She had forgotten how much she liked to watch the sun setting on the mountains, I stirred feelings from deep inside her that she had thought were long since dormant, a distant echo of the reality that seamed to be a dream like state that she no longer remembered existing. The dimming light framed the large bay window at the front of the flat where Hermione now sat, the window wide open letting the scent of the evening dew sweep her away on the tide of memories that she had no intention of damming.

"Penny for them?" Fred said slipping in to the seat next to her.

"Thinking about your brother, if you must know." Hermione said accepting the tray of sandwiches from him and putting them on an upturned box.

"Let me guess what one, Charlie?" he said taking the top sandwich, "Because he's only got eyes for that bloody stupid dragon that Hagrid gave him." He smiled at her, sandwich half way to his mouth. There was something behind Fred's eyes that made her always trust him, well as much as you could trust a man more than half likely to turn you in to a giant canary at the drop of a hat. It was an unsettling sort of trust, the sort that you don't realize you have gained, a closest friend that never really tried just always was. It was something that she had longed for, for such a long time, but the brown eyes that looked at her were all wrong. The trust she had built with Ron was a one off, never to be replaced. He had always been the only person to reassure her with one look that everything was fine, even when the odds had been stacked against them.

Even at the end of things Ron had helped her believe that there was a light at the end of all the darkness. But the following dark had hung heavy now for so long.

"I know your probably going to tell me to get stuffed and I personally wouldn't blame you, I mean it's not as if were the best of friends, more like the best of enemies, but you have always been like my little sister Hermione, you do realize that right?' Fred didn't listen for an answer, 'But if your telling me the reason that you ran off to France was to improve your French skills I know you would be lying. Now I know I'm not the best person to be dishing out any sort of advice when it comes to relationships' (Hermione tried her best not to choke on the sandwich that she had been chewing, Fred thumped her back to dislodge the killer bread.) 'But I do know that whatever you and my brother had was the realest thing I have ever seen, I know it must have hurt you when he did what he did but you have to put that down to him just being Ron.'

Hermione smiled to herself 'Realest isn't a word.'

"It's in the dictionary, and stop trying to change the subject."

Hermione fiddled with the little silver band on her finger. Why did she still feel awkward when she was asked directly about her and Ron? They may not have ever come out in public that they were together, it just never seamed to be the right time, what with the impending doom of the end, death, near death, school work and phlegm…there had never really been the opportune moment, and then after that night… Ron had changed he had become something strange, like a walking shell of the man he had become. He had stood constant vigil at Harry's bed side in the days after the battle, they all had, but Ron refused to leave. Hermione had lay in the next room for days listening to Ron talk to a unconscious Harry, reading him the Quidditch news, talking about Krum and the Irish teams hopes and aspirations for the next world cup since the end of the war.

He only visited her in the dark of the night when he though that she was sleeping.

It had killed her to lie there listening to him sob in the dark, every inch of her wanting to hold him, calm him let him know that she was there, she would always be there. However the fear of him not returning had hold of her so tightly that she lay there listening to his heart break, scared to move incase hers got broken in the fall out.

She couldn't blame him entirely for everything, but he never seamed to be the same after that. They weren't the same again after that.

The day that the war ended so did the spark between the two of them, the fight was all taken out of her, she loved him, and she never stopped loving him.

"Ron will be here on Sunday, He comes up to see mum once a month, Hermione just think about coming to see mum will you, you know she misses your company, what with dad not being around as much anymore and Ginny so busy with work…She worries about you Hermione she really does."

Hermione nodded, she should really go see Molly, and after all she was the closet thing she had to a mother these days.

"Will Harry be there?" she asked pulling a blanket around her shoulders.

"I should imagine so, Mum needs one day off from baby sitting, not that she complains, much." He smiled at the pictures that he was putting over the fire place. Bill, Flure and Charlie waved happily from the frame.

"I can't believe that is almost seven years ago." Hermione said, walking over to join Fred at the fire.

"Seven years on Sunday, I can't believe that was the last time we were all in the same place at the same time."

"I can't believe your brother thought it was funny to howl during his speech."

"He was making light of the situation, I thought it was funny, and so did you at the time!"

Hermione had a flash image of her burying her face in Ron's robes to dull the giggles, a warm felling filled her, it had been so long since she had thought of the happy times.

"Was that a genuine smile?"

Hermione hit him gently on the arm, he rubbed the spot gently. He glanced down at his watch. "I hate to go and spoil our little psychology session but I have to be somewhere."

He flashed the smile at her, sending involuntary shivers up her spine; it was the Weasley charm you never got unhooked once you were caught.

Hermione watched him out at the door.

"You better watch out for Nargles!" Hermione shouted down the steps after him.

"I'll let Luna worry about that." He said waving at her over his shoulder as he disappeared up a side ally way.

Hermione closed the door quietly behind her, leaning against it to sigh and slide down the oak to the floor.

She flicked her wand and the writing set floated across to her from the empty tea crate on the floor next to the window.

Taking the parchment carefully from the role she took out the long peacock quill, she smelt it as she gently stroked it across her face; it still smelt of him, she relaxed slightly the quill hovering over the parchment.

Ron, I ….

She stared at the paper for what seamed like ever, how did she put down in words the things that she needed to say? How could she put six years of hurt down in a letter? How could she ever tell him that all she ever wanted was for him to look at her the way that he used to? If she closed her eyes she could remember that first kiss the way he had ran his fingers through her damp hair the way he had held her close, his outright disgust that she had been alone with Draco Malfoy. The way he had kissed her and her heart had felt like it was about to explode. He had a hold on her back then that she couldn't fight, his looks could control her every move, every thought.

She hated independent living, back then it may have been death and destruction on a daily basis, but she had belonged to something, the bond that her and Ron had with Harry was unbreakable, at least it was back then. Harry was the hero always had been, Ron his right hand man and she had been the voice of reason. But now? Now they didn't need each other.

Harry had Ginny and they had there daughter to look out for in between running around at the Ministry. Hermione had only seen them once in the last six months, after Ginny had given birth to a healthy six pound seven ounce bundle of joy with bright blue eyes and a mop of dark black hair. Ruby was the most adorable baby that Hermione had ever held every part of her had been perfectly formed, ten adorable fingers, and ten little wrinkled toes. Mr Weasley had given everyone a picture taken with his muggle camera, his prized possession and a gift from the twins for getting promoted again. That was the last time Hermione had felt like she belonged to something. Ron hadn't been there that day; he was unable to get there because he had a cup match. Secretly Hermione had hoped that he wouldn't be, it would hurt too much to see him when her emotions were already high.

She had sat in her empty flat that night staring at the letter that Minerva had sent and wondering what she should do, she had missed the Burrow so much, she had missed the fact that she could talk to people that actually cared about her and gave a damn about things other than facts and figures. She had wished that she wasn't so scared to go back that the very thought made her vomit.

Two bottles of rose wine and the running commentary on the Hawks and the Braves game helped to make her even more home sick, as she listened pass for pass, Weasley to Krum, she couldn't help but feel like she had lost everything in her life that she cared about, everything that was her reason to live.

If she went back home, Back to the Burrow, back to her family, maybe everything would make sense?

She watched the parchment burn.

The word traitor flickered out of existence.