The family landed with a thump in the living room of the Burrow. Arthur's face was drained of colour from the effort of moving them all, but his hand tightened on Molly's shoulder as George straightened and marched out of the back door. Seconds later an anguished roar floated back into the house. Ron flinched at the pain in the sound, then again when his mum lowered her face into her hands and sobbed.

He knew that he should go out there, knew that he should comfort his brother, knew that he should try and support his family. But his feet felt leaden, his heart even more so, and he was frozen to the spot. All he could do was watch helplessly as Hermione gently detached herself from his side and silently followed George. He squashed the hot flicker of jealousy in his chest as he turned back to his mum.

He had never seen Molly so broken. He knew that nothing he could say would change anything right now. There were no words that would fill the hole left behind by the death of her son. So he did what he could - he sank onto the sofa next to her and offered his hand. She gripped it tightly as she took steadying breaths, the tears still streaming down her face.

Slowly, his family started moving from their positions. Harry murmured something about putting the kettle on, and Ginny followed him into the kitchen, her face pale and pinched. In a strangled voice, Arthur asked Bill and Charlie to help him take Fred upstairs, the men nodding silently and casting charms over Fred's body before stooping to easily carry him between them. Fleur looped her arm through Percy's and gently steered him into the kitchen. Percy's face was positively ashen, and Ron remembered how close he'd been to Fred when he'd died. He blinked, and suddenly it was just him and Molly in the living room.

They sat together in silence, not looking at anything in particular. She still held his hand tightly, and he brushed his thumb over her knuckles absently. At some point someone deposited tea cups in front of them, but when Ron finally reached for his, he found that it had been sat long enough to have gone stone cold. The realisation seemed to snap him back to the present, and he took in his surroundings. His dad sat in the armchair by the window, staring out at the world, silently wiping at tears that it seemed wouldn't stop falling. He could hear Bill, Charlie and Fleur murmuring in the kitchen, and assumed that Percy was with them. There was no sign of Harry and Ginny. Or George. Or Hermione.

'Mum.' His voice was only a hoarse whisper, so he cleared his throat and tried again. 'Mum.' Molly slowly turned to look at him, only dull recognition in her eyes. 'We need ... we should eat something. Let's go see what's in the kitchen, yeah?'

Molly blinked once, twice, then took a deep, shuddering breath. For a second, Ron thought she was going to scream. But she pushed a watery smile onto her face and said quietly, 'Of course, dear. You're right. He ... he would have wanted us to carry on.'

Ron could only nod as he swallowed around the seemingly permanent lump in his throat. He rose with his mum, and when she'd gone on ahead he glanced at his dad. The gratitude was clear on his face, and Ron had to look away again as his heart cracked. He was about to make his way outside to call for Hermione and George, but she suddenly appeared in the doorway, as if she'd known. Her fingers were clasped around George's, but she released him as he continued past her into the house and made for the stairs.

'How is he?' Ron asked her, but only when he'd heard a door close somewhere upstairs.

'About how you'd expect,' she murmured, her voice a little choked. He looked down at her and noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed. He wanted to reach for her, to comfort her, but he remembered the words they'd shared that morning and held himself back.

'Did he speak to you?'

'No. He didn't need to.' Hermione shook her head sadly. 'He just needs time, Ron. And company, but only on his terms.'

Ron nodded slowly. He didn't need to ask how she knew this. Hermione's care and compassion for others had been one of the many things that he'd always greatly admired about her, and he didn't doubt for a second that her advice was sound. He opened his mouth to say so to her, to thank her for -

'Come on, you two.' Arthur, his voice forcefully light, was shooing them towards the kitchen. 'Molly's made sandwiches.'

He moved past them to shout up the stairs for any others that were up there, and Ron couldn't help but notice that he carefully avoided naming anyone. The invitation was an open one, to allow people to choose to join them. Ron made his way to his usual spot at the table, and Hermione sank into the chair opposite. Harry and Ginny trooped in soon after and took their seats between him and Hermione and Bill and Fleur. They both looked solemn, their eyes tinged with red. Ron decided he didn't want to know what they had been doing in the time he'd been sat in the living room, doing his best to comfort his mum.

Molly moved around the kitchen with less of her usual bustle, but soon plates of sandwiches and pastries and jugs of pumpkin juice were floating towards the table. The last jug set itself down in front of the two empty chairs at the end of the table - one empty by choice, one that would never be filled again. Before his mum could see it, could be horribly reminded of what they'd lost, Ron grabbed the jug and poured himself and Hermione a glass before sending it on its way. She gave him a sad, knowing look before taking a reluctant bite from the sandwich she held.

For the first time in Ron's memory, the Burrow's kitchen was quiet for the entire duration of a meal. Everyone ate something, or at least tried to, and no-one looked for too long at the empty chairs. It was hard to swallow food around that damn lump in his throat, but he could feel Hermione watching him and he didn't want her to have anything else to worry about right now. So he made himself finish two full sandwiches, studiously ignoring how the food made his stomach roil.

But the silence only pressed closer as the time ticked on. And it seemed that nobody was able to break it right now. So when it became clear that George wouldn't be joining them, and the abscence of sound was creating an unpleasant pounding in his ears, Ron stood from the table. There was no comment made as he strode to the back door and left. Head down, he began to march across the field in front of him, unsure of where he was going, just knowing that he needed to get away from the crushing, oppressive sadness and the increasing thumping of his own blood in his ears.

'Ron.' He just barely heard her over the sound of his own heart rate rushing in his head. For a second he considered going on, pretending that he hadn't heard. But his body had already paused, inexplicably ready to respond to her, as always. He looked back over his shoulder.

Hermione stood about two feet behind him, her brows furrowed in worry. She was ringing her hands together, and he could see some sentence or other was poised on the tip of her tongue. He watched as she began to lose the battle with her courage, as she began to doubt whatever it was that she was thinking, and his heart sank at the thought that she might have come this far, just to back down. But his own tongue seemed numb, unable to form words, and his mind was sluggish with exhaustion and grief and worry. So he held out his hand, and hoped that it would be enough.

Her chocolate-brown eyes instantly cleared, her forehead smoothing. She took a small step forward and lifted her hand, gently twining her fingers through his and holding on. He gave her as much of a smile as he could manage before turning away again to continue his walk, with Hermione now in tow. She followed him silently, and he didn't attempt to make conversation. Talk wasn't needed right now. But he did realise that her presence, the comfort he felt knowing that she was here, with him, for him ... he hadn't truly known how much he needed her.

They completed a small lap of the meadows and fields closest to the property, making their way around the pond before heading back towards the Burrow. Ron occasionally felt the brush of the protective spells that had been strengthened around the property, and made sure to stay well within them as they walked. He vaguely wondered how long they would need these barriers. But as they headed back towards his home, Hermione's small hand still in his, he was glad that at least some barriers in his life appeared to have already come down.

Over the next week, they made a habit of their silent evening walks. And during the day, they spent as much time as possible putting their worlds back together. Molly and Arthur would stay at home with George while the rest of the family would Floo back to the castle to help with the clear-up attempts. Ron, Ginny and Charlie threw themselves into the physical tasks of removing rubble and damaged stonework around the place. Harry, Percy and Bill were asked to meet with the Aurors who were reviewing the ancient protective spellwork around the castle, finding holes and outdated magic that needed updating and improving. Fleur attended to Madam Pomfrey, who despite the support from staff at St Mungo's, still had a number of wounded to attend to. And Hermione ...

Hermione was everywhere. She would appear at Ron's elbow and press a note into his hand with a powerful spell scrawled on it that would allow them to stabilise large sections of masonary while they worked, to keep themselves safe. Then she would disappear again, and he would later hear from Fleur that she had been walking among the wounded, talking to them or their families and offering advice and gratitude. And Bill told him, as they sat in front of the fire one evening and watched her doze on the sofa, that Hermione had come staggering towards them from the Library with her arms full of books, each one containing some invaluable reference to how the old protection spells were first woven around the castle.

On the sixth day of helping, however, Ron's heart had been gripped in panic when Hermione had walked into the Great Hall and immediately headed for the fireplaces, her face a sickly white. He'd made to rush after her, only to be stopped by Ginny, who told him that she'd been helping McGonagall to contact the families of the fallen and organise a rememberance service for them all. An image of his mum's broken face flashed across his mind, and nausea lurched in his gut as he wondered how many other mothers or fathers or family members she'd spoken to who would have looked and sounded just like that. He watched as she stepped through the fireplace, his head screaming at him to go after her, but he held himself back. He would allow her space.

That evening, after another stilted dinner in which Hermione didn't raise her eyes from her plate, he rose from his chair and walked around the table to stand beside her, waiting until she finally looked up. She started a little, as if he'd caught her off guard, but he held out his hand in silent invitation. She stared at it for a moment before she took it, and nobody spoke as they exited the Burrow, hand in hand, to take their usual evening stroll. And though they didn't say anything, her shoulders were definitely less tense by the time they returned to the house.

They all took the next day off, to give themselves time to recover physically and mentally before throwing themselves back into the work that needed to be done. They also needed to say goodbye to Fred, and it had to be done at some point. There was no avoiding it.

Ron hadn't realised how much Hermione had done for this, too. He didn't know when she'd had the time, but she had sent information to Fred and George's classmates that a service would be held at the Burrow that day. Word had clearly spread, as by the time Ron made himself go downstairs to face everyone, the entire meadow was swarming with people. He recognised family and relatives, but also saw Lee Jordan and Angelina Jones, Seamus and Dean, Neville and Luna, and a large number of other fellow students who smiled at him or squeezed his shoulder or threw their arms around him as he passed. Ron let his tears fall freely at the evidence of how loved his brother had been.

Soon, too soon, it was time for the service, and they all filed into the marquee that had been erected for the occasion. A large red coffin sat on the dais at the head of the tent, and in front of it was a large, moving picture of Fred. And in front of the picture was George. He looked so small and out of place, standing there on his own, and Ron wondered how it must feel to have been part of a unit for so long and to now have to face the prospect of the rest of his life alone.

He took a step towards his brother, but a small hand snaked into his and held him back. He looked down to Hermione, confused, but she subtly inclined her head to George. Ron looked back, and found that Lee and Angelina had had the same idea as him. Each had their arms around George and were staring at Fred's picture, their backs straight, the picture of support and solidarity. Ron's shoulders dropped and his eyes burned again, but he nodded. Let them support him. Let them do what they could.

Hermione led Ron to a seat at the front of the tent, but when she made to move away he gripped her fingers tightly, unable to let her go. So she sank into the chair next to his, and they stared straight ahead as they listened to the tent filling up behind them. Ron didn't hear what was said - by his dad, by Bill, by Harry, or by anyone else who got up to speak that afternoon on Fred's behalf. He just stared that the coffin, the final resting place of his brother, and allowed the pain to tear into his heart, again and again and again.

Then it was over, and he was surrounded by people who were telling stories about Fred, many of them laughing and crying at the same time. He didn't know how long he'd been stood on the outskirts of the gathering, but with the return to the present came the realisation that Hermione was no longer by his side. He passed the group of family members that were huddled around his mum, feeling grateful that they had turned out in support today. She needed others to hear her pain. Hopefully it would help her to heal in some way.

He wandered slowly back towards the house with the vague notion that she must be there, as he hadn't been able to see her in the tent or on the lawn outside. He stooped under the wooden lintle of the back door, and was heading towards the living room when he heard hushed voices. Something made him slow his steps, and he crept quietly up to the doorway and pressed himself against the wall. From inside the room he heard a soft sigh, and a fist around his heart tightened in recognition. He carefully peeked around the doorway into the room, and the fist tightened further.

Hermione sat on one of the sagging sofas, her arms around George. George's head was nestled against her neck, his arms around her waist, holding her close. Too close. Bile rose in his throat, jealousy flooding him, making it hard for him to breathe, and he almost rushed into the room to demand to know what was going on when George sighed and began to raise his head. His courage turned to fear of being caught and Ron pressed himself against the wall in the hallway, listening as George's voice, soft and hoarse but still instantly recognisable, drifted to him.

'Thanks, Hermione, I needed that. It's just so hard to ask Mum or anyone else right now, you know?'

'Of course! Any time you need another hug, George, or to talk, or anything at all, please tell me. I hate to think of you going through this all alone. Even if you just need someone to sit with in silence, come find me. OK?' Ron blinked as her words extinguished his jealousy, replacing it with a deep, sickly shame. Of course she was supporting his brother, who was going through something Ron would never be able to understand. Who was he to interrupt whatever was going on between them right now? His brother needed that support, support that he had been unable to offer. And he supposed that she did too, and perhaps he'd been too cautious in holding himself back from offering it. Dejected, Ron was about to push away from the wall to leave them to their privacy, when George spoke again.

'Ron's so lucky to have you, Hermione. I mean, we're all lucky to call you a part of our family, but ... I don't know where that boy would be if you weren't in his life.'

'Oh, George,' she said, and he heard the slight, sad smile in her voice. 'I'm sure he would have been fine.'

'It's not my place to tell you how he feels,' George said slowly, carefully choosing his words. 'But I will say, he's never happier than when you're around. Present times excepting, of course. But even these days, there's this tension and worry and ... edge to him that just seems to, I dunno, disappear when he's with you. I just wanted to say, don't discount how much you mean to him.'

'George ... ' Hermione's voice was a little choked now, and he could almost hear her brain working as she searched for words. He held his breath as he risked another peek into the room, just in time to see George rising, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he did so.

'We all love you, little sister,' he murmured, looking down at Hermione with sparkling blue eyes. 'And I'll never forget what you did for us today. What you've done for our Freddie.'

Ron reeled back. It was the first time he'd heard his brother mention his twin since his passing, and the fondness in his words felt like a dagger in his gut. But he was also filled with a warm gratitude. Gratitude that he knew was aimed towards Hermione, for the effort she'd put into this day. And all of the other days this week, this month, this year. She'd been holding them all together this whole time, despite her own wounds and fears. She'd put all of that aside for him, for George, for his family, Hell for the rest of the bloody Wizarding World. As he snuck away from the doorway before George could find him lingering there, he knew that he was ready. Ready for her to know how he really felt about her. He would never be able to repay her for everything she'd done, but hopefully, if she felt the same way, this would be a good place to start.

That evening, as was now standard routine, Ron and Hermione left the Burrow after dinner and silently joined hands as they walked out across the fields. Dinner had been less quiet tonight, his mum had seemed a little more animated, and even George had joined them for part of the meal. Ron's heart had swollen as George had taken a seat next to Hermione, and even though he saw the pain in his brother's eyes as he took in the permanently empty seat opposite him, he'd felt a deep rush of love as Hermione had sublty taken his brother's hand and squeezed it tightly in hers, not letting go until George retired for the evening.

As they rounded the pond, Ron stopped them in their tracks. Hermione staggered, unused to this break in their route, and had to use his grip on her to steady herself again. She looked up at him, and he could see the exhaustion in her face, the purple shadows under her eyes. Something about the care she looked at him with made his eyes burn, and he turned away to stare out across the pond, tears in his eyes. She sidled up next to him, clutching his fingers as he sobbed. Finally his breathing slowed, and his hand stopped shaking. When he looked down at her again, she met his eyes, boring into his with that fiery intensity she got when trying to figure out a puzzle.

'Thank you, Hermione.' The words were out before he knew he was going to say them. She cocked her head slightly to the side, her brow furrowing further.

'What for?'

'For this,' he croaked, squeezing her hand again. 'And for being patient. I should have told you, long before now ... I love you, and I hope that you love me, too. I'd understand if you didn't, or if it wasn't enough to keep you around if you get a better offer, but if you do, I promise it'll be good enough to wait for.'

Before she could respond, he quickly dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers, softly, sweetly. It was a fleeting kiss, but after a heartbeat she leaned into the kiss, reutrning it, confirming everything he needed to know at that moment. She needed him, just as he needed her. And that was enough. Enough to see them continue their walks in silence. Enough to give him hope that more was to come. He gently broke the kiss so that he could look in her eyes again, and was surprised to see tears there, but she was smiling gently.

'I love you, Ronald,' she whispered, and his face turned up in the first genuine smile he'd been able to give since the war. 'You're worth the wait.'