A/N: Thanks to everyone following this fic - I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

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When Ron's eyelids peeled open the following morning, the sunlight shining through his bedroom window seemed a little brighter. Talking with Hermione the previous night had done wonders for his mood, and he was finally starting to feel more like himself. Who knew whether it meant anything for the future Ron hoped they could share together, but it had been a good start. And easy. The way they'd fallen immediately back into supporting each other was inspiring.

Instead of wallowing in bed for hours and only dragging himself down the stairs when his stomach wouldn't stop grumbling at him, he pulled himself up immediately, brushing his teeth before heading to breakfast. Mrs Weasley was already hard at work, pans of eggs and bacon splattering away on the stovetop. Most days since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had grabbed a quick plate of food and snuck right back up to his room. Buoyed by the encouraging developments at Grimmauld Place, though, he sat down at the table after giving his mum a peck on the cheek.

"What was that for?" she asked with a bewildered smile.

He shrugged, stuffing a slab of bacon into his mouth. "Can't a guy thank his mum for a great breakfast?"

"He can, but he typically doesn't…"

"Well, perhaps he realized that he should more often."

Shuffling alongside him, she pulled him into her side for a hug. "Thank you, Ronald. It's not necessary, but it's still nice to hear."

After sliding a few more eggs onto Ron's plate, his mother sat down next to him, picking at a slice of toast. "Did you have fun at Harry's last night, dear?"

"Yeah, we did."

"I'm sure it was nice to see Hermione again."

Her innuendo didn't slip by unnoticed, but he did his best to react casually. The needling from Harry and Ginny about his up-and-down relationship with Hermione was annoying enough, he didn't need his mother piling on as well. "Yeah, it was."

"I was so happy to hear she'd found her parents and set things right again. Poor dear, must have been frightening…and so lonely."

Ron tried to push away the memories of the tears dripping down Hermione's cheek as she confessed to the exact emotions his mother had guessed. "It wasn't easy for her."

"Well, now they're all back. The whole family together again. How nice for them."

It was the kind of innocent statement that would usually be completely sincere. As Ron peeked over at his mother, though, he could see the sadness in her eyes. He was sure that she was genuinely happy for Hermione, but her success only served as another reminder that their family would never be together again. Not entirely. Not ever.

The tines of Ron's fork scraped against the plate as he scooped up some eggs, breaking through the otherwise quiet room. Uncomfortable silences had been common over the last several weeks, and even as they started to heal, it was clear how much Fred was still on everyone's mind around the house. His mother's eyes looked misty, and she stood up and stepped over to the sink, abandoning her barely-eaten toast to start cleaning the dishes.

Her back was still facing him when she spoke again. "I wonder whether seeing her again last night has anything to do with your better mood this morning?"

"Mum…" he groaned. How did she always know?

"Oh, stop it, Ron. You two may be a mystery to each other, but you seem to forget I've known you for years. I've been watching you grow up for years. You had an obvious tell when you'd nicked a biscuit from the jar as a child, and you have the same obvious tell now."

Realizing that he may never be able to get anything past his mother, his head dropped toward his plate, and he shoveled in another forkful of eggs. "I probably just got a better night's sleep, that's all."

"I see," she replied, clearly seeing through his lies. "Well, do you think you'll be seeing Harry and Hermione again today?"

"Oh. Well, Hermione has a lot to do to help her family, but Harry and I might do some studying."

"That sounds lovely, dear. He can come over any time he likes, you know. More than welcome to stay for dinner as well."

"Maybe. I'll see what he wants to do."

"One quick favor, though. I was hoping you could degnome the garden if you have time," Mrs Weasley said, pointing out the window just above the kitchen sink.

Ron caught a glimpse of a gnome scampering away with a large carrot in his hands and sighed. "Yeah, sure, I can do that."

"Thank you, Ronald. Merlin knows the little beasts have no respect for all the hard work I put in!"

"No problem."

After eating a slice of toast in two bites, he stood up from the table and padded over to the door, stepping into his trainers and out the back door. As soon as he stepped into the garden, a few gnomes scattered, abandoning the vegetables they were trying to steal and heading for cover. Ron grabbed a pair of work gloves from the shed and started the search. It was much easier than when he was younger; the strength he'd built up over years of Quidditch meant he could toss them over the wall one-handed if he needed to.

He'd cleared a dozen or so when a shimmering light appeared on the horizon. It was dashing toward him, and as it approached, he recognized it as a Patronus. At first, he assumed it was Harry asking about study plans, but the animal running in his direction was smaller than a stag. His heart leapt into his throat as he recognized the smooth, gliding motion of Hermione's otter before it stopped in front of him.

"Hi, Ron." Hermione's voice came from the animal loud and clear. "I know I said it might be a few days before we could find time to talk, but…well, I've barely seen you in weeks; I miss talking to you, and I don't want to wait that long. Do you think you'd have time tomorrow evening? Let me know."

Excitement practically had Ron jumping into the air as he dug into his pocket to find his wand. She missed talking to him. She didn't want to wait too long to talk again. It was the best news he could've hoped for, and he didn't even have to think about his answer.

Casting Expecto Patronum, he spoke to the terrier that burst from the tip of his wand. "Tomorrow evening is perfect. You can come to the Burrow after dinner. Or before dinner. Or…well, whenever you like, really; I'll be here."

The dog romped off over the hills in the general direction of London, and Ron smiled as he watched it go.

Thirty-six hours never moved so slowly in his life, and by the time he'd finished his third helping of cottage pie, Ron couldn't stop glancing out the window. His ears were perked up, listening for the characteristic pop of an apparition or the whoosh of a Floo arrival. Studying with Harry the past two afternoons had worn him out, but his energy level had shot back up in anticipation of Hermione's visit. They hadn't really talked in weeks, but Ron wasn't worried. He could always talk to her. Either way, she'd said she was looking forward to visiting him, which had raised his spirits more than anything else ever could.

Despite his anticipation, though, their status wasn't much clearer than it had been before she'd left for Australia. Were they friends? More than friends? It didn't seem likely that they were dating; someone would've had to say something a bit more formal for that to be the case. But the way she had accepted his comfort at Grimmauld had to mean something, and while he had no idea how to broach the subject, he felt that they might finally be able to gain some clarity.

The dinner table was quiet as he excused himself, each member of his family gazing into their pie with thousand-yard stares. He knew exactly what they were thinking about; he'd been thinking about Fred earlier in the day too, especially when he and Harry had studied shield charms. While images of his departed brother still popped into his head frequently, he realized that he hadn't thought about him as much since the dinner at Harry's. It was probably for the best, even if he did feel a little guilty about it as well, as though he was letting Fred's memory slip away from him.

While he waited, he examined the chess board in the living room, rearranging the pieces. The king in particular didn't appreciate his fidgeting, poking him with the blunted end of his rapier when Ron tried to adjust his position. With a chuckle, Ron held up a hand in apology and stepped back, examining the set. It was a family heirloom and had been in the same place in the Burrow for as long as he could remember. Given his propensity for the game, his mother had promised it to him once he was married and living on his own.

Maybe someday Hermione and I will play on a dreary Sunday morning, still in our pajamas with messy hair and bad breath. We'd each have a cup of tea and a morning bun, and she'd have that look of concentration on her face, the one where her forehead creases and her nose wrinkles. She'd look so beautiful…

As the girl he loved invaded his brain, a faint pop sounded.

"Ronald," his mother called from the kitchen. "I believe you have company in the garden."

Dashing through the house, he slipped into his shoes and flew out the back, his eyes landing on a small figure approaching the property. As soon as she heard the door close, she looked up, a smile on her face when she caught sight of him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting dinner," she said as she stopped in the grass and allowed him to come to her.

He shook his head with a snicker. "No, just finished. Good timing."

"I wouldn't want to get between you and your mother's cooking," she teased, scooping up his hand in hers and starting toward the pond.

The feeling of her fingers intertwined with his never failed to thrill him, and he couldn't keep his lopsided grin to himself, allowing her to catch a glimpse of his happiness. Nothing in the world could make him feel like she did, and even though his entire life felt like it was shrouded in mystery and pessimism, she felt right. She always felt right.

"So," he offered, swinging their arms as they sauntered down the worn dirt path, "how are things going at home?"

"They're getting a little better," she said with a wistful expression. "I went with my parents to their old office this morning. It's actually still in good shape; they should be back up and running in a few weeks."

"That sounds good…"

"Whether the patients return is another matter, but I suppose we'll have to just wait and see."

A pack of doxies was swarming through Ron's stomach as he posed his questions. He meant it when he said he would do anything he could to help, but the situation was always going to be delicate. It was important to him that Hermione knew he was interested in her life, though, so he pushed on. "And…at home?"

Hermione shrugged, her long gaze aimed at the dying pink and orange sky in the distance. "I don't know. They're saying all the right things, I suppose. They're being supportive. But I just…I don't know if I believe them. It sounds horrible, I know, but I can't help but think they're still mad at me. And then I wonder if every word out of their mouths is only…only half the truth or something."

"I'm sure that's not the case."

"You're probably right, but…ugh, it's just so stressful."

Summoning his courage, he dropped her hand and slid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side as they kept walking toward the scent of algae in the pond. "Is there anything I can do?"

"That's sweet," she answered, stray locks tickling his jaw as her head landed against his upper arm. "Being here helps. Maybe I'm just trying to avoid my problems, but it also reminds me of happier times."

A surge of giddiness shot through him, making him feel temporarily lighter than air. "The holidays were always fun here, weren't they?"

"Yeah, they were. I still remember all the splashing," she said as they arrived at the pond. Small concentric ripples emanated randomly over the surface as insects landed on the water, occasionally being snatched by a waiting fish. "What was that game called again?"

"Oh, Aqua-Quidditch?" He laughed as the images of bygone summer days flooded his consciousness. "Yeah, we had some good matches over the years."

"That's right. Things got pretty intense at times. That's why I stayed on the shore."

"Well, I guess it always depended on who was playing. Any time we let the twins on a team together…"

He trailed off, losing his train of thought as his mind fogged over with grief. His eyes lost focus staring at the water, and he barely registered Hermione repeating his name right next to him. The next thing he knew, she was pulling him down to sit next to her by the big oak tree, its leaves shading them from the fading summer sun. His head swiveled back to her as she placed a hand on his cheek, and the worry in her caramel eyes snapped him out of his trance.

"I'm sure it'll take some time before it gets better," she said.

"Yeah." He nodded. "You're probably right."

"And I'm sure it's the same for your family, too."

His blood pressure started to rise as he thought about Ginny hanging all over Harry at dinner. "Well, for some of us at least."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Ginny," Ron growled.

"Hmm. I could tell you two weren't getting on that well at Grimmauld, but I didn't know the whole story…"

Pushing himself off the trunk of the tree, he jumped to his feet, pacing under the branches as he rattled off his complaints. "She's basically acting like everything's fine. Better than fine, actually. She and Harry are happy as can be, and bollocks to the rest of us who are still suffering every day. It seems like she doesn't even care that he's gone, like life just moved right on to the happy ending.

"And if it just bothered me, then whatever, I could handle it, yeah? She's been bothering me my whole life. But then I think about Mum and Dad…and George…and it's just…it's not okay. It's insulting to the family and it's insulting to his memory."

It was only when Hermione took his arm in her hands that he started breathing again. He hadn't realized how much frustration he'd been keeping bottled up, and while it felt good to let it out, he was worried that he'd scare Hermione away. But she didn't go anywhere, instead running her finger up and down his arm, finding the supremely relaxing zone just shy of tickling.

"I'm sure she's suffering too," she said softly.

"I know," he eventually replied with a sigh. "And it's not like I want her to be sad. But…she should show it sometimes. Or at least not make it seem like she's always in a fantastic mood in front of Mum."

"Ginny's always been careful about showing any outward weakness. Probably because she grew up with nothing but you rough-and-tumble boys. Underneath it all, I'd bet she's experiencing all the same emotions you are, just keeping them to herself."

"I guess."

"It's true. If I were you, I'd just give her some space. She may never want to talk about it with you or with anyone, but that's her choice. And that's okay."

Seconds ticked by as he thought about her response. One of the things he loved about Hermione was the way she was always able to help him reason through his problems. Something about talking with her always seemed to put things in a better perspective.

While she seemed to have answers for his frustration with his family, though, his biggest questions remained unanswered. Unasked as well, of course. Even though they'd fallen back into an encouraging rhythm, he still couldn't be sure what she thought about the two of them as a pair. Things had been so awkward and stilted before she left for Australia that even her warm reception a couple nights ago couldn't completely make up for the uncertainty he still felt in his heart.

But she's talking to you. She's trusting you with her deepest feelings, and she's turning to you for help and comfort. That has to be a good sign. Go for it. No time like the present.

"So," he ventured, dipping a toe into the proverbial pond as he turned to meet her gaze. "Why didn't you write? You wrote to Harry and Ginny, but barely to me."

Her lips pulled into a thin line, re-examining the surface of the water as she exhaled a long breath. "In Australia, you mean?"

"Yeah. If–if it's okay that we talk about it, that is."

"No, it is; of course it is. We probably should've talked sooner."

"Never been our strong point, yeah?"

"I guess not," she answered with a snicker.

She closed her mouth, eyes darting over the landscape as she fell deep into thought. It was a look Ron recognized well, although he was more used to seeing it while sitting across from her in the Common Room with matching essays in front of them.

Finally, she spoke with a slow, deliberate cadence. "I think…I think I was just so worried about…interfering with your grief. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was trying to–to force you to move on. To force you to move past a terrible and grim ordeal before you were ready."

"You weren't forcing anything."

"Only because I was trying so hard to step back and give you the space you seemed to need. You were so closed off–which, don't get me wrong, was fine. I wanted to be there for you as much or as little as you liked."

She paused, letting the words sink in. He should've known she was only trying to do what was best for him. Why it hadn't been his first thought was beyond him, and he privately scolded himself for not giving her the benefit of the doubt at the time.

"But as much as I wanted to be there for you and hold off on anything else," she continued, "I couldn't forget about my family. I'd made a promise to myself that I'd retrieve them as soon as possible, and I was starting to drive myself crazy sitting around and wondering about them…where they were, how I would start my search, whether I'd ever be able to–"

The more she said, the worse Ron felt. He had been selfish and demanding all while simultaneously keeping her at arm's length because he…what? Didn't want her to see him cry? Didn't feel comfortable sharing his sorrow with her? Not exactly Gryffindor-like behavior.

No wonder she hadn't reached out to him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. Guess I didn't realize that I'd put you in a tough position at the time."

"It's not your fault," she replied, dropping her head on his shoulder. "I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself, either. Besides, I'm honestly not sure having you or Harry or Ginny with me would've been helpful for the trip. I think–in retrospect, I think I needed to do it on my own."

Much to his surprise, Ron found he understood her position. She needed to rebuild her family independently of her Hogwarts family the same way he needed to come to grips with his new family dynamic on his own. He smiled at her, and she grinned back, tightening her grip on him.

"Still," she said, "I should've written more. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time by just keeping Harry and Ginny informed, but now I realize I probably just made things worse."

Ron shook his head. "No, you didn't."

"Just…please understand that I never meant to leave you out. Especially you…"

Their eyes locked, the evening breeze blowing her hair across her face. The hazel specks in her irises dazzled in the hazy evening glow, and her tongue swiped across her lower lip, attracting his gaze for a split second. She looked so beautiful, and his mind fast-forwarded to the life he often dreamed about, the one they shared together. The one where she'd look at him the same way across their shared pillow in the morning.

Just when he wondered if she might be leaning closer, though, he turned away, unable to shake his lingering insecurities. Perhaps it was just that she needed solace from her turbulent relationship with her family. Or maybe that she missed the life they used to have back at Hogwarts, back before everything got so complicated. Or–Merlin's beard, what if it was all pity?

The disappointment was noticeable on her face as she pulled away, making him second-guess himself immediately. She made for the pond, crossing her arms over her chest and picking at a loose thread of her t-shirt sleeve. Swirling doubt crashed into hope and paranoia and anticipation inside of him, the contrasting forces threatening to rip him apart if he couldn't wrap his head around the dilemma soon.

What's wrong with me? I was so excited to see her, and now I'm just cocking it all up!

"Ron?" she asked, stopping mere inches from the shallow water. "Are we okay?"

"What do you mean? Of course we are," he responded, stepping over tree roots on his way down to meet her.

Her eyes were pleading with him, begging for the truth. "Really?"

Part of him, the more trusting part, wanted to lay out his entire mindset, warts and all. Admit to her that he'd loved her for years and wanted nothing more than to prevent all of her suffering. Admit that she meant more to him than anyone else in the world. Admit that his life would never be complete without her in it.

So why couldn't he just say the bloody words?

"Really. Everything is just so…barmy right now, yeah?"

Determination flashed across her features as her hands lifted to his cheeks, framing his face and forcing him to meet her intense stare. "Ron. Please. What's happening? One second you're being the sweetest, strongest man I've ever met and filling me with optimism I can't seem to find anywhere else. But the next, you're…you're closing off and shutting down and making me wonder i–if I have everything all wrong."

"Hermione, you have no ide–"

"And if you need more time," she interrupted, tears welling in her eyes, "then just say so. I'll give you as much as you need, and I'll be there as often as you like. If you need space…well, I want to know that too. But please. Please be honest with me."

Time stopped, and the long shadows of the distant trees extinguished into the night as the sun finally dropped below the horizon. As Ron peered into her eyes, he recalled the same expression staring back at him during those nights at Shell Cottage, the nights after she'd been tortured to the brink of death. His teeth clenched tightly together, grinding against themselves at the thought.

They'd made it out. And once they'd been back together again, recovering together, rebuilding each other together, he knew. He knew just how far he would go to save her because he'd done it. He knew just how important she was to him because he'd almost lost her. And he knew that her affection and appreciation were genuine when she'd looked at him in the night as he sat vigil by the head of her bed, telling her stories of happier days so she wouldn't fall asleep with nightmares in her head.

Once again, her eyes were beset with the same emotion as they had been on those cool spring evenings near the Cornwall coastline. And once again, he knew.

"I don't need more time. I need you."

Tears leaked from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, and as her smile widened, the rivulets were diverted to the corners of her mouth. Her lips parted as she beamed at him, launching herself forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Ron returned the action, clasping his hands over the small of her back and leaning down to rest his cheek on her shoulder. She was warm against his body, and he wished he never had to move again.

"I need you too," she whispered in his ear, fingers deftly twisting themselves through his hair. "So much."

His face was likely beet red, but he didn't care. Throughout the last several years, he'd been dying to say those words to her, and it felt so good to have them off his chest. Even better, though, was the knowledge that she felt the same way. After so many unsure moments, back and forths, never knowing whether his love would go unrequited, the joy coursing through his veins had no equal that he'd experienced before.

He breathed her in and out, savoring every hint of her rosemary and citrus scent as he allowed himself to experience her with as many senses as possible. The feel of her body under his fingertips, the sound of her deep, satisfied breaths, the steely resolve in her eyes when she finally released him. And although he couldn't taste her yet, something told him it would be worth the wait.

Maintaining a grip on her hands, Ron pulled her gently as they started moseying along the bank of the pond again. "So I guess…we're okay?"

An adorable chuckle complimented her demure blush. "I guess we are."

"Why did that seem so difficult before? Do you know how many times I've wanted to say that to you?"

"Not half as many times as I wanted to say it to you, I suspect."

"I'd take that bet."

"Really? In case you forgot," she explained, becoming more animated by the second, "we did kiss each other not that long ago. It's not as though I just forgot about it."

Ron wagged a playful finger in her direction. "Technically, I think you kissed me."

"And yet I don't recall you complaining about it."

"Oh, I definitely wasn't complaining. It was…brilliant."

"I agree. So brilliant that I wonder…" She paused, stepping in front of him and compelling him to stop in his tracks. "I wonder whether it deserves an encore."

"You think?" he asked playfully.

She only nodded for a second as she leaned in, her soft lips brushing against his. For the second time in his life, he allowed the best feeling in the world to wash over him. It was pure, unbridled joy and excitement, and unlike the last time it happened, it felt like it could go on forever.

Her hands reached up, cradling his face, fingers tangling in his hair. As soon as he pulled her closer, her lips parted, tongue snaking into his mouth and tussling with his own. He thought she was pulling away for a moment, but a moment later she adjusted her head and crushed back into him at a different angle, opening up a new layer of the experience.

And just as he suspected, she tasted delicious.

Minutes passed before they finally broke apart, a dopey grin permanently plastered across Ron's face.

"Still brilliant," he said, giggling along with her.

She grabbed his hand in hers and pulled him along the trail. "I'd say so."

"I hope that's not the last encore."

"Oh no. In fact, I think the show's only just begun."

His smile spread even wider, matching hers as they ducked under a low branch, its drooping leaves tickling the back of Ron's neck.

"I am sorry, though," she said. "Sorry it took me so long to–to say something or do something or…something."

"All's well that ends well, right?"

"Right."

"And…well, I guess I'm just curious," he started, somehow still nervous about his next question. "Do you–I mean, would you say you're…Hermione, would you like to be my girlfriend?"

In the pale, early moonlight, her cheeks reddened as blood rushed in, and one corner of her mouth curled upward. She shook her head, the same way she always used to when he'd asked her for help he already knew she'd be happy to provide. Ron released the breath he had been holding, already knowing what she'd say.

"I'd love that."

"Really?"

"Yes, really! Of course! It's about time!"

A rush of ecstasy shot through his body, and in his excitement, he reached down and swept her off of her feet. She let out a cheerful shriek as he carried her in both arms back to the big oak tree, the place they'd spent so many summer days back when the world was simpler. Leaning her back against the trunk, he ducked his head down and kissed her again. For her part, she rose up as high as she could, pressing her lips against his with a firm yet tender fervor as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He couldn't get enough of her, and for the first time in his life, he was sure the feeling was mutual.

Slowly, he lowered her back down to her feet, their mouths remaining connected the whole time. He suspected she'd pull away once she was on solid ground again, but instead, she pressed her body against his, flipping him around and pinning his back against the rough and scratchy bark. They'd never shared so much contact and friction before, and his delirium only soared higher as the passionate snog showed no signs of slowing.

Eventually, though, oxygen became a requirement, and they broke apart. The timid, unsure expression of affection had morphed into a determined stare, Hermione's eyes indicating in no uncertain terms that the only thing she wanted was him. And while he would've liked nothing more than to kiss her until the sun came up, he forced himself to take a minute and appreciate the magnitude of the moment. Everything that had gone right and wrong along their twisting journey to each other had been worth it. It deserved a celebration.

"I like…this. I like you being here," he said, running a finger down her soft cheek.

She smiled, picking up his hand in hers. "I'm really glad you asked me to come."

"Come back again tomorrow?"

"If you keep snogging me like that, I'll come back every night."

Ron had to restrict his mind from picturing the more mature implications of her statement, instead breaking into a lopsided grin and chuckling to himself. "It's a deal."

"Although I hope you're not implying that I have to go home yet…"

"Oh no," he quickly answered. "Not at all. Stay, erm, you can stay as long as you like."

"Good," she replied, flattening herself against his body again and sweeping his hair out of his eyes. "Because you can't kiss me like that for a minute or two and expect me not to want more."

Just before her lips found his again, he managed to squeak out, "More's good."