A/N: So, I definitely didn't mean for this to take as long as it did - I had actually hoped to have this chapter up before Christmas, but real life has had a tendency to get in the way these past few months and given that I never want to post anything that I'm not proud of it, I didn't want to rush anything. So, I'm so so sorry about the wait, please know that I will never abandon this story and I am hoping (but not necessarily promising) that subsequent updates will come a bit more quickly. Additionally, if I haven't replied to your review, I'm so sorry. Please know that I love and appreciate every single person reading this!

Anyway, on with it! I hope you like this chapter. Yes, we are getting a bit of a POV change to see how Ron's dealing with everything...

"So." Ron looked over at Harry, who was still watching the faintest trail of steam from the train curl into oblivion. "What do we do now?"

On the surface, Ron knew how wholly and completely his life had just changed. He still had nearly a week left until Auror training began - a week, his responsibilities at the joke shop notwithstanding, of quasi-freedom, before the true work began. And yet it still hadn't fully sunk in that he would never step foot in Hogwarts again, that he didn't have to worry about things like Potions homework... and that he wouldn't see Hermione for weeks. He had kissed her goodbye, promised to write, told her he loved her, he had watched her go, but still couldn't quite reconcile what the distance would truly mean.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged, wearing a vaguely lost expression that matched how Ron felt. "D'y'wanna go... get a pint, or something?"

"Have we ever done that before?"

Harry shrugged half-heartedly. "What else have we got to do?"

Without an adequate answer to that question - George wasn't expecting Ron at the shop until later that afternoon - they ambled slowly out of King's Cross and made their way to a small Muggle pub halfway between the train station and Grimmauld Place. At just after eleven on a Monday, it was hardly crowded, so they settled themselves on stools at the far corner of the bar. On a television mounted on the wall, Sky Sports was recounting the highlights of a recent match between Chelsea and Manchester United.

"Have you got any Muggle money?" Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Ron, who nodded.

"Yeah, Hermione makes me carry some for emergencies."

"An emergency you can't magic your way out of?"

"Yeah, s'pose," Ron chuckled, double-checking his pockets for the bank notes Hermione had pressed into his palm last summer. "I'm not about to argue with her."

"Must make for a nice change, not arguing," Harry said with a smile.

"Nah, 'cause I kind of like riling her up-"

"Okay, okay, enough," Harry interrupted. "That's going down a road I don't want to go down - er, two beers, please," he added to the bartender, who nodded and drew two glasses from below the bar. "Living with you is quite enough."

"Right, well, you don't have to worry about that for a while," said Ron as a frothy lager was placed in front of him. "When's Easter again?"

"I don't know, April?" Harry picked up his beer and studied it. "Not soon enough, that's when."

"They did say we could come to the Quidditch matches," Ron recalled, sampling the beer. "Not that that's the same."

"Yeah, true. If we can, what with training, and all."

"We'll have weekends free - oh, and I reckon I should tell you," said Ron, watching bubbles rise in his drink. "I'm going to keep working for George. Even after training starts."

Harry, beer halfway to his mouth, paused, brows knitting together. "Seriously?"

"Y-yeah - Hermione and I were looking at the schedules, and I can work for George on the weekends and at night," Ron explained, looking away from Harry toward the television. How Muggles possibly found this sport entertaining, he'd never understand.

"Right," Harry nodded.

"What?"

"No, nothing," said Harry quickly. "That's good. Y'know, for George."

Harry's voice was just a little bit too bright for Ron to take his words at face value.

"But?"

"Well, it's just, Auror training is supposed to pretty intense, remember Tonks telling us about it at Grimmauld Place? And that was just the regular program, ours is meant to be fast-tracked-"

"Right," Ron interrupted, "but we looked at the training schedules, it leaves enough time."

Enough time by Hermione's standards, he couldn't help but think, and that thought suddenly made his stomach churn. Hermione was the girl who had managed to study enough to earn nine Outstandings on her OWLs during their fifth year while secretly co-managing an illegal Defense Against the Dark Arts club and knitting clothing for house elves in her spare time. She was the girl who had wanted to literally add more time to the day just so she could fill it with more work. And he… well, back then, he had also had Quidditch and the DA and prefect duties to worry about, but he certainly hadn't managed it the way she had.

Of course, he also wasn't fifteen anymore.

"It'll be fine," Ron added decisively. "Besides, the faster the days go, the sooner I can see Hermione again."

The busier he was, the less time he had to think about her, wonder about her, tell himself to stop worrying about her (because she was Hermione, and she was stronger than anyone else he knew, so of course she was going to be fine). If he was dead tired at night and unconscious the second his head hit the pillow, then he wouldn't have the chance to miss falling asleep with her in his arms. He needed a packed schedule if he hoped to get through the next six months with even a shred of his sanity left.

"That's true," Harry agreed. "But it's only, what, six weeks until the Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Only."

•••

At first, upon waking, Hermione didn't even know where she was, just that it was soft, and warm, and that she was alone... but then she recognized Ginny's breathing, steady and rhythmic and just slightly hoarse, and it hit her at all once: she was back at Hogwarts, in the girls' dormitory, and Ron was still in London. Knowing him, he was probably still sleeping, or maybe he was going in to the shop with George, or he and Harry were living like bachelors, eating beans on toast for breakfast. All she knew was that he wouldn't be meeting her in the common room with his usual overabundance of energy and a good morning kiss.

You told him not to come back, she reminded herself. It was the best thing for him, joining the Aurors and working for George, just as returning to Hogwarts was the best thing for her. Sure, ideally, these things would align, but she supposed that was asking for too much. She was lucky enough that they were both alive, and that they were together, and that would have to be enough for now.

And the six weeks until the Hogsmeade visit was nothing. Between being Head Girl and studying for NEWTs, the time would have to fly by. She needed it to.

The mood in the dormitory was decidedly morose that morning as she and Ginny prepared for their day of classes; neither spoke much, and when they made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, it was with slow, almost dreading footsteps. As they sat down at the Gryffindor table, eyeing the array of breakfast food almost resentfully, they felt the gaze of every single student upon them - or rather, upon the two glaring absences beside him.

"Was it like this last year?" Hermione asked, absently stirring a bowl of porridge.

"Well..." Ginny, eyes on her plate, was slowly using her fork to turn a stewed tomato into a pile of mush. "It's different, just because I know he's okay, and everything, but that doesn't mean it's not still… well. I'm sure you know."

Nodding slowly, Hermione considered this. At least she knew Ron was happy and that he was working toward something, and she would absolutely not allow herself the selfish thought that she wished he had been happy at Hogwarts. It wasn't fair to him, and it would only make her feel worse.

Everything at Hogwarts just felt so different now. Even before they were friends, even in times when they would row so badly that they weren't even speaking, Ron was always there. He was always in her peripheral vision, playing hangman with Harry during classes when he should have been taking notes, his long limbs sprawled across the common room floor in front of the fire, his red hair like a beacon everywhere she went. Logically she knew that he was in London, at the moment probably pouring way too much sugar into his tea, but somehow she still kept expecting to see him, like he would come bounding up behind her, kiss her on the cheek, and proceed to eat breakfast with his hand on her knee. Her heart hadn't been able to accept his absence quite yet.

The mail owls came swooping in, a welcome distraction: if the students were watching for parcels and letters, they wouldn't be staring at Hermione and Ginny. Just as Hermione was about to utilize the moment to escape to her first class, something greatly resembling a feathery grey tennis ball came tumbling through the air and fell directly into a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

"Pig!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up to rescue the owl. "What are you doing here?"

The obvious answer, of course, was floating on the surface of the juice; as Hermione used a napkin to dry off the little owl, Ginny retrieved the folded parchment from the pitcher.

Drying it with a wave of her wand, Hermione flattened out the parchment and began to read the blurred words.

Dear Hermione,

You only left a few hours ago, but I miss you like hell already and just thought I'd write you. Not that much has happened since you left, though Harry and I did go to a Muggle pub and that emergency Muggle money you make me carry finally got put to use. Not that it was an emergency, I think we just sort of wanted to take our minds off of everything. To be honest, it didn't really help.

I'm meant to meet George at the shop in a few minutes so I don't have a ton of time. I told Harry about my plan to work two jobs and I reckon he secretly thinks it's barmy but I know it'll be okay. If you think I can do it, that's all I need.

I should get going. I hope you have a good first day of classes, I can only imagine how much free time you'll have without me trying to distract you.

Confession? Part of me wishes I was still there to distract you. You were the only good thing about being there, and I reckon I know I shouldn't have stayed, but… fuck, I think I just miss you.

Anyway. George is surprisingly punctual and I don't even know where Pig is right now, so I'll just tell you that I love you, and I can't wait to see you again. And since I'm not there to remind you, please make sure to put down the books and eat dinner.

Love,

Ron

If not for Pigwidgeon's distressed sputtering on the table, Hermione might have stared at the ink on the page forever, studying the way his words slanted across the parchment, trying to commit them to memory, hear them in his voice - but as it was, she had more pressing matters.

"He's not looking so good," Ginny commented with concern as she picked up Pigwidgeon, who appeared to be so exhausted that his wings were trembling. "That's a long trip, from London to here, and I bet you Ron told him to hurry, the git-"

"Give him to me," Hermione interrupted her. "I'll bring him to Hagrid at lunch, he'll know what to do."

"And in the meantime?"

Hermione accepted the owl from Ginny and, cupping him protectively in her hands, peered down at her book bag. It wasn't as if she could just leave him in the Great Hall, and she wouldn't dare risk sending him to the owlery, as he would wear himself out further trying to show off for the other owls. Her dormitory was hardly an option - the presence of Crookshanks would only stress the owl out even further. The way she saw it, there was nothing else to be done.

Using the baggy sleeve of her robe to shield Pigwidgeon from view, she bent and surreptitiously opened her book bag. Atop a stack of textbooks sat her cauldron, and she deposited Pigwidgeon inside.

"Stay there, all right?" Hermione whispered to him as Ginny watched on in disbelief. "It'll only be a few classes, you'll be okay."

"You can't honestly be bringing an owl to class," said Ginny as Pigwidgeon gave a soft, weary hoot.

"Why can't I?" Hermione hissed back. "No one's going to know I have him, and what else am I supposed to do? Let him suffer?"

"No, of course not," replied Ginny, suppressing a grin. "I just expected better behavior from you, now Harry and Ron are gone."

She could almost picture their reactions now: Harry would probably be a bit exasperated, but Ron… Ron would take on that old familiar glimmer of pride and awe in his eyes, the same one he'd had when she showed him the Undetectable Extension Charm on her beaded bag or even back when she had slapped Draco Malfoy. Now that she thought on it a bit, Ron would probably offer to skive off class to bring Pigwidgeon to Hagrid… if he was there.

But he wasn't, so Hermione cast a quick Cushioning Charm on the inside of the cauldron to keep Pigwidgeon from being jostled and gently brought the book bag onto her lap.

"They weren't as bad of influences as we thought," she said to Ginny. "Anyway, I've got Ancient Runes in a few minutes, I'll see you in Potions."

Hermione's stowaway behaved himself during her first class of the new term, and she was able to use a spare cauldron from the cupboard during Potions, but by the time she and Ginny were crossing the half-frozen grounds to the Herbology greenhouses, the owl had grown impatient with his new surroundings.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered to him under the pretense of fishing her textbook out of her bag, sitting down at the long wooden table in the middle of Greenhouse Four. "We'll be done soon."

Pigwidgeon regarded her for a moment, and then tucked his head back under his wing. As Hermione set her bag gently down on the ground beside her stool, Dean Thomas sat down next to her and set his own book on the table.

"So did you have a good holiday?" he asked her amiably, giving a friendly nod to Ginny across the table.

"Oh, yes, it was-" A small, high-pitched hoot sounded from inside her book bag, momentarily freezing her voice. "It was nice-" Another hoot, this one louder, longer, more irritated. "What about you?" she added quickly. "Did you see Seamus?"

"Oh yeah, we actually went over to Ireland to see his mum-" As Pigwidgeon voiced his discontent once more, Ginny erupted into a raucous coughing fit. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Ginny wheezed, hiding her tomato-colored face behind her hands.

"So you went to Ireland?" Hermione asked, hoping to divert his attention.

"Yeah, we-" Dean paused and quirked an eyebrow. "Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?" said Hermione, hoping to pretend Pigwidgeon's calls from her book bag simply weren't happening.

Dean's eyes slid down toward the ground. "It sounds like-"

"It's Ron's owl," Hermione admitted in a low voice. "You must remember him, he's tiny, and he's flown all the way here and he doesn't seem to have taken the trip well, I'm going to bring him to Hagrid-"

"Of course," Dean laughed as Professor Sprout bustled into the greenhouse in her usual patched-up hat and soil-stained robes. "Never a dull day with you, is there?"

"No," Hermione agreed ruefully, "though it might be nice-"

But just then, Professor Sprout began to explain how to harvest the teeth of a Fanged Geranium, and the subject was dropped.

After having been promised of all the Owl Treats his heart desired, Pigwidgeon remained calm during Herbology, and the instant class was dismissed, Hermione headed straight across the school grounds to Hagrid's hut. From the chimney of the small round house, a thick grey smoke issued against the clear blue sky, and Hermione felt a sharp pang of guilt. She had visited Hagrid with Ron and Harry last term, but probably not as often as they could have done.

"Hermione!" Hagrid greeted her with a warm smile when he opened the door, Fang just behind him. "C'mon on in, c'mon in, good t' see yeh - what're yeh doing here?" he asked suddenly as he stepped back to allow her access. "Yeh've got class soon, haven' yeh?"

"I know, I'm sorry I can't stay longer," said Hermione as she opened up her book bag. "But I'm worried about Pigwidgeon…"

And, extracting the owl from inside her cauldron, she explained the situation.

"I reckon he's gettin' on in years," Hagrid said, holding Pigwidgeon in the palm of his massive hand. "But I've got a tonic that should set 'im right."

Hermione seated herself in an oversized chair at the table as Hagrid set Pigwidgeon down and began bustling about the kitchen, setting a kettle on the iron stove and searching through the cupboards. Ambling over on large, muddy paws, Fang rested his head on Hermione's knee.

"So," Hagrid said, coming up with a small brown bottle and a small saucer. "Ron an' Harry've stayed back, have they?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, not bothering to keep the sadness out of her voice. It was Hagrid she was talking to, after all. "They start Auror training next week."

"Ahh, well." Hagrid joined her at the table and tipped a bit of clear liquid out of the bottle into the saucer. "They're doin' the righ' thing, aren' they? Bein' Aurors."

Absentmindedly scratching Fang behind his ears, Hermione watched Pigwidgeon dip his beak into the tonic.

"I think they'll be happier than when they were here," she admitted, suddenly finding that Ron's owl - the one who flew up to the Hogwarts Express at the end of their third year, the one who Ron constantly called a feathery little git - blurred before her eyes. It was painful to think of how much Ron hadn't wanted to be at school, how it brought back the worst memories of his life, and that she'd been complicit in it, not realizing the depths of his feelings… and yet he'd still been willing to stay for her.

"I know it's hard," Hagrid said gently, "bein' so far apart, but yeh've already made it through so much with him."

"I know," said Hermione as the tea kettle started to whistle, "I know that, and it isn't forever."

But then she thought of the words in Ron's letter - I already miss you like hell - and how she'd woken up that morning expecting to be beside him, only to find herself in a single bed, and knew that it was already feeling like an eternity. Suddenly she might have been fourteen all over again, crying into mixing-bowl-sized mugs of tea in Hagrid's hut because Ron thought that her pet had eaten his. Back then she'd been heartbroken over losing her two closest friends, and now, it wasn't so much that she needed Ron there, but that she still desperately wished he was.

"We just have things we need to be doing right now," Hermione continued on, reassuring herself aloud as Hagrid rose to tend to the tea. "I'm not sure if you know, not many people do, but Ron's helping George now too, to reopen the shop."

"Tha's brilliant!" The tea sloshed over the edges of the cups as Hagrid plunked them on the table. "Fred woulda liked that, I reckon, Ron steppin' in an' bein' there for George."

"He's really excited about it," Hermione said, deciding she'd give the tea a second to cool down, "he's doing that and the Aurors, he wanted to do both - well, it was my idea for him to actually do both, and not have to decide right away… but he's excited about it."

"As long as he keeps 'is head on straight," replied Hagrid sagely. "I'd hate to see 'im overwhelming 'imself like you used to do - like yeh better not still be doin'." He gave Hermione an uncharacteristically stern look over the top of his mug.

"I can take care of myself."

"I know yeh can, but without Ron here to balance you out, I don't want to see yeh goin' overboard."

On the table, Pigwidgeon straightened up and stretched out his wings, clearly revitalized.

"I'll be fine," Hermione insisted, recalling as she did so that she had actually been planning to throw herself into her work as a method of distraction, as a way of forcing the days to pass.

But again, she wasn't fourteen anymore. After the events of the past year, she could more than handle a full schedule.

"Pig'll be all righ'," Hagrid said as the owl fluttered over to Hermione and clicked his beak at her. "But he shouldn' be makin' such a long trip all the time, the pair of yeh'll have to use the school owls."

"Thanks, Hagrid." Pig clicked his beak at Hermione again. "Erm - have you got any Owl Treats?"

•••

Dear Ron,

I'm sending Pigwidgeon back with this letter, but after that I'll send another along with a school owl, because Pig didn't do so well with the trip here - he was exhausted, I had to bring him to Hagrid, who said he shouldn't be making such a long trip all the time. I also brought him to three of my classes, but that's a story for another time.

The first day was fine, even though it's so strange not having you here to distract me. But don't worry. I'm glad that you're doing everything that you're doing, and we can handle the distance. Gryffindor have a match in February against Hufflepuff - Ginny spent all of dinner going on about it - and the visit in Hogsmeade is the weekend before that, so we'll see each other again before we know it. Other than that, there's not much to tell, except that I have no one to share my notes with anymore.

You'll have to tell me all about the shop, and training too, once it starts. You're going to be brilliant, I know it. You're exactly where you need to be, and I'm where I need to be, and someday - and soon - those places will be the same. Until then, I love you and I miss you so much already. I can't wait for February.

Love,

Hermione

After rolling up the letter and magically sealing it, Hermione stood up from her favorite desk at the library and set out for the owlery. Pigwidgeon had, only after eating his fill of treats, been all too eager to fly up to the tower, and Hermione had attended the remainder of her classes without incident. Now, as it was nearly curfew, she supposed she had better leave before Madam Pince kicked her out.

The castle was quiet and dark as Hermione slowly traversed the familiar corridors, finding herself in absolutely no rush to return to her dorm and spend another night alone. The Head Girl badge pinned to her robes guaranteed that she could move about as she pleased, whenever she pleased, but the long trip up to the owlery created an inadvertent tour of the castle that Hermione would have preferred to avoid.

When Ron had been there, Hermione had been able to look past the haunted memories, the loss and the heartbreak and disaster, because she thought she belonged at Hogwarts. Now, though, climbing the spiral staircase to the owlery to seek out Pigwidgeon, she knew that was no longer the case. Back on September first, she had thought that returning to school had given her the sense of coming home, but it hadn't been the castle at all.

It had been Ron; he was her home. And now he was in London, and she was here in Scotland's most heavily guarded building, magical or otherwise, and nothing was the same anymore. She still wanted to finish her education, to ace her NEWTs, to be Head Girl, but she hadn't understood just how much her life had changed it until she was forced to confront it, gazing out of the owlery window at the inky-black, star-studded sky.

"Take this to Ron," Hermione told Pigwidgeon, securing the letter to his leg with a length of string. "And then stay with him, all right?"

He soared excitedly out into the night, and Hermione watched him fly away until she could no longer distinguish him in the darkness.

When she returned back to Gryffindor tower, she found Ginny holding court in the common room, evidently discussing the urgency of filling the gaps on her Quidditch team with the entire house. As students crowded around a long scroll of parchment on a table in front of Ginny, presumably signing up for team trials later in the week, Hermione took the opportunity to slip up the staircase to the boys' dormitory.

The room designated for Eighth Year students still remained at the end of the hall, and Hermione found it blessedly empty when she tentatively pushed through the door. Three beds were still arranged neatly in the room, though only Dean's had been slept in, and Hermione walked over to the one designated for Ron. Memories flooded her mind without warning: sneaking up here during lunch breaks; trying to alleviate his Quidditch-induced anxiety; sitting atop the mattress during sixth year as she watched Harry take the Felix Felicis; even charging in during the Christmas hols to give Ron and Harry their gifts.

As she walked to the head of the bed and slid open the curtain, intent merely on retrieving his pillow, a small etching on the bedframe caught her eye. At the base of one of the four posts around the bed, Hermione saw RW + HG carved into the wood in Ron's unmistakable handwriting. Reaching out carefully, as though the letters might disappear, Hermione traced her fingertips over them.

When had he done this? Was it upon their return in September, or after the final battle in May? Had he done it before he left for Christmas, already knowing that he likely would never return, and wanting to cement their relationship into the history of Hogwarts?

She almost didn't want to know: all that mattered was that he'd done it at all.

Snatching up the pillow, Hermione left the dormitory and hurried down the stairs, through the common room - still crowded due to Quidditch-related business - and up to her own dormitory. The first day had drained her in every possible way, so she changed into her pajamas, tossed her own pillow to the floor, and settled into bed with Ron's, ready to once again drift off with the scent of his hair in her nose.

But the Hogwarts elves, ever diligent, had clearly reached the bedclothes first. Rather than a certain familiar, comforting, undefinable essence, Hermione was met with a strong scent of soap, nothing more and nothing less.

It didn't smell like Ron at all anymore.

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