Sorry this took me a week to update! I've been working on lots of projects, but I hope to get the next few chapters up quickly. Here's is some angsty Ron/Hermione, which is necessary for what's to come. Thanks for reading!

Hermione stood at the foot of a garishly orange bed, neatly folding T-shirts, jumpers and trousers. Her hand deftly nudged a stack of shirts right before it toppled over. She righted the stack, moving on to the socks. It wasn't an easy task. Peering at the pile of black, brown, blue and green socks in the basket, Hermione realized why Ron always seemed to be wearing mismatched socks.

"Oh, sorry!"

Hermione jerked her head behind her at the interruption, relaxing immediately when she realized it was just Ron. Except when is Ron ever really just Ron?

"I didn't know you were up here," he said, fingering some peeling paint from the door jamb.

"It's okay, I was just finishing up."

Ron peered over her to get a look at what she had been doing. Noticing the stacks of laundry and socks in the basket, he wrinkled up his nose.

"Sorry you got that chore. I can do it if you like," he said finally. "You shouldn't have to do that."

He said the last part quietly, and something in his tone made Hermione want to stomp her foot at him.

"It's all right," she said instead. "I don't mind. I like helping out."

Ron nodded, looking at a spot on the wall behind her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it and coughed instead. Hermione wondered how they had got here. The last few weeks of the Horcrux hunt, she had been so sure they were heading to…something. That night after Malfoy Manor, Ron had held her so tightly and made such sweet promises to her. Of course, he'd never said it outright, he was still Ron Weasley after all. But then that kiss in the Room of Requirement, and the way they had comforted each other afterward. Even at Fred's funeral, he had cried on her shoulder, holding her hand. But in the days since, there was this unbelievable awkwardness. And he had never been so polite to her before. It was driving her mad.

"You can help if you like," Hermione said quickly, desperate for something to say. Ron didn't reply, but he did walk slowly toward the bed, stopping when he was next to her. The side of his arm brushed hers, and she realized it was the closest they had been in a week.

"Sorry," he said, realizing their closeness. He took a step to his side, putting a few feet between them.

"You don't have to apologize," she said in a small voice, playing with the edges of a frayed sock. More than anything, she wished he would quit saying sorry all the time. If he bumped her tea cup at breakfast, if he knocked a pillow off the sofa, if he so much as breathed, it seemed Ron was saying sorry to somebody.

They worked together in silence, matching up the mound of socks and rolling each pair up. More than a few times Hermione noticed Ron rolling up a blue sock with a green one. Her fingers itched to reach out and still his hand, to show him the correct sock to use. But now, after so many years of nagging him and lecturing him, she was afraid of how he would react.

"Maybe you should leave soon."

He spoke so suddenly, and the timbre of his voice was so much louder than the previous silence, she fumbled and dropped the socks she was working with. It took her a moment to understand what he'd said, and when she did Hermione turned her head sharply in his direction, her mouth gaping open.

"What?"

"You should leave," he repeated, staring intently at the socks in his hands. Hermione noticed he was making no effort to roll them up. "Soon."

Hermione nodded as if she understood, which she most certainly did not. Was Ron asking her to leave? The thought of it paralyzed her. After the Battle of Hogwarts, she and Harry had been ushered back to the Burrow as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It had been where she'd spent the majority of her free time the last few years, when she wasn't at school or hunting evil bits of a dark wizard's soul. Right now, after having been so shaken up, having been on the run for so long, it had been a comfort to rest her head here each night here, with so many people she loved safe and under one roof. In all the world, it was the place she most considered home.

"I mean," Ron continued, "it's not really your home, is it?"

She was going to cry, she just knew she was. The telltale prickling was already beginning behind her eyes and she still hadn't been able to close her mouth. Ron finally turned to look at her and something in his face registered that he might have just said the wrong thing.

"I..I didn't mean…"

"No, it's okay," Hermione said, regaining her senses and looking anywhere but at Ron. "You're right, I should start thinking about where I'm going to go."

"Maybe Australia?" Ron asked. The look on his face told Hermione he thought he was being helpful. She nodded slowly at him, her mind a whir. She wanted to see her parents desperately, but the idea of leaving this safe haven to go halfway across the world, alone no less, left her short of breath.

"Hermione dear, are you up there?"

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of Mrs. Weasley calling up to her. Both she and Ron looked in the direction of the doorway.

"I'm up here," she called back, moving to shout through the door.

"Can you come down here, please?" Mrs. Weasley called back. "There are some people here to see you."

Hermione looked back to Ron, who stood frozen at the foot of the bed. She could tell he was still thinking, and if it had been any other situation she would have giggled at the befuddled expression on his face. Knowing Ron wouldn't take kindly to anyone giggling in his presence right now, she turned instead to walk down the long flight of stairs of the Burrow, wondering how much longer she could call it home.