She cracked and roiled and fizzled down slowly, Ron holding her safely in his arms. The sensation, the content feeling, she remembered that so clearly. She remembered him being there, right at her heels; she remembered him being there, pulling her tight; she remembered him being there, close enough to kiss.

When Hermione finally lifted her head, eyes just as puffy as they were when George had left the flat earlier, they looked at each other for a moment. A close moment. A quiet moment.

Ron looked… Older, maybe. Which made sense, because he was older. Four years older than the last time she remembered laying eyes on him during Easter Break. She saw strength and she saw resolve and she saw immense loyalty. She saw – she saw just a friend staring back at her. A friend. He loved her – very much, she could tell – but it wasn't the same sort of glimmer she – she -

And she wondered suddenly what exactly he saw in front of him.

Hermione.

Five foot three and three quarters.

Wild hair.

Dark eyes.

Knobby elbows.

Puffy eyes and blotchy face and damp sleeve.

But just a friend.

Hermione's heart wrenched inside her chest cavity, calling out for some sort of acknowledgement from his own, so close yet so far. As the cry echoed into nothingness and she received nothing in return, she took a deep breath to distract from the sting and let it out slowly.

It was still only her first full day out of the hospital and really, what a day it had been so far.

Her mind was still grating against the realization that, as he had said, there was nothing left there between them.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron offered as she hitched the world's smallest smile into place to placate him. She pulled back and took another deep breath.

"It's fine, Ron. Time changes things, right?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically.

"It really does," he agreed. "Are you sure you want to go along today?"

"You sound like Harry," she gave a chuckle, and it was slightly less hollow-sounding than she was expecting. "Let's go. We're late."

"Yes, boss," Ron teased her and followed her out to the living room. He snagged a pot of floo powder from the mantle and offered it to her first.

When she arrived in the fireplace at the Burrow, Hermione was immediately relieved. This place was exactly the way she remembered it being.

The vibrant summer daylight was shining into the living room through the windows, the orchard to the west visible a short distance away. The warm glow of the wood – the floors, the beams overhead, the bookcases – was friendly and familiar. The fresh air sweeping through the room was refreshing and together everything felt like home.

The back screen door banged loudly, and little feet thumped closer down the hall. A streak of blonde hair and gangly limbs zoomed past the doorway.

"Grandma!"

The little girl's voice called out loudly, confidently.

"Yes, I'm coming, dear!"

"J'ai très soif, may I have a drink s'il vous plaît plaît plaît?" a loud stomp accompanied every please the little girl forcibly expelled and Hermione's breath came to a halt as she listened to the exchange.

"That's an awful lot of pleases there young lady," Molly's voice chuckled and there was more scuffling to be heard. Hermione remained motionless, frozen in time.

"I said très, grand-mère, très!"

"Yes, I can see! Here you go."

Silence.

"Thank you! I might need more, I'll come back later, je vais jouer avec Teddy!"

"Right-o, my darling." There was another series of quick feet on the floorboards and Victoire whizzed by again on her way back outside. "Don't slam the -"

The back screen banged loudly again and Hermione felt a laugh catch in her throat.

Ron came through the floo a moment later and nearly bowled her over.

"Sorry," he laughed. "I was a bit overenthusiastic on that one."

"Ron?" Molly called from the kitchen. "Is Hermione alright?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" he answered and gave Hermione a little shrug.

There was a scuffling and a few disjointed thumps before the family matron appeared at the doorway wringing a tea towel in her hands nervously.

"Oh my darling," she let out in one breath before stepping forward, hands extended and palms open. "How are you?"

The mother clasped Hermione's hands in her own and gave them a squeeze, her pale blue eyes skittering over Hermione's face and searching her own dark eyes for a clue to her well-being.

"I'm -" Hermione started. "I'm alright."

"Right, of course," Molly nodded, embracing her.

The smell of flour and the warmth of her arms and the tickle of ginger hair on her cheek was enough to make her feel watery again and Hermione tamped it down. Joy was growing and expanding in her chest slowly – tentatively - after her arrival at the Burrow. For the first time in what felt like forever, things were familiar. Even if people had aged and babies had been born and those chairs had swapped places, they were still the same. It still felt the same, and it was a relief.

Finally.

The view of the orchard was just the same as it had been in the summer before fourth year. It still smelled like the leather of the settee with an undercurrent of bergamot and loose tea leaves. The light still fell through the window the same way, landing on the circle rug, and the cushion Ginny always sat on was in its place off to the side. People outside were laughing and making noise, the sound of it drifting in on the breeze through the back screen door like every other summer she could remember.

"Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll set you up with some tea," Molly pulled back and gave her a wide smile. "And you can take on the backyard when you're feeling up to it."

"Cor, I bring her around and she gets the royal treatment," Ron piped up from behind them and Hermione was surprised to feel a sudden laugh escape. "You didn't even ask how I was, and I'm your own son. What sort of treatment is this?"

"Oh hush you," Molly flapped the tea towel at him, grin still in place. "Are you hungry, dear? You look thin. Have you been eating? Do you fancy a bite? Dinner's not for -"

"I'm okay," Hermione offered her a smile in thanks, heading off her buildup of steam before she got into it. "Is it okay if I -" she motioned upstairs vaguely.

"Of course, dear." Molly stepped back. "The sunflowers are in bloom on the south field if you look out one of the windows."

As further reassurance, the same step near the first landing gave the anticipated squeak as Hermione climbed and climbed up to Ron's old room. The door was open and the sheer orange-ness of it made her want to squint for a moment. Hermione approached the window and looked out over the rolling hills around the Burrow.

The apple orchard stretched away to the west, green and speckled with red orbs, and as expected the large copse of sunflowers was in full bloom. The buoying bubble of familiarity grew a bit more, pressing on her ribs and forcing her to stand up a little taller.

A poster corner had fallen off the wall and as a breeze wafted through Ron's room, it crinkled loudly. Hermione stepped over to reaffix it firmly and trailed along the wall. She ran her fingertips over the lamp shade and the pillowcase, and felt the stitches of the knitted blanket under her palm.

Everything was warm here, and everything was safe.

When she laid her head down on Ron's pillow and curled up on her side quietly, she didn't expect to doze off so quickly. The next moment she opened her eyes, she knew what had happened. The sunlight was coming from a much different angle and the shadows were all different and –

"Was wondering when you were going to wake up."

The voice startled her and she snapped her head around hard enough to make it twinge, pressing a palm to her forehead.

George was leaning against the doorjamb, one foot crossed in front of the other, with a melancholy set to his lips.

"I – what time is it?" she asked, voice crackly from sleep.

"Nearly supper. Mum said to fetch you, or at least let you know the festivities are about to begin," he answered and ran his fingers through his hair. "So if you want, we're all out by the picnic table."

"Right," she acknowledged. Her heartbeat fluttered quickly in her chest at the thought of going downstairs by herself. As he turned away, she found herself calling out to him. "Wait for me!"

If she had this, it was a start.

If she had this, she would be okay.


A/N: A lot of you seem to enjoy your insides being ripped out by this story, if the reviews are any indication. However, it was time for something a little different.

Thank you to everyone who has read, favourited, followed, and commented. I can't believe the reception so far.

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