OK so I've had a few requests for a longer Romione story, and it's a little bit of a cop-out as I'm going to be using some of the chapters I've previously written, but it all fits the same timeline in my head. So although some of the material will be the same, I'll also be editting parts of it to fit the narrative. I'll update as often as I can - hope you enjoy :)

Ron's head felt scarily empty. He hadn't realised how busy his mind had been over the past year, constantly worrying about their situation, his friends, his family. But now that it was all over, now that his head was finally quiet ... It left too much space to think.

He had sat by Fred's body for hours, holding his mum as she cried, holding George as he screamed and then fell silent. And when they had all lapsed into quiet, heartbroken sobbing, he had sat with them, staring down at his brother.

He didn't feel anything. Sure, there was a crushing sadness, but the horror and guilt and anger he knew should be there was just, well, missing. Perhaps he was just too exhausted for his body to dredge up those emotions. When had he last slept, anyway?

'Ron?' He turned at the sound of his dad's voice, and only then did he realise he'd stood up. His father's eyes were vacant, haunted, and Ron had to fight the urge to look away. 'Where are you going, son?'

Good question. Where was he going? 'I ... ' His voice was hoarse from hours of screaming and yelling and a lack of sleep and water. He swallowed what little spit came to his mouth and tried again. 'I'm going to find Hermione.' Yes, that was it. He hadn't seen her for a while now. Didn't even know if she was OK.

'Alright,' Arthur nodded slowly. 'If you see Harry, send him over, would you?'

'OK, Dad.' Ron turned from the gaggle of bowed red heads and made his way through the hall. All around them, clusters of people were bent over the beds of the fallen. Some were weeping, some were comforting others, some just sat in numb silence. Ron didn't really see them as he wove between them. Right now he had a purpose, and his mind held onto it, raced towards it like a light in the fog.

His legs felt incredibly heavy as he dragged himself up the stairs. He didn't even know where to begin looking for her, but he had to start somewhere. So he trudged the familiar path to the Gryffindor common room. The portrait stood ajar, and his heartrate increased at the sight. The wand was in his hand before he realised that he'd reached for it.

Ron carefully edged through the portrait hole, Pettigrew's wand still a strange fit to his palm, and tried to keep as quiet as possible as he poked his head out into the common room. At first the room appeared empty, but then he spotted a lone figure, huddled in the dark in one of the large armchairs on the other side of the room. He silently dug in his pocket and pulled out the Deluminator, and clicked it once. A single ball of light jumped from it and shot to the lamp beside the occupied chair.

'Bloody hell,' a familiar voice grumbled, and Ron instantly relaxed, even as Harry hissed, 'Turn that off, you'll wake Hermione.'

'Sorry,' Ron whispered, clicking the device again. The light returned to him as he stepped through the portrait hole and crossed the room. He peered down at the sofa next to Harry, and sure enough there she was, laid out under a blanket, fast asleep.

'You alright?' Harry asked tentatively. Ron met his gaze, and wondered vaguely if he looked just as knackered as his best friend. Harry was still caked in dirt and blood, his usually unruly hair spiked in clumps, as though he'd been pulling at handfuls of it. Large purple shadows lingered under his green eyes. Eyes almost as haunted as his dad's had been ...

'Not really,' Ron told him truthfully. 'You?'

'I don't know,' Harry sighed after a long pause. 'I think it's going to take a long time for me to know how I am.'

'Fair enough.' Ron sank into the armchair opposite Harry's, his back screaming in protest as he stretched out his legs. Merlin, he ached all over. 'If you're up to it, my dad was hoping to speak to you.'

'Yeah, I'll pop down and see him now.' Harry groaned as he got to his feet, his neck popping loudly as he rolled his head. He looked down at Hermione briefly, then back to Ron. 'You gonna be alright up here?'

'We'll be fine,' he murmured, his eyes landing on her sleeping form. He watched her shoulder rise and fall with her breathing, and barely registered Harry leaving.

He sat in the quiet, empty room and listened to her soft breaths as his mind began to flood with a tangle of memories. In the silence, the images and scenes of the battle, of the recent month, of the last year, hit him in a torrent. And suddenly he felt like his chest was caving in, like he couldn't get enough oxygen.

He pressed his fist against his mouth, trying to keep his wracking sobs as quiet as possible, trying not to wake her. But the emotions rushed over him, consumed him, and he fell down into the deep pit of despair that had followed him from the moment he'd left them in those woods. He had tried desperately to stay away from that pit, to avoid looking into it, terrified of what he would see. But there was no avoiding it now.

He didn't know how long he sat there, fighting through that terrible, awful blackness, before he heard something that brought him back to himself. A voice, soft and lilting, murmuring to him. And there was a hand, too, gentle and soothing, gripping his own, stroking the backs of his fingers. He blinked through his tears and looked to his side, in the direction the voice was coming from. A thin, palid face, surrounded by wild curls, swam into view. Hermione.

He reached out almost blindly, and she came to him immediately. He pulled her into his lap, and she wound her arms around his neck, holding him tight to her as he sobbed into her shoulder. Her slender fingers wove through his hair, catching slightly in the grime crusted there, but he didn't mind. She didn't smell her freshest, but there was still that undercurrent, that sweet and unique smell that was undeniably her. He took lungfuls of that scent, using it to centre himself, to calm himself.

And when the roaring in his ears eventually died away, he peeled his face from her now sodden shirt and stared up at her. The dirt on her face was streaked with the tracks of her own tears, but she managed to give him a weak, watery smile as she said, 'I'm sorry.'

'What for?' His voice trembled with emotion and exhaustion.

'I was just so tired, I had to come away for a little while. And I wanted to give you and your family some time, to ... ' She trailed off with a shake of her head, her lower lip trembling slightly. He gave her a gentle squeeze.

'You've nothing to be sorry for,' he told her earnestly, and held her gaze until she sighed and nodded, her lip stilling once more. He nuzzled his long nose against her shoulder, then went on, 'You deserve a rest, with everything you've done.'

'We both do,' she sighed, and he was too tired to argue. She wiped at her cheeks, then grimaced when her fingers came away even more filthy than they had been. 'And we both deserve a long, hot shower.'

He felt the chuckle rise in his chest, but it died before it could reach his lips. Everything was still too fresh, too raw. He couldn't feel anything outside of that weight right now. But maybe he could be practical about this. They had the time right now, there was nothing to stop them from taking care of the needs that they could meet.

'A shower sounds great,' he admitted, looking down at himself with distaste. 'And maybe some clean clothes.'

'If you want, we could use the showers now?' she suggested, then blushed. 'I-I don't mean together, I just thought that if that's something you think might be helpful right now then it could be a good idea. Not that you should do it, if you don't want to, I - '

'Hermione,' he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up in the shadow of a smile. She stopped and blew out a breath, then climbed carefully from his lap and crossed back to the sofa she'd been sleeping on. The beaded bag was tucked under the cushion she'd been using as a pillow, and she dug around in it until she'd found a full set of clean clothes for both of them. She handed him his pile, and gathered hers up in her arms.

'I'll just go shower, then,' she said, and turned away to head towards the girls' dormitories. His heart started to beat almost painfully fast. He tried to ignore it, told himself that he'd been away from her for hours until just now, that nothing bad had happened to her in that time. But the thought of her being alone, being somewhere that he couldn't easily reach her -

'Wait.' He reached out and grabbed her wrist, and her gaze fell to his fingers before lifting slowly to meet his. Her deep, chocolate eyes, usually full of such passionate fire, seemed so dulled that it made his chest ache. He blurted, 'Will you come with me? To shower, I mean.' She goggled at him for a moment, and then his brain caught up with his mouth. 'Not like that! I just meant ... I don't want to be alone right now. I don't ... I don't want to leave you. We'll shower separately, but I just ... I need to know where you are. I'm sorry, that sounds really dumb and creepy and - '

'I get it,' she said quietly, and it was his turn to breathe out a relieved sigh as she shifted her hand to twine her fingers through his. He stood, and led her to the boys' dormitories, to the communal shower room. They passed through the wards uninhibited, and some small forgotten part of his mind wondered if it was a fault in the magic or if it was because they were now of age, but the thought was soon forgotten as they both entered the bathroom and the magnitude of the situation hit him.

'How do you want to, um ... ' He released her hand to rub at the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Hermione took in the layout of the bathroom, and he saw the familiar calm settle over her face as she considered the problem at hand.

'Would it be enough to shower in cubicles next to each other?' she asked, looking up at him to gauge his reaction. He considered briefly, then nodded. As long as he knew where she was, the panic that had risen in him at the thought of being separated seemed manageable. He found a couple of towels in one of the cupboards against the wall, and handed one to her. Then they walked to the cubicles together and, with a last, lingering look, entered seperate units.

He took his time peeling off the stiff layers of filthy clothing, trying to remember the last time he'd changed them. He dropped the items on the floor in a heap, then shuffled to stand under the shower head. He turned the tap, and instantly a stream of hot water hit his body. A small yelp, followed by a satisfied groan, told him that on the other side of the wall Hermione had just done the same. He turned so that his back was being pelted by the water, and sighed deeply as the knots in his shoulders slowly began to ease.

He tipped his head back under the flow, and a searing pain shot through his scalp. He swore, lifting a hand to his head and rubbing at the sore spot. When he pulled his hand away, he saw the remnants of blood on his fingers before it was washed away. He must have hit his head at some point. Funny, he couldn't really remember that happening ...

Another, more muffled yelp floated over the cubicle wall between them. He pressed his palm to the divider, as though she would feel his reassuring touch through it. 'Hermione?'

'I'm fine,' she said, though her voice was choked in pain. 'Just ... finding wounds I didn't know I had.'

'Same here,' he muttered as the stinging in his scalp finally subsided enough that he could dump out a handfull of shampoo from one of the bottles already in the shower and run it through his hair without too much discomfort. It took three washes to finally have the water running clean from his hair. He turned his attention to his body, and scrubbed himself as thoroughly as he could. His pale, freckled skin was soon red and a little raw, but he had needed to feel like the essence of the blood had been removed from him as well.

Finally satisfied that he was clean enough, he turned off the shower and dried himself quickly, then pulled on the clean clothing. He left the dirty ones in a pile with his used towel with the vague notion that either the elves would deal with them, or he would if it was all still there tomorrow. Hermione's shower had also stopped, but he could hear her rustling around in her cubicle, so he lowered himself to one of the benches against the wall to wait for her.

'You know,' she said softly, drawing his attention before his mind could stray back towards that dark pit. 'I'm so tired that I feel like I could sleep for a week, but I'm almost a little scared to close my eyes.'

'I know what you mean,' he said, blinking back a sudden burning in his eyes. Every time he blinked he saw faces; Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Lavendar, Collin ... It was going to be very hard to sleep tonight. He cleared his throat as a thought occured to him. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but how would you feel about ... sleeping together? Nothing funny, just ... just sleeping.'

There was a heavy pause, then the door of Hermione's cubicle clicked open and she exited. Her face was slightly flushed from the heat of the shower, and her curls were loose down her back with the weight of the water. But she looked more relaxed than she had before the shower, and much more comfortable in what seemed to be a pair of flannel pyjamas.

'I think I'd like that,' she said, finally replying to his question. Ron let out the breath he'd been holding. She nodded to him, then added, 'Hang on, though. I need to brush my hair first. It'll be hellish in the morning if I don't.'

'No rush,' he answered simply, though he fought back a yawn as he said it. She gave him a knowing look before crossing to the mirrors that lined another wall. She dug through her bag once more and pulled out a brush, then set about teasing and de-tangling her mass of chestnut-brown hair. He watched her, slightly fascinated as he watched the curls forming as her hair slowly dried and she styled it as best she could. After a while she paused, and he looked up to see her watching him through the mirror, a questioning expression on her face. He felt his neck turning red but held her gaze as he said, 'I've always loved your hair.'

Hermione's cheeks flushed instantly, and she broke eye contact to return her attention to her head. 'It's unmanageable. Unruly. Some might say ugly.'

'Then those people are idiots,' he said, eyes still trained on her face. 'I've always been fascinated by the way it moves. It grows when you're angry or frustrated, and I can always tell when you've tried to tame it. But I've always liked it best when you do nothing to it and just let it do its own thing.'

He had to stop talking, he didn't even know why he was telling her all of this. She glanced at him, but looked away again almost instantly, her blush deepening as she breathed, 'Thank you, Ronald.'

He clamped his mouth shut to stop his over-tired brain from revealing anything else, and sat in silence, watching as she brushed out the last of her mane. When she deemed it acceptable, she turned back to him with a tentative smile on her lips.

'So ... your place or mine?'

He managed to smile back at her as he rose, and held out his hand to her. She walked to his side and took it, winding her fingers through his again. He pulled her along behind him as he left the bathroom and headed to his old dorm room. The room was exactly the same as it had been the last time he was here, over a year ago, and he took a steadying breath as he blocked out the reminders of what had changed since then. Hermione's fingers gripped his tightly, a solid anchor to the present, and he squeezed her hand gratefully in return as he led her to his four-poster bed.

'This is me,' he said, his voice strangely flat. Sadness flashed momentarily across her face, and he almost asked her what she was thinking, but he didn't know if his heart could take hearing whatever had caused that expression. Probably not right now. Instead, he climbed onto the bed and settled onto his side, leaving her plenty of room to choose how she would sleep. After a moment's hesitation, she lay down facing him, scooting closer so that their arms and legs nudged against each other as she settled.

Silence fell once more, and though his eyelids were heavy, he found that he couldn't stop looking at her. That dullness was gone from her eyes, and she had that little crease between her eyebrows, as though she was trying to figure something out.

'What is it?' he whispered, then felt a little silly for whispering in an empty room.

'I don't know,' she whispered back, and something about the shared tone made the moment feel suddenly very personal, almost intimate. She seemed to feel it too, as she shifted towards him again, her legs now pressed against his. 'I just feel like so much has changed, and yet right now it would be easy to believe that everything is just as it was. Does that make sense?'

'Yeah.' He reached out carefully and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. 'Yeah, it does. And although there's so much I wish hadn't happened, I know that there's at least one change that I'm grateful for.'

'Oh?' He watched as she consciously removed the flicker of hope from her expression, and the act made his heart ache as he wondered how many times over the years she had done just that. All because of his blind idiocy and poor self-esteem.

'I'm glad you kissed me,' he whispered earnestly, and felt a jolt in his chest as the hope returned to her eyes. 'One of us had to be brave enough to do it one day. I'm not at all surprised that it was you.'

'Ron,' she began, clearly about to chastise him for his negative words, but she seemed to rein herself in. 'But you're right. One of us did, I suppose.'

'So you don't regret it?' he asked, unable to keep the question back.

'Not at all,' she answered immediately, her gaze fixed on his.

'Good,' he breathed, and reached for her hand to thread his large fingers through her small ones. He looked down at where their hands joined, and felt a surge of dread in the pit of his stomach as he took in the word etched into her forearm. 'When we were at the manor I thought ... I honestly thought I would lose you.' His voice became strangled as tears welled in his eyes, and he swallowed hard. Hermione's free hand raised and cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes, savouring the feeling.

'I know. I thought I'd lost you, too. Many times over the last year, in fact.' She paused, and with difficulty he opened his eyes to find her thinking. 'Actually, there have been many times since we met that I genuinely thought you might have ... I might have lost you.'

'Now you mention it,' he rasped, then cleared his throat. 'There have been far too many of those moments, for both of us.'

'I don't know what I would have done if - ' She suddenly hicupped, tears welling in her eyes, and she shook her head, unable to finish the thought. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her against him, her head resting on his chest, her arm snaking around his waist and pulling him closer.

He kissed the top of her head as she cried, murmuring soothing words into her hair. He didn't really know what he was saying, but it seemed to work as soon her breathing eased into a regular rhythm. He moved back slightly to peer down, and found that she'd fallen asleep against his chest. So he shuffled around a little to make them both more comfortable, and with his arms still tight around her, he finally allowed the exhaustion that had been pressing at the back of his eyes for far too long to take him under.