Author's Note: Hello everyone! This chapter is much later then I anticipated, and for that I apologize. Its long though, so if yo can forgive me, that'd be great. This takes place immediately after the last chapter, so if you haven't read it, I recommend you do. Although I suppose it technically can stand on its own...
I want to thank NiftyGirl for reading through this even though my writing is more angsty than you'd like:) and F Maurice, Chicken Chaser, smkffnut, and LillyMay77 for all the brilliant reviews, they were all very much appreciated. I'd also like to thank every single person who added this to a favorite or alert list. I also thank in advance anyone and everyone who is going to read this chapter. I would also like to thank my friend beatlebuff13, who I don't think ever read this story, but I love talking to you, and I had to credit you somewhere;) And of course that pesky arch enemy of mine, Abbatemarco, who always reviews under an alias so no one will find out she sometimes has nice things to say to me:)You guys are so awesome.
Unfortunately, I have some bad news. I gradauted High School, which isn't a bad thing in of itself. And I am taking a year off to write. Which again, isn't a bad thing, its actually a pretty awesome thing. The bad part comes from the fact that I think if I'm going to be putting all my time and effort into writing, I can't be exerting that effort on fanfiction. Even though fanfiction is one of the funnest things I've ever done, I need to focus my energies on real writing. That said, I highly doubt that I'm really done with this. I still love Ron, and writing about him is still really fun and really easy, so I imagine that it'll still be a great stress reliever to write about him, so you may hear from me yet.
I have had a really great time writing to all of you, and I so appreciate all the time every one of you took to read, review, or enjoy my junk. I wish that I could sit in a magic box where time didn't pass and I could write whatever I wanted for you all to enjoy, but alas, life doesn't work that way. I don't know what else to say, so I guess I'll just wrap up and let you all read this chapter. I'm not J.K. Rowling, which you all know.
Enjoy, and this chapter is dedicated to all of you who ever read this, or favorited, or reviewed. And to beatlebuff13 and NiftyGirl.
Pancakes,

BarbedWire

Chapter 11: A Little Chat

It was not as much the sound loud of loud knocks on his door that alarmed him as it was the sensation of waking up. Not just coming out of a doze, or wrenching his eyes open despite their protestations, but fully waking from a true sleep.

Ron could not honestly remember the last time he had actually been asleep enough to wake up. The sensation felt strange, almost alien. The particulars of his dark dreams were drifting away, but he could still remember the feeling. The nightmares were everything he had feared they would be, but he could not deny that he felt immensely better for having slept.

He was still trying to shake the sleep out of his brain enough to respond to the fact that someone was knocking on his door when she stirred beside him. His whole body froze as he looked down. Hermione was lying beside him. Seeing her chased what was left of his nightmares temporarily from his mind. She looked peaceful, all the lines of worry and stress smoothed out of her face. She was beautiful, and Ron was acutely aware that now he had seen this brilliant sight, he wanted to wake up beside Hermione every day for the rest of his life.

The person on the other side of the door knocked again, slightly louder this time.
Imagining his Mum, Ron felt himself fill with panic. How would he explain to her that Hermione sleeping in his bed wasn't what it looked like? For a moment he was actually sorry that she had kept her promise and stayed the whole night. It would have been much easier if she'd just slipped out after he'd fallen asleep, but then he imagined waking up alone. It had been the sight of her, safe and warm, her brown curls standing in sharp relief against his threadbare orange pillowcase that had allowed him to push the dark things away from the forefront of his mind. He needed her if he was ever going to get any sleep, and he resolved to make his mother understand. Or at the very least hide it from her.

To that end, Ron removed himself from bed, careful not to disturb Hermione in the slightest. He must have learned a bit more grace than he had ever exhibited before, because as he stepped away from the bed, Hermione went on sleeping. She rolled over, but otherwise gave no evidence to imply she was aware he had vacated.

Proud of himself, Ron carefully picked his way across his room to the door. It was not yet fully light outside, but a sleepy haze of sunshine came pouring in through the window. The angle of the sun, the panes of his window and the towers of stuff around his room caused the sunlight to fall in a seemingly random pattern. It illuminated a strange collection of the items around his room; Harry's already made camp bed, the scuffed edges of the old school books that were stacked untidily, the silver Deluminator sitting on top of his trunk, and the faded writing on his many Chudley Cannons posters.

Ron took a breath as he reached the door. He was surprised really, that his mother had simply stood there knocking so long. It wasn't like her to respect his privacy this much, in fact she seldom knocked at all. Concerned by this odd behavior, Ron forgot his uncertainty and opened the door.

Mr. Weasley was standing on the landing, looking more tired and worn than ever before. Sadness and loss were etched into every line of his face, but he remained strong. Ron had always admired his father, and that admiration had only increased since the battle, he wished with everything he was that he could have just a little of his father's strength and ability to cope. He wished he could be offering comfort and holding things together instead of pretending to sleep and staring at his ceiling.

"Dad?" Ron asked bewilderedly. Mr. Weasley smiled a smile that did not touch his eyes.

"Not who you were expecting?" Ron shook his head. He felt guilty that his father had been so far from his mind that morning, but he had learned a long time ago it was best to tell Dad everything, especially if you felt guilty about it. He did not have a wrath like Mum, so there was not as much need to hide wrongdoing from him, and he almost always knew what Ron was thinking and feeling anyway. He was more likely to be helpful if you were honest with him.

"Your mother was concerned when you weren't down pacing at 4:30 this morning." Ron blushed in shame. He thought he was masking his insomnia better than that.

"I didn't know I was waking people up with that,"

"There hasn't been a lot of sleeping in this house lately, Ron." Ron's blush deepened, and so did his sense of guilt. How had he been so selfish? He'd be so busy struggling with himself that he hadn't spent much time thinking what everyone else was doing in the hours of darkness. Mr. Weasley spoke again in a much lighter tone, "But you look like you got some sleep last night."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, not sure whether he knew yet that Hermione was still asleep in his bed, and even less sure if he wanted him to know or not. "I slept a bit."

This time the smile did reach Mr. Weasley's eyes, if only for a moment.

"You're very lucky to have found someone who can help you so much."

Ron was already blushing, but if he hadn't been, it would only have taken a moment before he was completely scarlet. Of course his father knew where Hermione was, it had been extremely foolish to ever hope that he didn't. He had always suspected that while Dad was not as loud or angry as Mum, he knew a lot more about the nonsense his children got up to then he let on. He was not altogether comfortable thinking how much his father might now about the things he had done, and he certainly wished that he did not have to acknowledge that he knew that Hermione Granger was at this moment sleeping in his bed.

"It isn't what it looks like, I promise." Although Mr. Weasley had not made any accusations or even asked a single question about it Ron was, like a child caught in some- wrong doing, immediately on the defensive.

Mr. Weasley merely shook his head and continued to smile slightly. "I'm not accusing you of anything Ron." He said. His voice made Ron feel like a kid again. Like he had returned to those simple days when there was always something sweet in the kitchen and he and Ginny spent all their time wishing Fred and George would let them play with them, and Bill and Charlie and Dad had been the biggest, strongest, most amazing men he had ever heard of. Everything had been a lot easier then, when all he had to worry about was what House he'd get sorted into when he was finally old enough to go to Hogwarts. Maybe it only looked easier now, as he tried to figure out what he would have to say to prove to his father he hadn't been up to something dishonorable and facing the terrifying prospect that if Mr. Weasley put his foot down and declared that Hermione must never, ever be caught in his bed again that he would probably never be able to sleep another night. At the time it certainly hadn't seemed easy, getting into Gryffindor had seemed like the most important thing he would ever do. It was strange to think about that time now, when he never dreamed that Harry Potter would even speak to him and kissing a know-it-all girl would never have entered his mind as the ideal last act. He had never imagined then that George could exist without Fred, that the thought of Hogwarts would make him want to scream instead of filling him with nervous hopes, that he would have lived to hear You-Know-Who's voice speak to him.

And yet, here he stood outside his bedroom and all of that had happened. Despite the fact that he was better rested than he had been in days, he suddenly felt immeasurably tired. Too much had happened in his 18 years.

"Nothing happened. We just," he hesitated, not sure what defense he should use. "We just didn't want to sleep alone." He should have chosen his words more carefully, but under the weight of the crushing exhaustion that had dropped on him he had inadvertently given away the secret of Harry and Ginny's nighttime walks. Of course, it was likely that his father knew anyway, but on the off chance that he didn't, Ron was not excited about being the one to give them away. "I mean-"

Mr. Weasley held up a hand to silence him. "It's alright son, you don't need to explain anything to me. Your sister is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She and Harry are helping each other, just like you and Hermione."

Ron looked down at his feet embarrassedly for a moment, but before he knew it he was looking his father in the eyes. He did not know what possessed him to do it, or what good he thought it would do, but before he could stop himself he found himself saying, "I really love her, Dad."

His father nodded a solemn but still happy motion. "I know, Ron. I know."

If Ron had any sense at all, he would have left it at that. But whether it was sleep deprivation or relief at finally speaking what had weighed him down since he was 14 or pure insanity something made him continue.

"I have for a long time. I don't know how long really, but years. While we were at school I was so sure she'd never look at me, and I dunno, I was so scared I just tried to ignore it. But it didn't go away, and last summer I thought that maybe, if I tried she might think of me. Then we went with Harry, and I let myself think a lot of things I knew were wrong and I did something terrible to her, and Harry too. I didn't think she would ever forgive me, I mean she shouldn't have forgiven me, but I managed to sort of put things right and she did forgive me. And then everything went to Hell and I knew it's the last thing I should even be thinking about. The battle, and You-Know-Who, and Fr-" he still couldn't manage to say his brother's name aloud. So he took a large breath instead. "I know it's not the time, and it shouldn't be an issue right now, but I can't stop thinking about it, about her. About maybe the possibility of us."

Mr. Weasley had listened to the entire speech without changing his expression from the one of patience and understanding he had adapted after Ron had confessed his love.

"I'm a terrible brother," Ron said despondently, finally voicing the thought that had plagued him since the funeral. He was nothing less than shocked when Mr. Weasley laughed, and Ron was prepared to be offended and ashamed that he had so misjudged his father.

"Ron, you and I both know that your brother was not a man who put much store in solemnity. In fact, he is probably cursing us from above right now for not serving shots of Firewhiskey at his funeral." Mr. Weasley's smile changed slightly, as if he were gazing at something very far away. After a minute however, he looked at Ron once more. "And I know for a fact that in his own, albeit obnoxious way, he was always rooting for you and Hermione."

Ron thought back to all the times Fred and George had ever heckled him about Hermione. It was true, they probably would be rooting for them to end up together.

"It isn't an insult to his memory that I'm still concerned with being in love?"

"If anything it would be an insult to Fred's memory, and everything he fought and died for not to be concerned with it."

"I don't know how to tell her. What if she tells me to pound sand?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head once more. "Ron, if there is one thing that I know; it's that Hermione has been waiting as long as you have for you to say it."

Ron's mouth fell open in awe. That couldn't be. There was no way that Hermione Granger, his Hermione Granger, who read too much, and hated her beautiful hair, and who had saved his life more times than he could count would ever waste a single moment waiting on him, Ronald Weasley, who swore too much, who was too tall and ginger, and had made her cry more times than he could count, to admit that he was in love with her.

But a thousand things that could never have happened had happened, and even if it was completely unreasonable, the notion was much too comforting and hopeful for him to turn his back on it.

"I don't have any idea what to say to her." He wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask for any more help or not, but he was certain that if anyone had any idea what exactly should be said to Hermione, it was his father. "I don't think I have the right words to even begin to touch on it." Maybe if he revealed to him how utterly lost he was, the man would be more willing to part with some of his hard earned wisdom.

Mr. Weasley's smile touched his eyes again briefly as he put his hand on his youngest son's shoulder.

"You have more of the right words then I could ever give you, Ron." Ron struggled to keep the disappointment out of his face. It had been too much to hope that he would have offered him the perfect words, or perhaps a pre-written speech. "Tell her exactly what you just told me."

One last review? For old time's sake?
Once again; thanks all around, and I'll miss you guys :)