It takes place in the Burrow at the kitchen table.

They both have tea, and they are chattering about everything and absolutely nothing. They're worried about Harry. Very worried. He spends too much time at Andromeda Tonks's house with Teddy, too much time at Grimmauld Place, too much time alone.

"And Professor McGonagall says by tomorrow they're going to have the last of the rubble cleared up from the courtyard, and she hopes that Ravenclaw Tower is repaired by the time school starts again, she's got Flitwick working on that-"

Hermione plans to go back when school restarts. Get her NEWTs. Ron, himself, doesn't know what he wants. Harry's going into the Aurors when they've got enough people to start training. Ron reckons he's going to follow Harry.

Not like getting the NEWTs would help his case, anyway. Better to take advantage of this offer without.

"Where d'you reckon Harry is?" he asks, and Hermione stops her tirade about idiot journalists hanging around Hogwarts to blink rather owlishly at him.

"He went to Grimmauld Place this morning, you were asleep," she says. "Why?"

"Do you think he blames himself?"

"He's Harry," says Hermione. She leaves out the obvious- of course Harry blames himself. It's what he does.

They don't know what to say after that.

"The journalists don't go asking thick questions, do they?" he asks.

"Have you ever met a journalist?" Hermione says, and laughs a little. "One of them asked me if, get this, I was planning on fixing my hair so it doesn't," she gestures at herself, indicating the wildness. "Puff like this."

"Well, are you?" asks Ron, and she gives him a look of mock disapproval, eyebrows arched.

Ron laughs, and she smiles too. It's easy. Familiar. It's hard to find easy, familiar things, these days.

"Once, one of them asked Ginny if her parents knew she was here all alone," says Ron. "She near about bit his head off!"

Hermione laughs. "That's not a surprise."

"The reporter or Ginny?" says Ron, and grins.

"Both!"

They sit in amused silence. Ron takes a sip of tea; it's lukewarm now, but he's fine with that.

"Do you think they'll forgive us?"

Ron glances up at her. "Forgive us what?" he says. "Who?"

"The DA," she says. "You know they blame us. And, well, we were going to leave them there."

Ron remembers, for a moment, the hour before the Battle. You're just going to leave us in this mess? That had been Michael Corner or something.

"It wasn't like that," he says, but Hermione shakes her head.

"I don't think we really understand what happened that year," she says. "Neville said stuff, but I don't think it was nearly enough."

Ron nods. "Ginny doesn't talk about it, though," he says. She doesn't. He's tried to start that conversation a few times, to no avail.

"Not a lot do," she says. "At least not to us."

"Do you reckon they blame him?" Ron asks. There's no need to ask who him is. With Ron and Hermione, there's usually only one him.

"I think some do," says Hermione, thoughtfully. "I can't imagine there aren't people who don't." She glances down at her teacup.

"The thing is, it's not Harry's war, and I don't think he realises that," says Ron. "The people at the Battle, they didn't die for Harry. They died for a whole lot more."

"I know, Ron," says Hermione.

They sit and look at their tea. Ron swirls it around and swigs the last of it. The tea leaves in the bottom seem to form a little splotch, almost in a fish shape. He wonders what that could mean. Probably that he's going to be killed by a walking dolphin or some shit.

"Maybe we better go find Harry," says Ron. "He's been gone a bit too long."

"Ginny already went over there," says Hermione. "Two hours ago."

Ron considers this. "Let's not go," he says, because Merlin knows what Ginny and Harry are doing over there. Her hand is resting on the table, and suddenly he wants to take it. He scratches his ear instead.

Killer chess? Yeah! Brains of death? Bring it on! A fucking horde of Death Eaters outnumbering them all? Sure, okay! Holding hands with Hermione? Hell no.

Hermione surprises him then. "Let's go on a date, Ron."

"A date?" he says. "No offence, Hermione, but I hardly think this is really the time for dating."

"Why?" she says. "War's over. We can do it, Ron."

"For one thing, we go out anywhere with a wizard and we'll be assaulted," says Ron. The reporters, as Hermione had mentioned, are in season.

"We can stay in a Muggle town," she says. "Ron, the war's over. We're rebuilding. We aren't obligated to mope. It's time to go back to living."

"Living," says Ron.

Hermione grins. "Like getting a job. Or going to school. Or doing anything but staying in the kitchen cooking for your brothers."

"Yeah," says Ron. He pauses. "I reckon I want to go into the Aurors. With Harry."

"Really?" says Hermione, surprised. "It's dangerous-"

"This may come as a shock, but I've done a few mildly dangerous things before," says Ron.

"I just meant, you know I'm not happy that Harry wants to go fight more, but I don't really expect otherwise," she says. "You're done though, Ron. We won the war."

"There are still Death Eaters out there," he shoots back. "There's a lot to do."

She tilts her head. "There is a lot to do," she says, a small compromise.

"Yeah," says Ron. "You can go into the Ministry and fight that way. Let me and Harry do this. This is how we can fight."

"I know," says Hermione, and she shakes her head. "I know."