A/N: Ok, there will be ONE MORE CHAPTER after this. Just one more - I promise! Please please tell me what you think about this one, though, and it'll help me crank it out.

She couldn't shake what he had said earlier. It just didn't make sense.

"Wait…what did you mean? About making sure I was home every day?" Hermione's heart clenched even as she said those words. Oh, how she had fought so hard to try and forget about the feelings this man brought out in her, for better or for worse. He had just stared her straight in the face and said he loved her. Gods, she had melted. It took every fiber of her being to keep from leaning all the way in and snogging the hell out of him. But she refrained. This conversation was so very far from over.

The witch hadn't noticed her hands were shaking until Ron's eyes dropped to study them. His cheeks and ears reddened quite obviously. Despite how defined his features were, this boyish part of him remained, betraying him instantly. He paused, eyes moving back up to her face. She watched as he swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"You moved, quite literally, to one of the shittiest places in London. And instead of apparating, like every single bloody witch or wizard I work with, you walk!" the defensive tone in his voice was evident. It caused her stomach to flip anxiously.

"First off, it's really not that bad of an area, Ronald. It's well within my price range, and not far from the Ministry. Honestly, it's not like I need some post place if I only go there to sleep. A few burglaries here and there –" she paused while he scoffed, shaking his head defiantly. "Also, there are so many benefits to exercise. My hours are long and I appreciate the time to just…I dunno, clear my head."

They sat in silence for a long moment before Hermione realized he had avoided answering her question.

"Ron?" she began softly, daring to look him in the face. Despite knowing that it would get her nowhere, she felt the urge to press him on this. "Do you not trust me to take care of myself? Had I not proved that I could do that when we-"

"Hermione, I don't want to fight with you," he said so gently, she had to ask him to repeat himself. The wizard sat up taller on the couch, resting his empty mug on the worn table beside him, and wiped his hands on his pajamas.

"You could take down someone ten times your age. Your magic is powerful. I've always said you're the best at spells," he said, a smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. "I've even seen you throw a punch once or twice," he said, eyes gleaming. He paused, focusing somewhere over her head. His features darkened, reminding her of the picture that the Prophet ran of him just days ago. She had several of those articles cut out and saved in that damn box in her flat. Was that the same thing as him following her home? Was she just as guilty of what he had been doing in secret, just in her own way? She broke her train of thought, focusing on the man in front of her. His eyes snapped to hers, full of conviction. "Hermione…I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you. Never, ever. I mean, you work on cases where the powerful abuse the most vulnerable, for fuck's sake. You hold bad witches and wizards accountable. You're not just some Muggle-born teenager anymore, and even that was enough to make enemies."

Hermione had to literally bite down on her tongue to keep from interrupting him. She could take care of herself, thankyouverymuch. A very small, very prideful part of her also didn't want to give him any sort of credit for watching out for her in the shadows when he had willingly abandoned her. She didn't want to hold that against him anymore. In fact, she felt liberated by the thought of just letting that go and moving on. But there was still something nagging at her, messing with her heart.

She nearly jumped when he sat forward, inches from her face. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, filling out the white shirt he had thrown on upstairs.

"You are a fucking hero. They're going to write books about you one day, I'm convinced." His eyes seemed to be searching hers, looking for something she wasn't sure he'd find. She averted his intense gaze, suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed.

"Hey," he whispered, breath hitting her face. With a sniff she met his gaze again. "I don't doubt you can take care of yourself. I did nothing out of pity. I just…well, I couldn't stay away from you, 'Mione."

Merlin.

With that, she completely fucking broke down. A sob burst forth and she felt her face begin to pinch, unable to control her emotions. Taking her by surprise, she heard a loud sniff from the man across from her, still so very close, and she realized that his reddening eyes were also brimming over.

"W-why d-d-didn't you just talk to me?" Hermione blubbered, fully aware that her cries were likely making her difficult to understand.

"I…I didn't know how to. You had this – this life without me," he answered, voice thick with emotion. He tugged at his hair briefly, reminiscent of when he would grow exasperated by their arguing. "You seemed perfectly fine, Hermione, with your schedule and your job and your, gods, I don't know… the whole thing seemed better without me buggering it all up. It's all I seemed to be able to do when we were together. Just made your life more miserable," he said sadly.

"S'not true," she replied immediately, noting the unsteadiness in her voice as she wiped the warm tears off her face with her hands. Her eyes stung with salt. Ron suddenly rose from the sofa, padding into the next room. She sniffed and looked up as he returned quickly, handing her a clean handkerchief. She swallowed thickly and took it from him, dapping at her leaking eyes.

"I worked s-so hard," she hiccuped, "because I needed the distraction from thinking about mum." She whispered the last word almost reverently in an effort to hold back the sob held captive in her throat. Keep it together, Hermione. A few tears fell freely down his face when she said that, and his left hand darted out to take hers firmly. She squeezed it back gratefully, ignoring the voice in her head that was screaming survival mode. "And I suppose…well, the drinking was an escape for you, too...right? You never did that before."

He nodded solemnly and squeezed her hand again. "Wish I told you that habit died when we broke up."

"Did I cause it?"

He exhaled deeply, dropping her hand to rub his face.

"Not…not exactly, I don't think. Everything just caught up to us. We never got the chance to process what happened the years before. Never knowing when someone else would die or go missing, watching Harry go through hell. Carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. We were just kids, Hermione. Still hurts to think about all that happened, you know? Don't think it was just you…" he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

"Well, I certainly didn't help, did I?" Her voice suddenly broke and she stopped caring anymore, weeping uncontrollably as all of the ache and trauma and hurt that had shattered their world came flooding in.

Gods, she was a mess. Before she could react, he had shifted closer and pulled her to his chest, absorbing her whacking sobs. Strong hands soothed up and down her back, across, and back again. She felt him shudder, too.

She cried for how embarrassed she was, sitting there in his parents' home and completely losing her shit in front of her ex-boyfriend. She cried because he was her ex-boyfriend. She cried for the hurt and misery they had caused one another. She cried for her dead mum. She cried for the way she had spat hatred at Ron in anger. She cried for the longing to be wanted and enjoyed again. She cried for fear and rejection that had led to so much shame since losing him. She even cried for her dead cat. And finally, she cried at the realization that once she stopped crying, his arms might never hold her like this again.

But he didn't let go. Minutes passed before her gasping breaths evened out, turning to whimpers, and then to sniffs. Her eyes were sealed shut, swollen and sore. If it hadn't been Ron, her Ron, who watched her come apart, she might have been a little more embarrassed at the mixture of snot and tears that had inadvertently been rubbed into his shirt as she held on to him. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. They were already broken up, and up until this night, she has assumed he hated her guts. What did she really have to lose? His hands never stopped tracing her back, providing steady pressure as she purged all of the pent up emotion.

Hermione grew quite warm all of a sudden, wondering if she was making him uncomfortable. Of course, he had to be exhausted, but he couldn't have imagined his evening would end up with a weeping witch practically on his lap. She pulled back, forcing him to loosen his hold on her. His heavy blue eyes swam with concern, red streaks leading down to his chiseled jaw giving him away. Ever stoic, but this had affected him as well. There was no denying that.

Keeping one hand securely on the small of her back, the other eased to his chest to take one of her hands gently. The pad of his thumb skimmed her knuckles tenderly. He was so gentle, so attuned to what she needed, that she nearly kissed him. Before she could come up with words to respond to what had just happened, he was bending over to reach for the green blanket that had slunk to the floor. Keeping her one hand securely in his, he managed to reposition them so that they were both cuddled into one corner of the sofa, draping the worn blanket over their bodies.

Hermione sighed deeply and sunk into the cushion, relishing the solid firmness of his side against hers. Without thinking twice, she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She heard Ron utter a spell to dim all the lights, enveloping them in darkness. The witch succumbed to the lightheaded, hollow feeling that comes from a long, good cry, and allowed herself to fall asleep with her hand intertwined with Ronald Weasley's.

Ron woke up utterly confused. His body felt tense and heavy, his eyelids incredibly sore. It took a few seconds to remember why he felt so shitty.

The gorgeous witch was plastered to his side, fingers interlocked loosely with his right hand. Her hair was wild, and the lacy clothes she had borrowed from Ginny's abandoned wardrobe had shifted in her sleep, revealing one creamy shoulder. He gulped.

What the buggering fuck had happened?

Seeing her come completely undone had shattered his heart, and yet, it felt so cathartic to see her feel. The immaculately professional image, the steady expressions, her measured tone. He had hated how artificial she seemed in those last few months they were together, as if he was living with an imposter. Hermione had always been logical, sensible – but she had never buried her emotions so rigidly from him (or anyone, for that matter) like she had then.

He suddenly wondered what time it was. Sure, he hadn't had a good night of sleep in ages, but the past few nights were especially deprived with the lethifold case. He wanted to stretch, but was terrified of waking the sleeping witch beside him.

Craning his neck, Ron caught a glimpse of the clock on the mantle. Merlin, it was nearly noon! How had his mum not roused them?

Shite. She must have seen them.

Sighing, the red-headed wizard closed his eyes and leaned back, resting his head against the back of the couch again. The girl beside him shifted ever so slightly, flexing her fingers lightly against his. The contact felt electric. He missed holding her perfect hand.

She had apologized. She admitted to things he had long suspected for ages, but to hear her say them aloud – it somehow made all those months of anger and bitterness nearly evaporate. Her life was as lonely as his was, only she painted it up and made it look like less of a wreck. And what he couldn't get over, the part that still knocked him sideways, was that he had allowed himself to admit that he still loved her. That he had never stopped loving her.

She didn't reciprocate, though. That stung, but he tried to shrug it off. If she left his house today and they just simply moved from ground zero to speaking terms, he'd take it. His heart would break in two all over again, but he'd bloody well take it. Talking with her, even through tears and anguish, was better than not speaking at all. He couldn't go back to that…he refused.

Despite hours and days and weeks and months of training himself to stuff them out, he gradually allowed himself to think back to those final days.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered, having unlocked the door to their nearly empty flat and clearly not expecting him to be standing there. It was painfully obvious by the look on her face. Her hair was pinned up, her dress pressed. She must have had a hearing today.

He grunted awkwardly in response, turning to quickly gather the few remaining bags that contained his possessions. The air had been sucked out of the small room, and the depressing remaining furniture that they'd accumulated together was clearly being abandoned by both of them.

Her heard her heels click down the short hallway and into the bedroom they had shared up until two nights ago. Should he just leave now?

Quietly, he followed her against his better judgment. His trainers were to his advantage, she obviously didn't hear him. He stood in the doorway and watched as she walked slowly around the bit of space between their shared bed and the wall, sitting down gracefully with her back to him. She slouched, resting her head in her hands. She sat there for ages, on the edge of that white bed with the old, beat up walls that he said he would paint but never got around to. He watched as she just sat there. Not doing anything, not saying anything. Not moving. Just breathing. Just sitting there were her face buried in her hands.

He couldn't live life like this. He couldn't stand there like a fucking vigil.

What he wished he had done, so very desperately, and what he had been on the verge of doing and just didn't, was to go sit with her. To let her bury her face in her hands or against his shoulder or on his chest or whatever she fucking wanted to do, and wait it out with her. To let that grief, that was stealing her vulnerability and joy away, just join them in that moment, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He should have sat on that bed for however long she needed him to, instead of turning in revulsion to disapparate out of her life and leaving her alone.

He snapped back to reality as he heard the door creak open, his father trying his very hardest not to make a peep as he inched inside. His tired eyes met his and he noticed his father's pitiful attempt to mask his smile.

"Just getting water, son," he mouthed, gesturing dramatically at the sink. Ron rolled his eyes, already dreading the conversation he'd have with him once the two were alone. A light battering around in the kitchen caused Hermione to stir, but she was still clearly fast asleep. He expected his dad would be tinkering around in his shed, still his most favorite weekend pastime. Mum was probably at Bill or Percy's, getting time with the grandkids. Thank Merlin.

His dad inched back outside but not before giving his son a sly wink, puling the door shut behind him. Ron rolled his eyes, not quite embarrassed by what his father had seen, but allowing the reality to set in that this was really happening.

She was here. Prettier than ever, a bit more grown up, but too skinny for his liking. Still witty, still kind and polite to his parents. Still fierce. Still a bit of a mess. But he goddamn loved her more than he ever thought possible, as he glanced down to watch the gentle rise and fall of her even breathing. The pink color of those silly bedclothes bought out the beauty in her skin tone, and he studied the faint freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose.

He resolved to sit there with her as long as she needed.

Hermione yawned lazily, unfamiliar with amount of light that was blinding her even behind closed eyelids. Why was it so quiet?

With a start, she sat straight up. The stillness of the room was nothing like the loud, rumbling city soundtrack she was accustomed to. She was warm. She was…

Shit.

"Hey," Ron whispered, his voice endearingly scratchy. "Didn't wanna wake you." He was right next to her, so close that her entire left side made contact with his right. His hair was adorably tousled. They had fallen asleep here. He had stayed.

The witch pulled her hand away from his and smoothed back her hair reflexively, missing the feeling of his long fingers as soon as she moved. She was mortified to see that the silky top had shifted fully to one side in her sleep, revealing far too much of her neckline.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily, realizing that this was likely the best night of uninterrupted sleep she had experienced in over a year.

"Erm…12:30," he replied, a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Do you want some breakfast? Well, s'pose it's lunch by now."

Hermione sat there, unsure of what to do or say. Was he just being polite? Should she just thank him and head home? It had been over 24 hours and she was still here, having far outworn her welcome.

"I should get going, really. You've probably got plenty of other things – "

Ron must have sensed that she was over thinking, because he stood and pulled her up unceremoniously by the hands. "If you want, you can go change or brush your teeth or whatever, and I'll see what food we have around." Hermione just stared at him blankly. What was wrong with her? She felt frozen, unable to make a decision. She wanted to badly to stay, but this was treading dangerous territory. Where they stood with one another still felt unclear.

He exhaled quickly, then gently tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. His expression was intense – like he could see straight to her insecurities and was sizing them up. "Stay. You can go if you need to, but I'd like you to stay."

She nodded slowly, unable to fight the smile that broke out across her face. Yes, she wanted this.

He couldn't believe it. He was walking down up the hill to the old makeshift quidditch pitch, where he had spent hours with his brothers and sister, next to Hermione Granger. She was still there. She was smiling, and laughing, and teasing him. He pinched himself more than once.

After making a mess of his mum's kitchen, Hermione had come downstairs in the outfit she had worn yesterday, but freshened up and livelier than he had seen her in Merlin knows when. Tutting at him, she whisked away the dishes he'd dirtied up and laughed at the ginormous sandwiches he had thrown together, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him so casually.

Her laughter was fucking magical.

After he had bounded back down the stairs in fresh clothes, she agreed to a walk outside with him easily, remarking about how glorious the weather was in Devon. They stood close to one another, but didn't make contact. He decided to let her make the first move. He didn't want to press her. They had all the time in the bloody world.

Both breathing heavily, they finally crested the knoll. Her hair caught the sunlight, highlighting the honey-colored strands. Ron couldn't peel his eyes away.

"Goodness, this place hasn't changed, has it? I remember how terrified I was watching you all from down here," she laughed, eyes roaming around the familiar oval of grass. Without warning she dropped to the ground, sitting on her bum and learning back on her elbows. Her eyes closed as she let the sun kiss her face.

Ron gulped, nerves suddenly getting the better of him.

"C'mere, silly," she chuckled, patting the earth next to her. She was shielding the sun from her eyes but attempting to look up at him, chocolate eyes swimming with amusement.

He crouched down, keeping a few inches between them as he stretched out on the lawn. A breeze suddenly swept through the valley. Neither spoke for several moments.

"Ron," she said suddenly, her voice clear and purposeful. He looked over, meeting her gaze. "Thanks for being so wonderful last night. I'm sorry I –"

He shushed her, refusing an apology for what happened. She sighed, clucking her tongue.

"Okay, let me start over, then. Thank you for being there," she paused, fixated on a blade of grass near his trainer. "I appreciate it, more than I can tell you."

He studied her face and noticed her brow was furrowed. She looked conflicted about something. He wished, more than anything, that he could get inside that brilliant mind of hers and see what she was thinking.

"I know that what happened between us was, well…"

"Terrible?" he asked, trying to be helpful. He was met with a playful smirk.

"Awkward."

"Stupid."

"Ridiculous!"

"Bullocks."

"Ron!" she hit him across the shoulder, causing him to tumble back on his elbows next to her. She leaned towards him, clearly not at all sorry for what she had done. "Take it back!"

'Take what back?"

"What you just said, you prat!"

He laughed, delighted to get a rise out of her. He sat up, looking her square in the face. "Go on. I get the point."

She pursed her lips, eyes roaming over his face. Thinking very hard of what to say next, he could tell. Suddenly, he was knocked onto his back as she hurled herself over him and attacked him with her lips.

Fireworks went off in his head and he was momentarily blinded by what just happened. He felt her soft lips on his, persistently moving against his with fervor. Their torsos collided, and he felt her chest slide against him with her frenzied movement. It took about three full seconds for him to register what was happening before he reacted, arms reaching out to cradle her head as he kissed her back with just as much enthusiasm.

Fucking hell, she was brilliant. Kissing her was like claiming a prize – he couldn't believe that the gorgeous witch was actually snogging him like she couldn't get enough. Both of them opened their mouths at the same time, groaning as tongues collided into teeth. He sucked her bottom lip between his, relishing in the sweet taste of her. To his utter delight, he found that she still made the same irresistible noises as he pushed her back onto the grass, dominating the kiss now. With her back to the ground, he was able to hover over her easily, elbows pressed on either side of her head. He was swimming in bliss.

She pulled back to breathe, chest pounding beneath him. Their legs had overlapped and he realized that he was half on top of her, his thigh solidly between her legs. She panted, running her fingers deliciously against the fine hairs on the nap of his neck.

"Hermione," he gasped, wanting so badly to move against her. It took every ounce of self control he had to roll slightly off of her, despite her clinging to him. "We…we need to finish talking."

She let go of him immediately and he realized his mistake, cursing out loud. The brunette averted his eyes, wiping bit of grass off her clothes. He could already sense that she was shutting down, tensing up.

"No, stop! I-I loved that," he panted, silently begging her to calm down and listen to him. "Fuck, Hermione, I could kiss you all day long if you'd let me. I just have to say something. Hermione, look at me!"

She met his gaze and he could sense the fear there – the anxiety bubbling up from moving too fast, doing the wrong thing. Taking both of her hands in his, he squeezed hard.

"I should have said this last night," he began, scooting closer to her so that their knees were touching. Their fingers interlaced automatically. "I know without question that I love you, and I'm not really sure if you love me, but I am unwilling to let your unease with processing hard things keep us at a distance."

She sucked in a breath, clearly not expecting his words.

"Now let's be clear," he continued, the words coming from the bottom of his very being, finally flowing out with what he should have said ages ago. "I'll talk to you when I want to, for as long as I want to, and I will ask anything I want about how you are feeling, what you think of as you face grief, and anything else I want to know. You can do as you choose. Ignore me. Refuse to answer. Refuse to feel. Do what you want, Hermione, but I will too. I'm not going anywhere this time."

A/N: One last chapter to come! Let me know what you think about this one :)

Please also give my newest story, Anapneo, a quick read! It's going to be involved and angsty and full of R+H fluff, but I'd love to know your thoughts.