Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling.

A/N: Warning for het, if that offends you.

Chapter 3

May 9-13 1998

After the war there were lots of funerals. Hermione and Harry tried to attend every funeral they could, letting Ron stay with his family until it was time to lay Fred to rest.
Fred was always so vivacious that the fact that the simple urn lowered into the ground in the small graveyard outside Ottery was all that remained seemed incomprehensible. The Weasley clan, while still a large family, seemed starkly diminished without their Fred.
It was a very quiet service. After, Percy, Charlie and George set off a massive display of fireworks. Molly served all of Freds' favourite dishes, and everyone tried to enjoy it. It is likely what Fred would have wanted.

The other service that stands out for Hermione is the laying to rest of Colin. Colin Creevey is the picture of innocence as his still body is displayed in an open-coffin service. His parents, having had some difficulty explaining to their friends and family what killed their son, eventually settled on 'sudden heart failure'. It isn't as well attended as most of the wizarding funerals. It seems a lot of people don't know quite what to wear or how to behave at a muggle funeral, and have chosen to send cards of condolence instead. Those have been displayed on a large bookshelf in the Creevey home sitting room, filling the room with the smell of parchment. Kingsley Shacklebolt does show up, in a very impressive suit, and introduces himself to Colins' parents as the Minister for Magic, and hands over a posthumous Order of Merlin. They seem to take heart at this.
Dennis holds his brothers' camera close throughout, carefully documenting the proceedings. He takes a photograph of Hermione standing against the backdrop of hundreds of magical greeting cards which he owls her later.

May 16 1998

Hermione had rarely felt as nervous as she did today. There he was, the boy she's known for so long and whom she has wanted so badly and who has broken her heart again and again. He sits there at a table at the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for her.

'Hi.'
'How are you, Hermione?'
'Oh, I'm alright. How are you? How is everyone?'
'Terrible.' he looked dejected, old. 'Mum's a mess. It's her brothers all over again, see. Death Eaters killed them last time. They were in the Order.'
'I'm sorry, Ron.' she bit her lip. Even now, with sorrow contorting his features, he was strangely beautiful. They sat in silence for a while until Hermione got up. 'Come on. Take my hand.'

He stands up and Hermione twists in midair and they are gone, reappearing in a forest clearing. She takes out her wand to allow them to pass through her wards.

'It's the tent Bill gave us! Blimey, I'd almost forgotten.' Ron burst out, a smile cracking his face.

'Yeah, I've been living here the past few weeks. McGonagall even gave me an enchanted plate from Hogwarts that fills up with food at mealtime, and this tent smells much nicer. It's comfortable, really.' she isn't sure who she is trying to convince, but it sounds almost true. I have nowhere else to go because I can't stand to be around anyone else right now and Death Eaters blew up my house doesn't have as nice of a ring to it, anyway.

For a while they stand there, holding hands and looking at it.

Finally they have some time, just the two of them. They haven't been alone together for nearly a year, not really. So much has happened since then. But here, they can pretend nothing is different, or at least so she hopes. It feels like their kiss was a lifetime ago.

'I'm going to be helping George run the shop. I start in two weeks.'
'That's wonderful, Ron. Really. I don't know what I am going to do yet.'
'I expect you'll join Ginny in repeating seventh year, right? You can't possibly resist the few extra trips to the library it'll afford you.'
He chuckles and she gives him a friendly shove.
'What? A return to homework and revision schedules has always been your dream, hasn't it?' he grins. She punches his shoulder gently.
'Honestly, Ron. You're terrible.' she smiles.

The tension has broken.

They talk. They laugh. They cry, which is rather unexpected. At least she is surprised Ron cries.

They used to have a lot of time together. Especially during the school holidays. Letters exchanged (they'd jokingly called them the Secret Letters of Secrets), and whispered conversations before Harry was let out from the Dursleys nearly every year. The two of them had always had fun and today is no exception. As Ron laments the halting of Quidditch matches ('What's it going to do for them to halt matches for a whole month? I mean, for Merlin's sake, no one is arguing the reconstruction depends on the condition no one attends sporting events. Personally, I think some cheering up is in order.') she decides that she has waited long enough. Years and years, just waiting for one stupid, bloody peaceful moment, really. Well, peace has come now and there is too much grief, fuelling a feeling of sudden urgency. So she takes his hand and drags him over to the large bedroom and sits him down on the bed.

'I've missed you.' she almost whispers it as she traces his arm, caressing the burn marks and scars there. There are faint imprints of Devil's Snare branches, and it fills her with a longing more intense than she can explain.
'I've missed you too, Hermione.' His blush is a deep crimson. The tips of his ears are as bright scarlet as ever, and Hermione finds that she can no longer help herself when she sees it. She leans in and kisses him, deeply. He stiffens, but soon melts into her touch. After a while she finds she is roaming his body, whilst he touches her ever so gently. It's as if he is afraid he will break her, and it strikes her as rather sweet. She knows him so well, she can so easily sense that he is, as always, afraid of getting it wrong. Ron is the sort of boy who has always needed gentle handling. Perhaps it is why she has so spectacularly failed at securing him before now, she muses.
'Ron, I want you.' she says it softly. It is meant to be reassuring, but it sounds breathy and rather more direct than she intends. She decides she does not mind, and grabs at his shirt. Ron is wearing muggle clothes today, which she finds comfortingly familiar, a touch of something normal again after all this time in magical she finally removes his shirt she discovers that it isn't just his arms. He is covered in scars, many of them obviously fresh burn scars from Gringotts made faint with Dittany, and more faint Devil's Snare marks snake across his torso. She's glad for the scars, in a way. She has quite a few of her own. She notes the tendril marks left by the brain in the Ministry, and she drags her lower lip across them, trying to feel the edges. His left arm is deeply marked where he was splinched. It is both disconcerting and comforting that she finds she knows every story written across him already. Where does their history end and the part that is simply Ron begin? There are scrape-like scars on his back that seem oddly small for his size. They must be from long ago. 'What are these?' she whispers, ghosting her fingers across them. 'I fell off my broom when I was seven.' She smiles, and kisses the spot before continuing her journey across his torso.

Slowly she explores his body, eventually removing his trousers. He seems too stunned to react to any of it at first, before enveloping her in a rather enthusiastic reciprocation before long.
Everything else she has hoped about her life has fallen apart. She will not give him up, too. She needs this and so she takes it. Not just peace now. At least one victory, after all this time.

May 17 1998

She felt as though something has finally come together in her life as she shares a nice breakfast with Ron. It isn't difficult to decide what to do next. It feels oddly final, like her perspective has shifted. This concludes the list of things she wished to accomplish before embarking on her next adventure.

'Ron, I'm going to Australia to get my parents.'
' did you have in mind? I've got to speak with George about the shop before I can go.'
'This is... it is something I have to do on my own. Will you help me pack up after breakfast?'
'You're going NOW?'

The hurt on his face is unmistakable, and understandable.

'I want to get it over with as soon as possible, yes. It is rather important, after all.' she raises her eyebrows at him, 'Ron, I need to do this alone, I really do. They're my parents. It isn't like I'm leaving you behind forever, I'm just going to find them. Besides,' she leans toward him and looks him straight in the eyes, 'we've still got today.'
He turns a furious shade of scarlet immediately and she smirks. She's not quite sure how she ended up being so confident about this, but she is satisfied it has happened this way. After all, someone needs to take charge and Ronald Weasley isn't the most take charge sort of person, not about these sort of things anyway.

That evening they pack up the tent, and apparate together to Grimmauld Place. They say their farewells and she leaves the boys behind to step into the night after many assurances of her absolute safety. Harry hands her one part of the two-way mirror anyway.

May 17-June 2 1998

Wizarding long-distance travel is complicated. It is most unfortunate, but this has not been an issue Hermione has paid too much mind. Until now. It is as I suspected, she sighs wearily to herself. No research is ever wasted. I could've been so much better prepared. She rolls her eyes, thinking of Rons' likely response.

Portkey is the conventional mode of transport for long-distance travel but since it needs to be authorized Hermione eschews it. She instead takes the broom she has on loan from Professor McGonagall (whose enthusiasm for brooms is as unexpected as it is fervent), Apparates to Dover and flies to France. The travelling broom is relatively comfortable, has a compass and a permanent temperature charm on it, so in spite of the cold wind she is not freezing.

The black travelling cloak that seems so ubiquitous in the wizarding world makes perfect sense to her now, as she flies over Muggle dwellings in the night, with her cloak wrapped tightly around her, creating a sort of cocoon that keeps her warm and shields her from sight. It isn't just fashion after all.

Once daybreak finds her she lands in a field, sets up her tent and protective enchantments, closes the blinds and tries to rest. At nightfall, she concentrates with all her might and apparates into the unknown. Apparition has become second-nature now, but once she reaches Gibraltar she takes her broom out once more and flies shakily into the night. National borders often govern where one can apparate, and while Hermione is aware of the European Wizarding Nations regulations on the matter, she is a bit uncertain if one can apparate directly from Spain to Morocco.

Being uncomfortable with broom travel is not an option for the witch or wizard who seeks privacy. Brooms cannot be tracked, except by sight or if someone's already put a tracking charm on the broom in question. No one has on this broom (McGonagall has assured her as much, and she's double- and triple-checked just to be sure). Hermione's wish for privacy is stronger than her discomfort. This journey has been planned in private moments over the last few weeks, albeit with little research done, and she will not stop simply because she is travelling on a small piece of wood that is going much too fast and flying much too high for her to ever truly relax. It might be exhausting, but she is Hermione Granger. She's flown on Thestrals and dragons and she'll be damned if this silly broom will defeat her.

The days pass until she reaches, finally, Zambia. Here there is a wizarding stronghold, a well-run and efficient Ministry that has yet to re-open diplomatic relations with the British Ministry (it seems abhorrent and nonsensical to exclude Muggleborns in a society where the borders between the magical and mundane are somewhat more porous and magic has traditionally been welcome). She registers for a Portkey at the Portkey office in Kabwe to take her directly to Perth.

Once she is safely in Perth she simply looks up her parents in the phone book, quickly finding their dental practice listed. Some things are really rather simple, too, and thank goodness for that. No Fidelius charm conceals them, no anti-intruder spells protect them. She finds it comforting and terrifying all at the same time. Muggles are too easy to find. Thank goodness they had been 'beneath consideration'.