A/N: A story is nothing if there aren't people to listen (in this case, read) it. You all really make the hard work of writing worth it, and more by your comments and following this piece like you do.

I am going to miss writing and sharing these three weeks. So, if possible, I'll try posting the next chapter during the trip, (if possible.)

Enjoy and please don't forget that review.

All Characters belong to JKR.

Chapter 35: A Different Kind of Home

The books dropped inside the trunk with a soft thud as Harry picked up the remaining of his belongings from his bed, and stacked them as perfectly as he could. He was trying extremely hard to concentrate on the mundane task of packing his trunk so as not to think or feel the soreness of his heart. He had done what he always knew he had to, break up with Ginny, but a part of him seemed to protest vehemently against his decision. He knew this was the right thing to do, and he knew Ginny understood, but it did not make him feel any less guilty or less miserable for that matter. It was as if the funeral had been a threshold to begin a new journey, one which he would have to take on alone without her. He had to try and reach the goal just like in those muggle video games he sneaked in and played on Dudley's computer years ago on those rare days when the Dursley's left him alone at home. Only, here there was no scope for re-tries, no extra lives to cash on if he failed. He could not even stop for a moment. He would just have to go on till he won, or died trying. Noticing that he had paused with a couple of parchments and an inkpot still in his hand, he placed them into the trunk, feeling without having to look around, the furious pacing of his best mate behind him.

Ron had been doing that since he had got back from the funeral. The rest of the boys had packed their belongings and long left the dorm. Ron had finished packing too. Only it could not be called so much of packing as he had literally picked and dropped his things inside his trunk, and forced it close with a sticking charm. And, ever since then, he had been pacing up and down the dorm, muttering expletives under his breath.

"How long will they take to decide on one ruddy thing?!" he scowled after what Harry decided was a decent amount of time for him.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, although he thought he had a pretty good guess.

"Come on, Mate!" Ron said angrily, and sat down on his messed up bed, running his long fingers through his hair. "She needs a place to stay, and Burrow has been the temporary headquarters for the Order before when Grimmauld Place was being scanned for security leaks. So, why not now? Why can't they just take her there and be done with it?"

Under different circumstances, Harry might have perhaps used this as a golden opportunity to tease Ron but, after all the recent events, he could not bring himself to do it. In fact, he understood. Wouldn't he have felt the same if it had been Ginny? Yes he would, he would want her to be with him all the time so that he could keep her safe.

"They will have to put up a lot of protections around the Burrow for that, Ron. You know Voldemort. He will not flinch before harming all of you to get to her if need be." He thought of Ginny again and squirmed at his own words.

"He won't be able to lay his filthy hands on her while I am alive." Muttered Ron in a strong undertone and Harry looked back at his best friend in shock. The words weren't the ones to surprise him, the confession was. Ron was not exactly a person known for speaking about his inner feelings unless he felt very deeply about it. But now as Harry's eyes continued to bore into his, he seemed to get a little conscious and averted the gaze.

"Dumbledore always maintained that she was a great asset, and had to be kept out of their reach. We can't fail him, I-I can't fail him. We need her for this, Harry. She will help you win." He added softly, almost in a way of explanation.

"Is that all, Ron?" he asked probing a little, but the taller guy simply looked away, watching what was once Harry's door to her chambers.

"Yes." He said after a long time, and Harry did nothing but looked at that pale, freckled face once before turning away to shut his now neatly packed trunk.

...

Two days later- Ottery St. Catchpole

Hermione came down the staircase, walking extra softly so as to not wake up the sleeping household. The sun had not risen yet but a faint glow lit up the far horizon. The steps creaked under her feet, and she held on to the railing cautiously. This house was a far cry from anything she had ever set foot in, and yet, this was one of the warmest of places she had ever lived in. The entire place, no matter how shabby or worn down, was intrinsically Weasley. Even in these dark times, it was powerfully resilient, cosy, and full of love, life and hope.

The family had easily pulled her in like one of their own. Molly fussed over her like she did for Ginny, and Arthur reminded her so strongly of her father that she had a tough time keeping her tears in check. There was a stark difference, though. While Granger Senior's priority had always been upholding the traditions, no matter how much he adored his daughter, the oldest Weasley seemed to put nothing but his family's well-being and happiness on the top of the chart. She spent a major part of the day with Ginny who was markedly different from her lively self post her breakup with Harry. And it pained Hermione to watch the younger girl who hardly allowed anyone to see her tears, although it was evident that she struggled to control herself frequently. And despite it all, she was a great companion. But the more the family cared, the worse she felt for putting them in such great peril just by her presence in their home. She had tried telling the same to Molly but had received a particularly sound but motherly telling off. The Weasley matriarch made it clear in no uncertain terms that they were all together in this and whether be it Harry or she they were safer when with the family and she wanted no further questions on this. That had practically cut off all arguments Hermione might have had.

Once at the kitchen, she placed the book she was carrying on the table before pulling out a teabag and setting up the kettle to boil. She had been unable to sleep for more than a few hours in the past few days. The last she remembered having had a solid nap was in the boys' dormitory, wrapped in Ron's embrace. Her face coloured at the memory, and it was the soft whistle of the kettle that drew her out of her reverie. Pouring the hot liquid into the mug, she brought it to the table and pulled a chair for herself.

She opened the book, glancing over the pages not taking in a single word, as the events of the last day at Hogwarts crept up on her yet again.

She watched the funeral from a window high up in the Headmistress' office and even without hearing the voice of the small wizard who overlooked the service, she could feel the grief and hopelessness pour out of the crowd that gathered to honour their fallen hero. All she could hear was the phoenix song; the sound somehow seemed to percolate through the walls and resound inside her heart. Silent tears rolled down her eyes and she craved to hold on to someone as the service progressed. Dumbledore looked eerily peaceful as he was put to rest and the tomb sealed itself. Finally, when it was over, she watched Harry and Ginny leave the mass holding hands, only to disappear towards the forest. Her eyes scanned the crowd for that flaming red hair, and sure enough, she found him on a bench close to where Harry had been sitting earlier hidden behind Hagrid's massive frame. She could not see his face but the pain seemed to be visible in his very form. It was a long while and most of the people had already left when Harry returned and called for him. The boys left together leaving nothing but the new snow-white tomb alone in the familiar landscape.

It had been an excruciatingly long wait as she heard people trickle into the Headmistress' main office while she remained inside the room temporarily assigned to her. It was much too dangerous to come out yet as there were still plenty of Ministry officials who were present. And it was only after a couple or so hours passed, that she was called.

The crowd that remained was a familiar one, although an air of heavy grief hung around the room. Her eyes roamed around at all the faces till she met those blue ones, and she realised she was subconsciously looking out specifically for those all this time. He looked worn out, but there was a distinct fierceness behind those eyes as they looked back at her. For a moment there, all she wanted was to run into him and crash onto that familiar warmth but Mad-eye began to speak again, and she turned around at him instead.

"We have a lot to decide, Minerva and Harry's security is our primary concern here." He huffed as if a part of the discussion had already taken place before she had been called.

"But this is just as important!" replied the old but fierce witch. "Albus always said she needed to be kept safe," she added, and with her heart sinking, Hermione realised that she was the topic of discussion here. The general atmosphere was a clear indication that her safety, or she herself perhaps, was the cause of a difference in opinions here. It made her extremely uncomfortable, and she sat looking at her lap avoiding the group of Aurors and Order members both young and old.

"Dumbledore always said Snape was to be trusted too," growled the old man, and her heart sank in further. She could put up a lot of arguments, say that she was never a Death Eater in the first place so they ought not to compare her with her old professor, but she sat silent because, how much could she defend herself, really? She could not generate trust by arguments, not during these delicate times when the one they had given a chance for redemption, had broken their trust so ruthlessly. It was a familiar voice that spoke up in a horrifyingly familiar tone, but the anger was not directed towards her. She looked up to see Harry place a hand on Ron to pull him back, but the taller boy was already on his feet, facing a furious looking Moody.

"DON'T COMPARE HER TO HIM!" He shook off his best friend's hand with a swipe of his own, fury rendering his face a familiar shade of red.

"She has proved herself! He had tests for her, and she passed each one of them. Ask Harry if you don't believe me! Hermione has as much desire to join the dark side as any of us, and she is the one who is in danger, less than Harry of course but certainly more than us. You can't put her up just anywhere."

"I am not talking about putting her up 'just anywhere'! I know that will endanger the Order, Weasley!" barked Mad-eye ominously, but Ron seemed too far gone to back down.

"IT'S NOT JUST ABOUT THE BLOODY ORDER!" he snapped back. "It's as much about saving her or does the Order not care anymore about innocent lives? That doesn't make us any better than You-Know-Who's minions, does it?" He towered over the older man but then Ron towered over most of the people they knew and yet the rage coming out of the old Auror was palpable in the air. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly perhaps, Ron looked equally mutinous if not more.

"Ron, calm down," came the controlled voice of Remus, and Kingsley repeated the same words to his one-time senior.

"You have to understand. This is important!" the desperation in Ron's voice as he spoke to Remus, almost broke her heart.

"Ron is right, every word." The crowd turned towards Harry who stood up and placed a firm hand on his best mate's back.

"You can't doubt her for what Snape did. Dumbledore never told anyone why he trusted Snape, did he? But we know he tested Hermione. Three tests which she was not even aware he had set up for her. And she passed them all. Moreover, Snape was an accomplished Occulmen. He could easily hide his true intentions, but Hermione couldn't. He was already working for Voldemort in the first place, but she lost her parents to him. How can you compare them at all?" he asked the group in general, and Hermione could feel the love and gratitude she felt for the two choke her up.

"Alastor, they are right." added the Headmistress finally, looking intently at the two boys who had practically grown up in front of her eyes into strong young men.

She tuned out almost all of the conversation that had followed after that, her eyes watched nothing but Ron's face. The way he looked back at her told her that no matter what he thought of her, whether he believed her confession on not, he would not abandon her. She knew he could easily wrap her life around him, and live happily without caring if she had anything else or not.

The gentle footsteps entering the kitchen brought her out of her thoughts, and she smiled weakly at the elderly witch.

"Up early again, dear?" she asked in that odd sort of understanding that mothers usually have.

"Yes..." she said softly.

"Would you like me to fix another cup for you?" asked Molly, as she pulled out a couple of mugs Hermione now knew, was for the older couple, a tradition of the Weasley Seniors. She declined politely wondering how to place the request she had on her lips.

"Is Ginny sleeping or she is up too?" asked Molly as she poured the water into two cups and dropped in cubes of sugar.

"She is sleeping, and I didn't wish to wake her up," She replied. She could not tell Molly the truth that her daughter had spent most of the night sniffing into her pillow for the raven haired boy who had decided to keep his personal feelings for her aside for the good of the wizard kind. Hermione felt terrible for the girl she had begun to love like her sister, but she knew that there was nothing else she could expect from Harry. Words Ron had said right after the two had gotten together rang in her ears. He had been right.

Molly had almost left the kitchen when she haltingly called back.

"Mrs. Weasley, I was wondering if... you know... I could just take a walk outside..."

Molly gave her a shocked look which she hoped was not an indication of a negative answer.

"I- actually, I haven't been outside in months..." she said in a way of explanation. Almost a year now, she thought to herself. The Burrow had been given the utmost amount of protection, and it was almost as impenetrable as they could make it. Well, yes, there possibly were dark spells that could break it, but Kingsley had assured that as long as the Dark Lord had not taken over the Ministry, they were safe. She shuddered to think of the outcome if that happened, but she held onto the threadbare ends of hope. And yet, she had not ventured outside because having been in confinement for so long had made her feel that she ought to have permission to leave the house. It was almost the way she had felt when she was a child and followed her family traditions and rules that were set for her to follow irrefutably.

Molly had placed the mugs on the table, and a soft sigh escaped from the elderly witch's lips as she placed a gentle palm on the side of Hermione's face. It was a heavy voice that answered.

"You are no prisoner, dear. You don't need our permission to go outside the house. Just stay within the wards, okay?" she said with a sad, knowing smile and Hermione lowered her eyes because the understanding in those wizened eyes was so deep that it hurt to look at.

"Thank you," She said softly.

Molly patted her cheeks lovingly before picking up the tea again. "Breakfast will be ready by eight," She said as she left the room.

...

Hermione sat on a broken stump by the small pool that was at the centre of the orchard around the Burrow. For once, she sat without flipping through the pages of the book, and it lay forgotten next to her. Legs stretched in front, and rest of her body tilted back, she soaking in the silence and the soft sound of the surrounding. Birds chirped in the background and leaves fluttered in the soft breeze. It was not a bright day, the sun merely peeped out once in a while from behind the clouds that were steady beginning to cover the sky. The cool breeze created ripples in the pool adding a very pleasant music that could only be heard when one sat in total silence like she did now. She took in deep, slow breaths, relishing the mixed fragrances and feeling a little more alive every minute.

That was how he found her.

He stood behind one of the larger trees, simply watching her relax. Her hair, which for once, she had left untied, fell back till her waist in tight curls swinging softly with the breeze, and he drank in the peace of the moment which he knew, would only get more and more scarce as days went by. It was a relief beyond words to have her here at his home. Those few hours during and after Dumbledore's funeral had been excruciating and only then had he realised how accustomed he had got to seeing her whenever he wanted. She had become a habit. A need and an addiction. When or how that had happened, he had no clue but the cause was beside the point anyway.

Did it bother him that she saw the kind place he belonged to? Did it bother him that she saw that his house was a far cry from where she hailed? It did, and that was exactly what he had tried explaining to her, hadn't he? And yet, she looked so much at peace here on the tiny piece of land he had spent his childhood in, that for once, he wished to question his own stance. But something, or rather a thought of someone, had stopped him and reminded that this was not the hour for such wishful thinking, not for Harry, nor for him and neither for Hermione.

"Mum calls you for breakfast," he said softly, noticing the blush that crept up her skin on hearing his voice. She pulled her legs in consciously and arranged the long gown that had risen inches above her calf.

"Oh." She replied and ran her finger through her curls to tuck them behind her ears. Picking up the ribbon that lay inside the closed book, she made to tie her locks.

"Don't...Just let it be," He was sure the shock in her eyes mirrored in his own. Where had that come from? Yes, he was definitely thinking about it, but he wasn't really planning on saying it aloud. He could feel his skin begin to redden, and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, still wondering what he ought to say to make it sound right. Deciding that the snitch was lost already, so to speak, he kept mum instead.

Once she had overcome her own surprise, she stood up and picked the book, holding it close to her chest like a shield. Without another word, she walked towards the canopy of trees and he followed in her wake. It was hard not to remember another instance where they had been in similar surroundings, only then, it was a part of a magic, and the trees and foliage there were hell-bent on trying to kill them.

"This reminds me of the ... Room of Requirements." She said in a quiet voice, and he took a long stride to walk next to her.

"Me too," He replied softly.

"I still wonder why you saved me that night. Especially when you knew I was..." she kept the sentence hanging, but he knew what she meant anyway.

"I had to," He replied glancing at her. She met his eyes as if requesting him to go on but Ron looked away as they walked slowly towards the house.

"And you took care of me when I was so broken. Not just once, many times over," She said after a while in almost a whisper, and he did not reply because, well, it wasn't exactly a question, was it?

"Why did you stand up so strongly for my protection, Ron?" Well, it was a direct question this time.

"I take it you are not sorry I did?" he replied, and smirked to himself noticing the flair up in her eyes. But then he looked away and gazed instead at the leaves and twigs crunching under his shoes.

"I am not. I do want to know why, though? Why do you pretend to care when you don't? Why do you doubt if you so vehemently say that you trust?" She had stopped walking, and he noticed it a while later resulting in him being a few steps ahead of her. He turned around and watched that face which was now displaying many emotions at once; anger and frustration but also a plea and perhaps just a tiny amount of hope?

Ron noticed she had slunk back slightly to rest her back against the rough bark of an old oak tree, and it was of their own accord that his legs carried him towards her.

She looked up at him stubbornly, trying to hide the pain which he knew he was causing her. He craved so much to touch her that it was almost physically painful. He tried to think of all the reasons he had given her, reasons he hadn't voiced out but knew in his heart, he tried thinking of Harry and the war, but as those brown orbs bore into his, all reasons seem to fade away from him. He placed a tentative but possessive palm on the side of her face. She jerked his hand away on touch, and he tried telling himself that she was hurting a whole lot worse than he felt at her rejection.

"Don't patronize me, Ronald Weasley!" she cried softly, angry tears pooling in her eyes that she wiped away hastily with the back of her hand.

"I am not patronizing you, Hermione," He said, a touch of sadness seeping into his voice.

"Don't show you care if you don't!" she spat in a watery voice. "Just go back to being your rude, arrogant, insufferable self," she added.

"Do you really want that, Hermione?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"You don't really care what I want, do you, Ron? But if you must know, I'll tell you that I want a resolution. On one hand, you don't believe me. You think I am delusional, or something. And on the other, you take up the scariest Auror to fight for my protection. You notice if I am eating or just playing with my food, you check on me when you think I am not looking, you come out just to see if I am safe and lie that your Mum called me, when she already told me that breakfast will be served at eight. I don't suppose it's even seven now."

He looked away sheepishly. But it seemed she wasn't finished yet.

"Why show you care when you really don't? It hurts Ron, it hurts really bad..." she said miserably, and his heart broke watching her.

He was closer to her even before he realised it himself.

"Who says I don't care?" he murmured in a strained whisper against her lips. He expected to be pushed away, heck, he wanted to move away, but he had already encased her against the tree, hands resting a little away from her shoulders.

"Do you care?" she asked looking him in the eye, and he noticed how her lashes curled upward.

"Can't you tell?" he asked ruggedly, as his eyes threatened to flutter shut in the bliss of having her so close again.

"No, I can't!" She answered, angrily. "At times I think I can read you like an open book, and on others, I feel I barely know you. It is infuriating, Ron!"

He smirked openly this time, although a part of his brain knew that she would probably hex him into the next century for being such a prat. But he couldn't help it, she looked so downright adorable. He looked at her lips. Delectable too, said his brain.

His lips met hers in the softest of touches, and his eyes instantly fluttered shut at her taste. Merlin knew, he had craved her each and every minute in these two days. But then, suddenly he was thrown away by a strong Shield Charm that made him crash into the tree behind him, and he land soundly on the ground on his arse.

"I AM NOT YOUR PLAYTHING, RONALD WEASLEY!" She screeched furiously, and stormed away towards the house.

...

A/N: Thanks for reading!