enough of his future. Hermione was what he wanted his future to look like. He knew that but now he was mired in all these funerals and all this family stuff. He felt like he was stuck in a bog and she was floating further and further away from him. She came through the back door then. She'd changed out of her funeral robes and into jeans and a T-shirt and one of those scarves she was always wearing now.

"Hey," he said.

"I'm going out," she said.

"Out? Out where?" Ron said, panic starting to set in. "Hey, wait, I'll go with you. It's still dangerous."

"I'll be back later." And she was gone.

Ron stared at the spot she'd Disapparated from. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

xXx

Hermione's intention had been to go to her parents' house, but as she stood on the street in front of it, she couldn't bear to go in. She was pleased to see that the wards she'd set up around the house had held up, but she redid them just in case they were starting to fray. She wasn't as experienced at casting shielding when she'd cast the ones around her parents' house, so it felt prudent to redo them. When she was done, she went into the garden instead of the house. She wasn't ready for the house. She wasn't sure if she would ever be ready.

The garden was just slightly wider than the house and three times the length. Her parents had taken such pleasure in the narrow strip of land, planting it in themed 'rooms' like those featured on the gardening shows they enjoyed watching on television. What had once been lovely was now tatty and overgrown. The only spell Hermione had known to cast on the garden before she left was one that retarded the growth of the lawn, so the neighbors wouldn't complain about overgrown grass. Everything else needed trimming and weeding. She didn't know any other horticulture spells though, so she went into the garden shed, got some gloves and pruning shears, and set to work. An hour later, when a rose bush snagged her arm and left a long thin scratch, she decided she'd had enough. She was tired and grubby and she wanted to get back before anyone started to worry. She put away the shears and gloves, rewrapped her scarf, and Disapparated.

xXx

Ron slammed open the kitchen door and was striding toward her the moment she landed. She could tell by the look on his face that she'd been gone too long. "Where the hell have you been?" he shouted.

"Ron—," she started.

"An hour! You've been gone a whole bloody hour! Have you gone mad? Anything could have happened!" He stopped. "What happened? You're covered in dirt. You're bleeding. Were you attacked? Come on, let's get you inside." He looked around nervously as though she might have been followed.

"I'm fine. I wasn't attacked," Hermione said soothingly, trying to ignore the fact that he seemed to think he had a right to know where she was every minute of the day and could shout at her if she did something without giving him all the details.

"Then why are you bleeding?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"It's just a scratch and it's stopped bleeding. I was working in the garden."

"No, you weren't—"

"My parents' garden," she explained.

"Oh," Ron said, suddenly deflating as all the fear and anger seemed to drain out of him. "I didn't realize…well…yeah…okay." He put his arms around her and hugged her tight. "Just…please…it's not safe. The Aurors are still rounding up Death Eaters. They haven't cleared your parents' place yet. You can't just go off on your own like that." He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. "If something had happened to you…"

"I'm fine," she said. "I'm sorry. I should've said where I was going. I didn't go inside where there might be boobytraps. I stayed in the garden." She breathed him in and reveled in the feel of his arms around her. She didn't care if he only held her because she'd worried him. She wanted to pull off his shirt and taste his skin, she wanted to drop to her knees and see and taste what she'd only felt rubbing against her in the dark. She shivered.

"Are you alright?" he said, stepping away from her.

"Fine," she said, feeling herself blush. "I just need a shower and something to eat."

He nodded. "Well, go on then."

She cleared her throat and went inside.

Harry and Ginny were standing in the kitchen when she walked in. Harry frowned at her. "Don't do that again," he said firmly.

She nodded and went upstairs, ignoring the look of shock that registered on Ginny's face.

xXx

Ron ran his fingers through his hair and watched Hermione walk inside. She was going to be the death of him. He didn't know what she'd been thinking, running off like that, to her parents' house of all places. Death Eaters could have overrun the place, set traps, anything. He couldn't believe she could be so reckless, but then he considered her situation, and his temper cooled. He knew she missed them. He knew she was having a hard time living with her actions now that the war was over and she'd survived. He figured she hadn't expected to have to deal with the ramifications of having removed herself from their memories. He shook his head. He wished he knew of something to make it better, to comfort her, but there was nothing. Obliviation was permanent. Her parents weren't ever coming back. They might as well be dead, but they weren't, they were alive and living their life somewhere without her, and he thought, in some ways, that must be worse for her.

He just wished he could get a grip on himself. He needed to be strong for her and for his family, but he felt weak and a little out of control, especially in regards to Hermione. Just now, when he'd pressed his face to the top of her head, instead of focusing on her needs, he'd found himself wanting to press her against the garden wall and snog her senseless before leading her upstairs to his bedroom where he'd like to shag her senseless. She needed love and support not some randy git, but these days the randy git seemed always just below the surface, ready to ravage her at a moment's notice. It was embarrassing and annoying. He wished he could make everyone disappear for just one bloody hour, so he could tell her how he felt, not just spout 'I love you' after coming in his pants. He needed to tell her properly and then he could be a randy git. He sighed. She was killing him.

xXx

Upstairs in the shower, Hermione pressed her forehead to the cool tile and let the water wash over her. Ron was killing her. She didn't have a lot of sexual experience, but she had some, and it left her with the distinct awareness that two was definitely better than one. Something about all those funerals was making her desperate to feel alive. Being surrounded by attractive ginger men wasn't helping either. Why couldn't Ron just want her the way she wanted him? She sighed. Maybe he did. Maybe this was just grief and the lack of privacy. Maybe time would fix this. She just had to be patient. The problem was she didn't feel patient, she felt undone, and she wanted something solid to cling to but everything felt amorphous.

She sighed and turned off the water and toweled off before pulling on her bathrobe and going back to Ginny's room to get dressed. She put on her knickers and bra, irritated that even at the tightest band setting, her breasts didn't quite fill the cups anymore. She sighed and pulled on her jeans. There was a knock on the door.

"Hermione?" It was Fleur's voice.

"Come in," Hermione said, pleased that at least one person in this house knew to knock before entering.

Fleur came in, closing the door behind her. "Did I leave my socks in here?"

Hermione looked on the floor around the bed.

Ginny came in. "I'm thinking of heating up some of those pies people brought for dinner, what do you think?"

"Here are your socks," Hermione said, handing them to Fleur. "I can help with dinner, I just need to change this first," she said, touching the plaster on her neck.

Fleur frowned. "You still need a plaster on it?"

Hermione sighed. "It's still weeping. It's such a thin cut, even if it is cursed, I thought it would've completely closed by now."

"Let me see," Fleur said.

Ginny walked over to look too. "What happened?"

Hermione pealed the plaster off, exposing the long thin cut across her neck. "I was cut. It's not a big deal."

"Someone cut your throat," Ginny said, her face blanching. "That seems like a big deal."

"It's not deep," Hermione said.

"Deep enough," Fleur countered. "Tilt your head back."

Hermione complied.

Fleur shook her head. "Molly knows more about medicine than I do. Perhaps we should have her look at it."

"No," Hermione said. "I don't want to bother her."

"Actually," Ginny said, "I think Mum could use the bother. I'll just go get her." She was out the door before Hermione could protest.

"Great," Hermione muttered. She pulled on a T-shirt.

"We could just take you to St. Mungo's. That might be the best option anyway," Fleur said.

"Definitely not," Hermione said. "I'm not going to the hospital. It's fine. It just needs time."

xXx

Downstairs, Ginny found her mother in the parlor. She had knitting in her lap with her wand in her hand, but she was staring out the window instead of casting the spell to start the pattern.

"Mum," Ginny said. "Can you come upstairs and have a look at Hermione?"

"What?" Ron said, sitting up in the chair he'd been slouched in looking at a Quidditch magazine.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, getting off the sofa.

"Nothing," Ginny said, frowning at the two of them. "Calm down. Fleur just wants Mum to look at that cut on Hermione's neck."

"Why?" Ron said, getting to his feet.

"Because she wants her to," Ginny said. "Sit down. If we need you, I'll let you know."

Molly got to her feet. "My bag is in my room."

Ginny followed her upstairs.

xXx

A couple of minutes later, Hermione stood with her head tilted back again while Molly inspected the wound. Hermione tried very hard to keep her mind blank and not to think about Bellatrix standing behind her with the knife at her throat. An involuntary shiver ran through her.

"Alright dear," Molly said kindly. "You can put your head down." The older woman sighed. "I've got some numbing balm, that might help a bit with the tenderness, but a cursed wound just takes time to heal."

Hermione nodded. Harry's snake bite had taken weeks of changing bandages, but she didn't mention that. They hadn't told the story of the events at Godric's hollow to Ron's family, because it would have necessitated mentioning that Ron hadn't been with them, and none of them were ready to explain that. Of course, Bill and Fleur knew that Ron had left Harry and Hermione for several weeks, but they'd kept it to themselves. The three of them hadn't talked much about their time on the run at all. People seemed to focus on the last few days of the war. No one had yet asked where the three of them had been for the last nine months or what exactly they'd been doing. There was a brief recounting to Shacklebolt about the events at Malfoy Manor and breaking into Gringott's but that was the extent of their explanations.

Molly handed her a small tub of balm. "Put this around the cut, but not on it. It should help. And get some chocolate after dinner. That does as much good as anything for magical maladies."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks."

Molly squeezed her arm and looked her over and sighed. "Let's get some dinner in you, shall we?"

"That sounds good. I'll just put on a fresh plaster and be down in a minute."

Molly patted her shoulder and followed Fleur and Ginny out of the room.

xXx

Everyone was taking their seats when Hermione came down. She had a scarf tied around her neck again. This time she'd rolled and knotted it, so it covered the plaster, but didn't hang down at all. When she took her place next to Ron at the table, her hair was damp and there was a single droplet of water between the scarf and the neck of her T-shirt. He couldn't take his eyes off that drop of water. He had a desperate desire to lean over and suck it off her skin.

"Cottage pie, Ron?" his father said.

Ron looked up. "Wha—oh, yeah." He scooped a large portion on to his plate and handed the dish to Hermione. When she reached for it, the droplet slipped down her shirt and disappeared. Ron sighed with relief. She gave him a questioning look. "Dinner, am I right?"

"Yeah," she said, "this is great."

A quiet settled over the table while everyone ate.

Percy cleared his throat after a while and said, "Shacklebolt said the Aurors have cleared my flat, so it's safe for me to return."

Everyone looked up at him.

"It's been ransacked," he continued. "I'll need to clean up over there before I can move back in."

"We can help with that Perce," Charlie said.

"Yeah," George agreed. "Shouldn't take long to clean if we all set to. I'm still waiting for them to clear the shop."

"That would be great," Percy said. "I could really use the help."

"We've got funerals tomorrow," Ginny said, "But I can come after."

"Me too," Ron said. Harry and Hermione chimed in that they could go as well. Ron smiled at them. This was good, he thought, it was right that they should all come together to get things cleaned up. Besides, if Percy moved back to his flat that was one less person wandering around the Burrow and that meant things were getting back to normal or as normal as they could, given the circumstances. He hated that the new normal didn't include Fred, but there was nothing any of them could do about that.

His father had already returned to work. The Ministry was in dire straits and needed all the help it could get. Percy had received a letter that morning asking him back as well. Bill had returned to Gringott's, but he and Fleur were still staying at the Burrow. Ron assumed it was because his mother was still not herself and Fleur was largely running the kitchen to keep the family fed. He sighed. He loved his family, but he really wished the ones who had their own homes would just go back to them.