Chapter 3

The welcoming, warm, dilapidated tower that the Weasley family calls "home" is a sight for sore eyes. Not that the house was particularly beautiful, by any means, but it always represented a sanctuary to me when I wasn't at Hogwarts or with my parents in Oxfordshire. Unfortunately, my use of 'sore eyes' is not purely metaphorical. I hadn't slept the night before, with tears being more frequent than I'd care to admit. Although there is a time to rejoice in the end of the war, I feel that it isn't now. I can only feel remorse for the lives that are lost.

As we approach the house, I am reminded of the loss of Ron's brother by the trail of floating lanterns that lead to the backyard. Hard to believe that around a year ago, those lights were used to light the way to a wedding, a joining of two people. Now, they are used to illuminate a farewell to a good man who died before his time.

I look over to another good man of the same family, and find his face as stoic as ever. We never got the chance to be alone since the night that I had fallen asleep in the common room, and I regret using it on discussing petty hallucinations of Voldemort's making. The death of Fred must be agony for Ron, but he has yet to let that show other than the one instance in the classroom. To him, it's a sign of being strong. It just shows me how much pain he's really in. I'd prefer a livid, irritable, yelling Ron over a ghost of his former passionate self. It would do him wonders to express it, but I'm afraid of forcing him to do something that he isn't ready for.

Mrs. Weasley opens the door for us, knowing that we had Apparated once out of the boundaries of the school mere moments before. By the time we reach the threshold, she is already back in the kitchen, furiously scrubbing the floor. Pots and pans boil on stoves, nearly brimming over, and the ovens are full to capacity with baked goods. It smells scrumptious, especially when combined with the distinct homey smell of the Weasley house that I had grown to love over the years. I almost would have thought that it was just another day for this family, had it not been for the frantic, almost over the edge manner in which Mrs. Weasley cleans.

Mr. Weasley enters the main room at our arrival, and greets us all with friendly embraces. He strides over to his wife, and with a firm hand on her shoulder, tells her, "Now Molly, we've gone over this floor dozens of times. It's spotless. Please, stand up, love." The cautious manner in which he makes his request leads me to believe that at least Mrs. Weasley has been exhibiting the family temper before our arrival. She looks very peeved at being disturbed, but does as he asks regardless and comes over to us to have her turn at giving us all a round of hugs and kisses. She lingers on George, and I can see that she is shaking when she embraces him.

"It's so nice to have you all home." Her voice wavers as she turns away from her son, tears in her eyes. She shakes her head, as if to shake off the emotions plaguing her, and informs us in a firm voice, "There's a lot of work to be done before people arrive. Ginny, please do the laundry and make sure all of the sheets are clean. Harry and Ron, go outside and start weeding and getting rid of the garden gnomes. Hermione, be a dear and dust around the house. Percy, check in with the guests and make sure that everyone is aware of the plan for today - we've been getting Floo calls all morning. Bill and Charlie, help your father with enchanting the c-coffin. Fleur, I'd love your help in the kitchen. Don't let me see any of you not working. I assure you there's plenty to do!"

"Glad you missed us, Mum. I don't know what you would've done without the slave labor," George jokes, albeit a bit weakly. His brothers chuckle appreciatively, while I nervously glance over at their mother for signs of diving off the deep end. A comment like that would usually have her angry in a stable mood, at the very least, but Mrs. Weasley's eyes merely crinkle and a crisis is avoided.

0000

"Dad asked me to say something tonight."

I am on my tip toes, trying to get the last bit of dust on the top shelf of the bookcase in the Weasleys' quaint study. Hours were spent in other rooms of the house. The deep voice startles me - a past year on the run has made me grow acquainted with surprise. I bite back the involuntary fear, still a mechanical reaction, knowing that the owner of the warm voice would be the last person in the world to fear.

Granted, I do fear him. But not because I think he would ever hurt me. I fear that he is capable of too much as far as I'm concerned, however exciting I may find it.

I turn and face Ron, finding him staring dejectedly at the floor. "Do you want to?" I ask.

I don't need any more clarification than what he had already said. I had suspected for a while that his dad would make such a request, to speak at Fred's wake. "I don't know," he says, frustrated. He is sweaty and dirty from having worked in the garden, smelling that distinctly male and uniquely "Ron" scent that I have grown so attracted to. I am tempted by a spot of dirt on his cheek. Before I can stop myself, I go over to him, stand on my tip toes, and clean that, too. I find it hard to think when he nuzzles into my hand, that had just happened to linger.

Ron manages a small smile at my gesture. "I feel like I should, y'know, send him off right. He deserves that much… I just don't have a bloody clue what to say."

My hand retreats from his cheek to encircle his freckled upper arm in a comforting grasp. "Say what you feel. That's all you need to say. He wouldn't have asked for anything more." I think it odd, speaking for his brother in such an intimate way, but over the years Fred and I had gotten to know each other through the teasing and occasional spat. All of the Weasleys had treated me almost like a younger sister since I could remember knowing them. I was never close to Fred, but I still felt as the others did. "When it counts, Ron, you usually have exactly the right thing in mind to say."

Ron chuckles somewhat sarcastically at that. "Oh really? Could you remind the Hermione of the past seven years of that? Felt like she thought all I did was say the wrong thing, what with the constant rowing." Although it is meant as a joke, his jaw tightens. His expression falls flat.

What I want to tell him? Even that Hermione felt like his words were gold, regardless of when they had a habit of making a mess of things. But I feel that this isn't the time nor place to make such long awaited revelations, so I settle for comforting him on other matters. "I wouldn't say it was constant, by any means," I reassure him, allowing my hand on his arm to travel down to his hand. "I'm pretty sure that Hermione said some things she didn't mean, too. And this is an entirely different situation. No one is going to expect anything from you. You don't even have to do it, if you don't want to."

He looks down at my hand in his for a long moment, as if lost in thought. I squeeze his hand, willing him to have the confidence to do what he wants. After a long pause, he pulls me in for a hung and says, "Thanks, Hermione." His arms wind around my lower back, and his head rests gently in my impossibly unruly hair. Despite his dampness, I revel, however guiltily, in the embrace, wrapping my arms around his waist with my cheek against his broad chest.

We hold each other for a long moment, and despite my insomnia, I feel newly invigorated in his arms. Maybe I'm delusional, or perhaps I just needed this. A hug. It's so simple, yet when the world has instantaneously fallen down and opened up to you, it's hard to remember the beauty of such things until you indulge in it. I breathe in his beloved scent, trying to be covert in my attentions. Newly trimmed grass. Fresh parchment on the adjacent table. All I need is Ron's maroon jumper and I'd be set on that front. It's nice to have the ability to simply enjoy a moment.

Reality all too quickly sets back in. "Ron, your mum wants you," Harry says, interrupting the silence as he enters through the doorway.

Ron sheepishly steps out of the embrace, briefly squeezing my hand before leaving the room to receive more orders. Harry merely chuckles before sitting on the loveseat nearest him. I return to my cleaning efforts, my face growing hot when I feel Harry's gaze on my back. I turn and demand, "What is it?"

Although Ron has seen better days, Harry's countenance is lighter, in spite of the circumstances. It seems that the combination of Voldemort's death and Ginny's return to his life (and his bed, from what I could presume from when I would wake in the middle of the night to find her bed empty) have been good for him. "I'm just glad that you two have come to your senses. It's about time."

I feel the denial rise in my throat, a reflex, before realizing that Harry was present when the world had stopped spinning for a blissful moment during the final battle. I know there's no hiding anything from our best friend, but it's my own doubt that makes me reluctant to see truth in his statement. Although I am sure that the kiss meant something, I find it difficult to believe things without undeniable evidence. Holding hands, intimate embraces, even a kiss can be explained away. Comfort, being the primary explanation. Merlin knows we all need some of that with everything that has happened. That's why, before it was all over and Ron told me that he wanted to tell me something as we were being chased by Nagini, I told him to wait. I couldn't take it if he said something that he'd regret. Now things are a little more sane, aside from the grief. Maybe, finally, I can get some answers. But until Ron and I can talk about whatever is going on between us, though, I can never be too sure.

I merely turn back to the bookshelf, hoping to hide the insecurity on my face. "It's too soon to tell. He's going through a lot. I am just trying to be here for him," I say, mechanically.

Harry is quick to counter. "Hermione, Ron has been holding out for you for years. It's been obvious to everyone but you guys. There's no point in hiding it anymore, with everything that has happened."

"It's hardly appropriate to even think about that at a time like this," I shoot back, trying to prevent Harry's tempting argument from settling inside of my mind. I move to the desk in order to dust it, trying to keep myself from appearing too affected.

"I felt that way too, and you know what I realized? Being a martyr is exhausting. Look," Harry says urgently, rising from the chair to approach me. I still and look at him, surprised by his uncharacteristic outburst in such a situation. "Ginny convinced me of it, and I'm glad she did. The war is over. The people who sacrificed for us would not want us to wallow in misery, and before you say it, I know I have done it before in the face of losing people I loved. But you know as well as I do that Fred, Remus, Tonks, they all would want us to be happy. I miss them all like crazy, but I'm going to try to live the way that they would want me to because of their sacrifice. I'm going to do my best to make Ginny happy for Fred, and I can't wait to become part of Teddy's life. They'd want the same for you guys."

I can only smile at my best friend. So unlike what I had expected. I honestly thought he would somehow blame himself for the doings of a psychotic wizard, but he's giving me the same exact pep talk I would have told him if the roles were reversed. Although I don't often confide in Harry for romantic reasons, seeing this side in him moves me. I look down, and shakily admit, "I care about him, Harry. A lot."

"I know," Harry simply replies, although he looks like my confession is painfully obvious to him.

"I just feel like we're so close. I want to keep moving forward with this, but now that things aren't so pressing, I'm unsure of how to play this out. The whole definition of our relationship seems to be inopportune timing," I mutter the last bit, remembering prior debacles involving a certain Yule Ball or the dreaded sixth year spent avoiding Ron when his lips were attached to another pair.

"The nice thing about now is that time is no longer limited. But why wait? I've heard enough complaining on both ends to know that you've been waiting long enough." Harry's demeanor is a lot lighter than I've seen in a long time. His outlook has never been so positive. I definitely need to talk to Ginny about this change in Harry. She seems to know exactly how to talk some sense into even the most stubborn of people, and I may need help with that if I am to do what her boyfriend is suggesting.

I straighten myself out. "Thanks, Harry. I'll definitely take that into consideration," I say firmly, right after which we hear Mrs. Weasley hollering for us. "I guess there is still more work to do?"

"Isn't there always?" Harry mutters quietly, but the irritation doesn't meet his eyes. I follow Harry out, hopeful that the happiness that Harry has imagined for Ron and myself is just beyond the horizon.