A/N: I hope you're enjoying the story so far! This is going to be a dual POV fic, so now you get Ron's perspective! We'll go back and forth throughout.

Enjoy, and please follow/favorite or leave me a comment if you like what you read!

Part 1: Imposter - Chapter 2

He never thought it would be the case, but Ron Weasley was actually getting a little bit sick of orange.

The realization hit him as he sat up in bed and gazed around his childhood room, splashes of tangerine all over the walls, bed, and other surfaces. Scattered rays of sun shone through the window, brightening the space to an almost nauseating level. All the things that he had loved about his design choices when he was younger seemed so ridiculous and naive in hindsight.

Guess I've finally grown up. Huh. I thought it'd feel different.

Despite the lovely late spring weather that had blanketed the English countryside since the Weasleys' return to the Burrow, Ron had yet to really take advantage of it. So much of his time had been spent staring at the familiar walls over the last few weeks, the faces of his Quidditch heroes staring back at him from the posters on his wall. Sometimes, it almost seemed as if they were mocking him, daring him to have a fly and recapture some of the fun in his life.

The days could've been some of the best of his life. After all, You Know Who had finally been defeated, the result of a concerted effort of all of his friends, family, professors, and classmates. The world was shot of its greatest threat to peace and stability, and things were finally looking up for the wizarding community. But despite all of the good news, Ron found it hard to look past the counterbalancing bad, the many casualties, both physical and mental, that came along with the ostensible victory.

At first, the loss of his brother had been the main cause of his grief. He had been standing right next to Fred when it happened, holding him in his arms as he watched the life extinguish from his brother's eyes. It was an image that Ron was sure would never leave him, and it frequently haunted his dreams. The family had buried him, of course, and the ceremony was beautiful. At least, the parts of it he could recall. He had felt dazed throughout the entire affair, only the touch of Hermione's hand grounding him in his still-altered sense of reality.

Hermione. The person he cared about most in the world. Last he'd seen her, she was walking away from him, tears in her eyes, forced to complete the last portion of her mission on her own. When she'd asked him to come with her, he'd wanted nothing more than to be there for her, to help her the way she'd always helped him. But his brain wouldn't cooperate with his heart, and when the time came to fight to stay with her, his resolve fizzled, and she left without him.

The conversation played on repeat in his mind, and over the following days, he'd come up with any number of better options he could've presented at the time to convince her that he wanted to remain at her side. Turned out, it wasn't her that needed convincing, it was his own forlorn mentality. He'd been spending so much time feeling sorry for himself and his family that he'd forgotten that Hermione was living completely without hers. And when she'd come to him looking for assistance, he'd been so weighed down with sorrow that he hadn't had the strength to stand with her.

How was it possible that she'd kissed him just a few short weeks prior? What had to be going through her mind to make her think that he was worthy of her in the first place? And even if he had been worthy at one point, how could she still think that after he'd rejected her cry for help, after he'd abdicated the responsibility of being the one she could count on?

As he sat on the mattress, staring out his fifth-floor window and pondering his future with the woman he so desperately wanted to be with, a glowing stag burst through the wall, startling him as it approached the bed.

The voice of his best friend boomed out through the room. "Hermione's flight landed an hour ago. She sent word that she'd come over to Grimmauld for a late dinner around eight. Hope you can make it. We'll save you a seat."

His stomach squirmed, tightening on itself as he glanced at the clock on his wall. Only ninety minutes until she was due to arrive. Ninety minutes until he'd get a chance to see her again. If only he knew what to expect.

Hermione had sent an owl to him a week and a half prior, confirming that she'd found her family and set their memories right again. When he'd received the message, he was genuinely happy for her. Her family was back to normal, and her biggest source of stress had been resolved. But since then, she had gone silent, not responding to his reply or sending any other messages to him for the remainder of her trip.

In fact, he only knew she was coming home because she'd told Harry and Ginny the timing of her flight, asking to meet up with them when she got back to discuss her mission. According to Harry, Hermione must have meant to include Ron in the invitation as well and probably just assumed Harry would tell him. But Ron wasn't so sure, and he worried that she might not want him to be there when she showed up for the first time in weeks.

If he didn't go, though, he'd probably end up driving himself crazy sitting in his room by himself. One way or another, they needed to start getting to the bottom of…everything.

He assigned himself the majority of the blame for the cooling of their relationship since the battle, even though he knew he should cut himself some slack given the circumstances and his tremendous grief. As the last couple of weeks passed, though, the pain became easier. He'd yet to go a full day without thinking of Fred and the possibilities that his death rendered moot, but he wasn't fixating on it like he had at first. His mind was starting to see the opportunity for a happy life. And he knew a happy life wasn't achievable without Hermione.

If that was even what she wanted.

Before he could wallow any further, a knock on his door pulled him out of his stupor, and he cleared his throat. "Who is it?"

"It's Ginny, can I come in?" his sister called.

Without answering, he stood up and padded over to the door, pulling it open. "What's up?"

"Hey," she said, pushing past him and strolling across his floor.

He scoffed, kicking the door shut behind her. "Of course, please come in, no need to ask or anything."

Ginny spun back toward him, hands on her hips. "What? You have pants on, don't you? Now, did Harry send you a Patronus as well?"

Ron took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself and not take the bait. "Yes," he finally answered, "I got the message."

"And are you going to come?"

"I guess," he responded, opening his chest of drawers and flipping through shirts. "I just hope…"

Ginny quirked an eyebrow as her brother suddenly clammed up. "Hope what?"

"Nothing. Yeah, I'll come."

"Hope that Hermione is excited to see you?"

"Ginny…" he said, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"What? It's basically an open secret at this point."

"I don't feel like discussing this with you."

"Fine, I get it," she said, walking back across the room and opening the door. "But…you should come. She wants to see you, I'm sure of it."

"Then why didn't she ask?"

Lips pursed, Ginny looked away, searching for the right thing to say. She opened her mouth to reply but immediately closed it again.

"Exactly," Ron said. "She told Harry when she was coming home. I'm guessing the two of you were talking while she was in Australia, too, yeah?"

"I mean," she answered with a shrug, "only a few back and forths, really. It wasn't an everyday thing."

It was as though an invisible knife plunged into his chest, shredding muscle and destroying cartilage en route to piercing his heart.

So she wrote back to everybody but me…

As much as he tried to hide his hurt expression, Ginny saw through him almost immediately, stepping back in his direction with pity etched on her face. "Really?"

He turned his attention back to his clothing, mostly just to look anywhere else. "I said I don't feel like discussing this with you."

"Look." Ginny sighed. "Clearly you two need to talk. And I'm sure you'll get that chance. But regardless of…all of that, I'm sure she would want you to come tonight. It's been a couple weeks since we've all been together, and you should be there. Please come."

The Cannons t-shirt he pulled out of the drawer had a small hole in the neckline, but it was still his favorite. A little small, perhaps, and battered by years of wear, but comfortable. "I said I would."

"Good. Let's Floo over together in a little bit, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

As she stepped back out into the hallway, her voice floated back into his room. "And you look fine, by the way. You only have so many outfits, and she's already seen them all."

"Shove off, Ginny."

His sister's antics had been tiresome for nearly seventeen years, but lately, she'd been annoying him more than ever before. Unfortunately for him, it was all because she'd been spending so much time with his best mate.

When Hermione left, Harry and Ginny tried their best to include Ron in their conversations and activities, Harry in particular making sure his friend always had an open invitation. It was sweet in a way, but it only served to increase Ron's agitation. Harry had always been a bit oblivious, but Ron couldn't believe that his friend didn't understand why those types of interactions were so awkward and unwanted. Staring at some other newly-in-love couple was excruciating and only served to provide a constant reminder of everything Ron wished he had but couldn't figure out how to get. And it certainly didn't help that half of that couple was constantly having a go at him the same way she had for a decade and a half.

On top of it all, neither of them could stop talking about the future. Ginny would be heading back to school in the fall, of course, excited to finish out her last year without the massive, Voldemort-sized threat hanging over the castle. She was even more excited that Hermione would be coming back with her and that the two of them would share a dorm. Their friendship had blossomed over the last few years, and Ginny readily admitted that Hermione was the best girlfriend she'd ever had.

Harry and Ron, of course, had no intentions of returning to Hogwarts. In Harry's case, Ron suspected there were simply too many bad memories, too many tragedies for him to voluntarily return. Besides, finishing off the Dark Lord instantly opened up job prospects at several departments of the Ministry, none of whom seemed bothered by the fact that the Chosen One had never officially sat his NEWTs. Naturally, it was the Aurors that drew Harry's attention, and he'd already spent a decent chunk of his summer in early preparation for the training program due to start in early September.

Ron had been accepted to the program as well, and he'd agreed to go mostly because he wasn't sure what else to do. While Hermione was eager to go back to school and Harry was traumatized at the mere thought, Ron simply had no interest in another academic year. The fear of being without Hermione was the only thing that made him even consider returning, but he knew it wouldn't be the same without his best mate. Besides, with the way things were going between him and Hermione, he couldn't be sure he'd have any friends left at all, meaning he'd only be completing his seventh year for additional study time.

Since the Aurors had accepted him to the training program, Ron ultimately decided there was no point in continuing his education when he'd likely end up doing the same job whether he completed seventh year or not. At least by going to the program in September, he and Harry would be on the same track.

But although he tried, Ron had a hard time getting excited about the preparation. While Harry devoured text after text, brushing up his theory and working on his non-verbal spellcasting for hours, Ron could only be bothered to flip through a book on occasion. Advanced Defensive Theory and upper-level Shield charms were sure to be useful, but the thought of voluntarily preparing for a class before it even started was antithetical to Ron's worldview.

Although he knew he should. Any time the Daily Prophet published another story about the famed "Golden Trio", his anxiety only increased. The invisible weight of expectation was suffocating, and while Harry seemed to be handling things well, Ron felt like he was collapsing under the pressure. All of magical Britain had a fantastical and inaccurate idea of the three of them, almost considering them superheroes for the work they did to rid the world of He Who Must Not Be Named. Hermione was worthy of the praise and then some, and Harry would probably live up to his name due to some godlike desire to shoulder burdens and do good in the world.

But Ron was a different story. He was the imposter of the bunch, and everyone who didn't know it already would work it out soon enough. He had been an average student at best, saddled with a low work ethic and even lower motivation. If Hermione hadn't bailed him out time and time again, he genuinely wondered if he would've passed all of his classes. School was only fun because his friends were there and he got to play Quidditch. Any learning that went on felt purely secondary. And yet at age eighteen, with only six years of formal education under his belt and a mountain of trauma in his past, he was expected to continue to fight the good fight against evil as one of the best candidates in recent memory.

It was all too much.

Maybe that was why Hermione had stopped writing to him after she left for Australia. Perhaps since he was done with school, they'd destroyed all the Horcruxes, and You Know Who had been finished off, she'd finally decided to be shot of him. No use tying herself to his sinking ship when she was destined for bigger and better things.

No. I need to stop doing this. I need to stop spiraling. It'll be fine. Harry will be there. We'll get through it together. And Hermione…well, we'll see.

As the minutes ticked by and his reunion with Hermione inched closer, Ron found it difficult to occupy himself. He tried reading his Defense Against the Dark Arts text for a little while, but his eyes merely skimmed the same paragraph over and over again. Quidditch magazines were slightly more exciting, but Ron's enthusiasm was dampened by the fact that the Cannons were as dreadful as ever, sitting plum last at the bottom of the table. His eyes eventually landed on Twelve Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches, and he thought about brushing up a bit before seeing Hermione again. But the book only reminded him of Fred, inflaming the lump that had taken up permanent residence in his throat since the battle.

It was a mercy, then, when Ginny knocked on his door again.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah, let's go," Ron said, following her down the staircase.

As they plucked a handful of Floo powder from the bucket, Mrs Weasley rounded the corner. "Say hello to Harry for me, dears!"

"We will, Mum," Ginny assured her as she stepped into the fireplace.

"And make sure he knows he's welcome any time!"

"We'll tell him…"

"And if he can't cook for himself, please tell him I can always send over some food for him. In fact, wait a moment, I'll send you over with–"

"Mum!" Ginny yelled. "It's fine! We'll tell him, but we have to go! Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

With a flash, she disappeared, leaving Ron and his mother standing alone in the living room. "I'll bring the food, Mum."

His mother's face lit up as she hustled back to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bag full of leftover Yorkshire puddings, chicken and ham pie, potatoes, and sweet buns.

"There's more where that came from if he likes," she said with a smile.

Ron nodded and took it from her, stepping into the fireplace and shouting his destination as green flames crowded his vision.

When his feet hit the ground again, the living room of Grimmauld Place came into view, as did the image of his sister's tongue invading Harry's mouth as they were locked in a tight embrace.

"Ugh, here, take this," he said, thrusting the food toward his friend. "My appetite's gone anyway."

"Oh, sorry, mate," Harry said, untangling himself from Ginny and accepting the care package. "We'll keep it to a minimum."

"We'll try, anyway," Ginny added with an off-putting wink.

"The food's from Mum, of course. She thinks you're starving to death."

Harry licked his lips as he picked through the bag. "I certainly won't turn it down. I just ordered takeaway tonight, hope that's okay."

"Fine with me."

"So," Ginny offered, flopping down on the sofa, "any word from the guest of honor?"

"Not yet, but she should be here any minute."

The vice squeezing Ron's stomach clamped tighter at the mention of her, and he must have grimaced. It prompted Harry to wave him toward the back of the house. "Help me put these away?"

"Sure," Ron replied, following him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

The space seemed brighter than it used to be. A fresh coat of paint was on the walls, and the stove and refrigerator were sparkling clean. Kreacher likely had something to do with it, and Ron guessed he was happy to help because of how nice Harry was to him.

"You okay?" Harry asked, making room between takeaway cartons for Mrs Weasley's food.

"Yeah, 'm fine."

"You canceled our study plans the other day. That makes three times in the last week and a half."

Ron rolled his eyes, not particularly interested in getting into the details with his suddenly overachieving best friend. "Yeah, just…I don't know, not in the mood, I guess."

"I see."

"Is that okay? I didn't realize we needed to study so much ahead of time."

"Ron," Harry stated, his tone serious as he closed the door to the refrigerator, "is this still what you want? The Aurors, I mean? I promise I won't be…offended or hurt if you decide you'd rather go another way. Or if you'd rather go back to school. I know we talked about doing the training program together, but we don't have to if it's not what you want."

"No, I do," Ron reassured him, only partially believing in his own conviction. "But it's still summer, and the program doesn't start for a couple of months. You want to do extra homework ahead of time? I'm sure there'll be plenty once we get there!"

"I know. But we never completed seventh year. We never sat NEWTs. I can't help but think we might be behind if we don't try to catch up a bit. I mean, all we were doing was–"

"Fighting our way through hordes of Death Eaters and defeating the most evil wizard in centuries?"

Harry chuckled, and Ron finally cracked a smile. "You know what I mean. I'm just saying it couldn't hurt, right?"

"I know, you're right. Besides, what else am I going to do with my life?"

"I mean, whatever you like…" Harry replied.

"Nah, Aurors will be great. Studying tomorrow, okay? I promise."

Still clearly not convinced, Harry agreed. "Sounds good. Now. Hermione."

Turning away from his friend, Ron groaned. Why did Harry have to keep butting into their business? Hadn't he done enough of that at school?

"What about her?"

Harry's eyes roamed the room, clearly feeling just as awkward as Ron was. "Are you two alright?"

It was a loaded question. So much had happened over the last month or so, Ron truly had no idea where they stood. "I think so."

"You think?"

The weight on Ron's body pressed down harder, caving his frame inward as his shoulders sagged. "I don't know. She just…oi, did she write you while she was in Australia?"

"Yeah, course she did."

"A lot?"

"I mean," Harry stammered, "a few times, I guess."

Ron sighed, nodding his head with a glum expression. "Yeah, I figured."

"She didn't…"

"Once. Briefly. That was it."

"Hmm," Harry continued as he tapped his chin. "Well, I wouldn't read too much into it if I were you. She was all over the place, and it must have been a really stressful time for her."

"So she turned to you and Ginny instead of me," Ron asserted. "You know, maybe I should just leave, I don't know–"

A whooshing sound from upstairs interrupted his train of thought, followed by excited squeals from his sister and the thuds of someone jumping up and down.

"Stay," Harry said. "At least for a little while, okay?"

With a deep breath, Ron nodded, following Harry as he climbed back toward the living room. As soon as Harry turned the corner, he greeted their new guest, releasing her from a hug just as Ron reached the top of the staircase.

The caramel in her irises found him instantly, her face glowing with the fading green flames from the fireplace. She smiled at him, but her gaze told a different story. There were bags under her eyes, and her typical upbeat demeanor was absent. She was tired and subdued, and if anything, she seemed thinner than when they'd returned from their year on the run, a sure sign that she wasn't eating enough. As she took a step toward him, even her gait seemed more frail and tender than usual.

When Ron's brain put all the pieces together, it painted a picture of despair and loneliness that shattered his heart. Despite the recent confusion about where they stood with each other, the uncertainty and unspoken emotions, all he wanted to do was run to her, wrap her in the tightest hug he could imagine, and never let go. He didn't want to misread the situation, but it was so plain to him that it almost felt as though he had no other choice. She meant too much to him, and all of his caring feelings rushed back to him and pushed away any hint of skepticism when he saw her experiencing pain.

Before she could reach him, he took two large steps forward, catching her as she fell forward into his arms and melted into his chest. His hands wrapped all the way around her shoulders, brushing over the skin of her upper arm just below the sleeve of her t-shirt. He could easily feel bone under her deteriorated muscle, and his worry for her well-being only increased.

"It's good to see you," he whispered.

"You too," came her response, quiet and timid.

She exhaled, her breath warm through the thin fabric of his Cannons shirt. It worried him that she wasn't saying much, although with Hermione, he'd learned through the years that actions spoke louder than words. Right when he started to release her, she tightened her grip on his midsection, pulling him back toward her as if she were scared to let go. Another surge of affection and empathy shot through him, and he stepped closer to her, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"Gin, help me heat up the takeaway?" Harry asked, and the two of them quietly headed back downstairs, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in front of the fireplace.

As soon as they were gone, though, the rational side of Ron's mind kicked back in, reminding him that Hermione was just a friend, and the hug they were sharing had lasted far longer than one between friends typically did. They weren't just friends, of course; they'd really never been just friends as far as he could remember. Still, he pulled back, making sure to avoid any unnecessary contact with her just to be safe.

For a moment, it seemed as though a hint of disappointment flashed across her face, but Ron quickly convinced himself that he was just seeing what he wanted to see. In the blink of an eye, her fatigued expression returned, and she looked as weary as ever.

"Erm, right. Good, uhh, good trip?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation as mundane as possible.

"Yes, it was fine," she answered.

"Good, that's good. So…dinner, yeah?"

Hermione's eyes snapped shut, her lower lip quivering for a moment.

Is she about to cry? Have I gone and fucked myself already? Merlin, I manage to bollocks up everything!

After taking a deep breath, she looked back at him with a curt nod. "Yes, let's eat."