A/N: Thanks to everyone keeping up with this story! Keep the feedback coming if you have it!

"Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven?"

"Check."

"Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Check."

"Advanced Rune Translation?"

"Check."

"Extra quill for when the first seventeen snap in half from writing sappy love letters to my git of a brother?"

Hermione's cadence was thrown off pace as her shoulder slumped and she glared up at Ginny across the auburn-haired girl's bedroom floor. The younger girl was trying and failing to stifle her own cackling, growing increasingly confident in her own unique brand of comedy. "I have plenty of quills, thank you."

"Just checking," Ginny replied. "Wouldn't want you to go one day without reminding Ron how pretty his eyes are or something."

Opening her mouth to respond, Hermione quickly thought better of it, slamming it shut again and keeping her opinions to herself. She could easily throw Harry back in Ginny's face, knowing for certain that the two of them would keep up an equally nauseating flow of letters. She could also remind Ginny just how much they'd be needing the support of their respective boyfriends going into such a challenging academic year.

But before it even arrived, the fight left her body, and she turned her attention back to the piles of books, clothes, and school supplies scattered over the threadbare woven rug. "Are you sure you don't want to bring last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts book? Just for reference."

Ginny shook her head, tucking a Quidditch broom repair kit in next to her robes. "I'll be fine. Besides, last year was barely educational. I can't imagine the book being that useful given that it was assigned by the Carrows."

"Good point."

The pair continued in silence for several moments, sorting through their possessions to decide what would make the packing list and what would be left at home. Easy conversation was usually a given with Ginny, but both of the girls were feeling the stress of school approaching. The Hogwarts Express would be leaving in just under forty-eight hours, and Hermione was sure that neither of them felt good about leaving Ron and Harry behind. Going to school without them just felt wrong, and while she was glad to be sharing a dorm with Ginny instead of Lavender and Parvati for a change, it was destined to be a very strange year.

All of that would be manageable if it wasn't for the uneasiness she felt about her relationship with Ron. The dinner at her parents' house ten days prior proved to be an inflection point of sorts. They'd still been spending plenty of time together, but Ron simply wasn't himself. He was much quieter than before, he seemed far less confident, and most concerningly, his tendency toward self-loathing was returning more and more each day.

Hermione had tried to talk with him on numerous occasions, but he kept denying anything was wrong. No matter how much he tried to convince her otherwise, however, it was as plain as day. Ron refusing to discuss his emotions wasn't a new concept, but the way he spoke about the upcoming year had definitely changed.

Auror training had always made him nervous, and on more than one occasion, Hermione wasn't sure whether his whole heart was in it. But lately, not only did he not seem excited, he seemed convinced that he would fail. At one point when they'd been studying together, he'd slammed his book shut and dropped his head to the table, stating that the Aurors would be better off without him.

Doing her best to reassure him that he deserved his place was becoming exhausting, but Hermione soldiered on, providing him all the reassurance she thought he needed. That, unfortunately, led to him spending more and more time alone or with Harry, as though he'd rather miss out on some of their last precious time together because he couldn't handle her encouragement. It was all quite dispiriting, especially given that she'd be leaving so soon. More often than not, Hermione had ended up crying herself to sleep, unsure what it all meant for their precarious new relationship.

As if reading her mind, Ginny leaned forward and placed a hand on Hermione's knee, which was shaking of its own accord. "Are you sure you're alright?"

The question shouldn't have surprised Hermione; Ginny had been asking it frequently over the last few weeks. She was perceptive, there was no doubt about it. It was growing tiring constantly dodging it, so occasionally she had let Ginny in on what was going through her mind. But sometimes she just needed to keep it to herself, conscious of the fact that her concerns would be difficult for Ron's sister in particular to understand.

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione replied, papering a smile over her anxious expression.

"Okay, what did he do?"

"Who?"

"Who?! Grindelwald," her friend deadpanned. "Ron, of course! What's he done to muck it up now?"

"He hasn't done anything."

Oh no. I gave away too much.

Ginny's eyes lit up as she sensed the opening. "Okay then, what hasn't he done?"

"No, it's not like that," Hermione responded, shaking her head. "It's just…well, don't you worry about being back at school and away from Harry?"

"Not really, no. He's pretty famous, but everyone knows that if they make a pass at him, I'll kick their–"

"No, not like that! I'm not worried that Ron would cheat on me or anything. I'm worried about…I guess I'm worried about how it's going to work. Ron and I have only been together for a month or two. We haven't even figured out our relationship when we're in the same place and together all the time. Now we have to be long-distance for at least ten months? It feels daunting."

"First of all," Ginny said, setting down her books and focusing her full attention on Hermione, "you've been together for like three years, it's just that neither of you realized it."

"Didn't feel like we were together when he was with Lavender."

"You know what I mean. You know each other better than any two people I've ever met, besides maybe Mum and Dad."

"But we've always been in the same place. Quite literally, almost always. Maybe it's just the proximity. I'm worried that once we aren't…I don't know, things will change."

Ginny shrugged, seemingly unfazed. Her indifference should have been comforting, but instead, Hermione felt as though Ginny knew something that she didn't. It almost seemed to her like there was some secret that Ginny and Harry had figured out. Were they truly that confident that they had no worries going into a prolonged physical separation?

"I doubt it. It's been obvious for years that Ron was crazy about you. I can't see why he would just stop caring all of a sudden. You finding someone better I'd understand, but not Ron. You're way out of his league as it is."

A small chuckle escaped Hermione's lips, but it was tinged with sadness. Everyone thought so much of her because she'd always done well in school. But while she was excited to go back to Hogwarts and finish her education, that was no guarantee that she'd excel in the real world. And what might it cost her in the meantime?

"I don't think you give him enough credit. Nobody does, really. He's an amazing person, and I wouldn't be who I am without him."

"That was almost adorable until I remembered who you were talking about."

"Ginny!'

"Okay, okay," Ginny replied, holding her hands up in surrender. "He's got some good qualities, I'll give you that."

"Thank you."

"Anyway, I can't help but think you're talking to the wrong person about all of this. I'm happy to help, of course, and even though he's my brother, I hope you still feel like you can talk to me about this if it's bothering you while we're back at school. You'll be the best friend I have there."

"You too," Hermione agreed with a kind smile. "And thank you. It might be strange for me to hear about you and Harry, but you can always talk to me about that too. Even though I think of him much like a brother as well, we'll be there for each other."

"Agreed. But still, there are some things only the two of you can solve, yeah?"

"I know. I kept putting it off and putting it off and now…well, now it almost feels like it's too late."

"It's not. We don't leave for two days. Besides, honesty is always best in these situations. Do you remember when Harry broke up with me at the end of my fifth year?"

Memories of the difficult time rushed through Hermione's head. Some of them were more repressed than others, but she remembered the awkward train ride back to Kings Cross like it was yesterday. "I do."

"As hard as it was, it would've been way worse if he'd lied to me about everything. He didn't hide from it or pretend it wasn't happening, and I appreciated him for that. I think you and Ron owe yourselves the same thing."

"You're probably right," Hermione said, knowing her friend's words were true. "Easier said than done, though."

"Maybe so. But no time like the present. Isn't he cooking for you tonight or some madness like that?"

"He is. And I think it's sweet."

"So long as you don't wind up food-poisoned and puking into the toilet."

Both girls chuckled, but Hermione did her best to pull out of it for the sake of saving Ron's honor. "I'm sure he'll do well. Your mother must've taught him something over the years."

"We'll see. But I think it would be a good time to talk…really talk."

Hermione didn't say anything, but she nodded in agreement. It would likely take her the rest of the day to psyche herself up for the conversation, but Ginny was right. There was no point in delaying.

"Now, back to the task at hand. Puking Pastilles…bring them or not?"

"Ginny! You know I'm going to be Head Girl!"

"Good point. I'm sure you'll need a break from time to time. I'll bring them."

By the time evening rolled around, Hermione's trunk was fully packed and ready to go. She stepped into the fireplace at the Burrow, throwing down her powder and shouting, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

A few moments later, she emerged in an ornate stone fireplace with brass detailing around the outside, climbing out and dusting herself off as she called out for her boyfriend.

"Ron? Ron, are you here?"

The sound of thumping footsteps echoed from below her as he hustled up the stairs, peeking his head around the corner with a wooden spoon in his hand. "Down here," he called before dashing back downstairs.

Hermione shook off his lack of a welcome and followed him into the basement kitchens, winding her way through the familiar narrow hallways. The two boys had changed some of the decor since they'd moved in, adding Quidditch posters as well as a large portrait of Dumbledore, lovingly placed in the main entryway as a tribute to their fallen headmaster. Most of the home, however, still looked the same as it did when they'd spent summers and holidays there and when the three of them had hidden out in the home while searching for Horcruxes.

Emerging into the dimly lit kitchen, she immediately sensed the tension in the room. Ron was hurtling from pot to pot, stirring crazily and adding spices indiscriminately to his creations. Figuring it best to stay out of the way, she sat down at the end of the long dinner table, running her fingers over the splits in wood that had formed over decades.

"How's it coming?" she asked.

"Uhh, well, I'm getting there. Didn't think it would be this hard without magic…"

"Are you doing all of this without magic?"

"Trying to, at least."

"Ron, you don't have to do that. You're a wizard who's old enough to use magic whenever you like. I'm surprised you wouldn't take advantage."

"Muggles do it this way," he spat, furrowing his brow over a particularly stubborn saucepan. "Besides, it's not like I can only do things right with magic, you know."

"I never said that you couldn't."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just saying."

"Just saying what? You don't have anything to prove, Ron…"

"Well, I feel like I kind of–ugh, bloody cream sauce is burning. Just–tell you what, let me focus on this now, okay?"

'You kind of' what? Just say something!

Folding her arms over her chest, Hermione turned away from the stoves, seething with frustration. Why was he being so argumentative? So aloof? She understood that both of them were hurting with their separation being so imminent, but it seemed as though his response was to be as irritating as possible in the lead-up. Perhaps it was all part of a grand plan to make it hurt less when she did leave. Perhaps he was struggling with his feelings and didn't know how to properly verbalize things.

Or perhaps he was just being an arse.

The real answer, which Hermione knew but perhaps didn't want to admit to herself, was that his demeanor had changed the most after their dinner with her parents. It didn't take a detective to notice that he had been uncomfortable while he was there, and a lot of elements of Muggle life seemed to confuse or even scare him. But he knew going in that she had grown up differently from him and that things were different for Muggles and different in Muggle households.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she hadn't prepared him well enough or told him enough about what the world was like for her before she found out she was a witch. After all, meeting your girlfriend's parents can be stressful enough without having to worry about a completely different culture and lifestyle. But truthfully, after he'd left, her parents had said they really liked him and were thrilled to have met him. They hadn't held his knowledge gaps against him at all. A few days later, Hermione had told him as much, but it didn't seem to make any difference. It seemed like he was determined to be upset no matter what.

Over the next several minutes, he was silent, biting his lip and cursing under his breath as he combined all the elements into one dish, which he eventually placed in the oven before crashing down into a seat next to her.

"Sorry," he apologized, wiping sweat from his brow with a dish towel. "It always looks easier when Mum does it."

"She probably uses magic…you know, because she's a witch."

"Yeah, I know, but I just thought…I dunno, I thought it would be better."

"Ron," she started after a pause. "Is this whole cooking without magic thing about that night at my parent's house? Because I told you, it's really not a–"

"No, it's not," he replied with a groan. "I just thought…it would be better."

"I hear you saying that, but I can't help but wonder if it's part of the reason you want to do things the Muggle way. And don't get me wrong, if it is, I actually think it's rather sweet of you. But you can't deny that ever since that night, things have been a little…off. I just can't imagine that it's a coincidence."

"Well, it must be."

Hermione was rattled. Ron wasn't one to lie right to her face. Stretch the truth occasionally, perhaps, but not about something so important. "Because I need you to know that I don't expect you to do things the Muggle way just because I grew up in a Muggle household. I don't. We know magic and we should use it when it's helpful. So if that's part of what's been bothering you–"

"It's not," he interrupted, his tone indicating a finality to his willingness to discuss the matter.

Trying to calm her mind, she took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm sure the casserole will be delicious."

"We'll see. Best I could do, really."

Why did he keep doing that? Why did he keep putting himself down, as though he was setting himself up for failure? He was better than that.

"Well, anyway, hi, for real this time," Hermione said, leaning over and kissing him on the lips. He barely returned the kiss, instead turning his attention back to picking some of the residual boiled potato from his fingernails.

His lack of responses was worrying, to the point where Hermione felt that if she didn't keep talking, they would just wind up sitting in silence. "Erm, remind me when Auror training starts again?"

"Week from yesterday."

"That's exciting! I'm sure all the hard work you've been putting in with Harry will pay off."

"I hope so. I don't know, they'll probably figure out pretty quickly that we don't belong."

Not again. She'd only been there for a few minutes and he was already starting in on himself! "How can you say that? You helped fight off the darkest wizard to ever live! You and Harry fought side by side with actual Aurors and held your own! Of course you belong!"

Ron ran a hand through his messy hair, scowling at nobody in particular. "But what if we don't know enough? What if it's crystal clear to everyone there that we never finished school and never sat our NEWTs?"

"Well, you had the chance to return to school and rectify that, but you declined…" Hermione reminded him.

"No, that's–you're off the point. It's not about school."

The old house creaked often, but never was it more noticeable than when there was complete silence. Bubbling sounds came from the oven, and the air started to smell more of chicken and ham pie by the moment, although the scent was a bit different than she remembered at the Burrow. Perhaps it would be a moot point as sitting with Ron and trying to understand or rationalize his mindset was sapping her of her appetite by the minute.

As she remained next to him, watching the seconds tick by on the large clock above the sink, Ginny's words started to echo through her head. Talking to Ron about their future needed to be a priority, and while Hermione would've much preferred doing so when he wasn't in such a foul mood, they were truly out of time.

"Ron," she started, reaching out and capturing his hand in hers. "C–Can we talk?"

His eyes widened for a second before his body slumped, already looking defeated. "Don't like the sound of that…"

Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes, tumbling down her cheeks before she even started speaking. "I'm trying…so hard right now. I'm trying to be supportive and make sure you know how much I believe in you because I do believe in you."

"Wish I shared your optimism," he mumbled, although he did give her hand a squeeze when he noticed she was crying.

"But I need you to know that I'm struggling right now too. I'm having a lot of trouble with this upcoming transition, and I need your support as well. I really need it. I–I…I don't know if I–"

Unable to continue, she put her head down on the table, sobbing to herself. Her shoulders shook, and when Ron inched closer and placed a hand over them, she didn't flinch, but she wasn't comforted the way she would've been before. The indifference she felt from him scared her. In her heart, there was no doubt how much he meant to her, but if he didn't feel the same way…

That can't be it. He's just nervous too. The future is scary for both of us, and even though he's not handling it well, it doesn't mean he suddenly doesn't care about me anymore.

Her tears didn't let up for several minutes, and to Ron's credit, he stayed next to her the entire time. It helped to know he was there, but somehow, knowing he was there and still unable to help her made her feel even worse. Ron had always been her rock, and aside from the unfortunate episode during the Horcrux hunt, he'd stayed by her side when she needed him. Things were starting to feel eerily similar to when she'd been in the tent, however, crying over him for days on end after he'd left her alone with Harry.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't mean to be…like this," he said, still rubbing her back. "It's just…lots of changes."

"I know, Ron." Hermione lifted her head as she dried her eyes on her sleeve before turning toward him. "Trust me, I know."

He looked away, a sheepish expression on his face. "I know you do."

The quiet set in again, this time both of them staring vacantly in opposite directions, trying to make sense of things. How had things gotten so bad?

Once again, it was Hermione who had had enough of the silence. "I think we need to talk about what's going to happen when I leave. With us, I mean."

Ron scratched behind his ear, fumbling his words. "W–What do you mean?"

"Ron, you know how much I care about you. At least I hope you know."

Finally, a genuine smile appeared, although it quickly dissolved. "I know."

"And I'm not going to stop caring about you just because I go back to Hogwarts for the year. But at the same time, things are going to be different. We're going to be apart for a long time."

"Don't remind me…"

"And I guess that before I go, I'd like to know…how do you envision us remaining…us?"

For several moments, he sat still, clearly pensive as he rubbed his chin, his teeth grinding inside his mouth. "I dunno," he finally said. "I suppose I hadn't thought about it much."

"Hadn't thought about it? I've been doing nothing but think about it! I'm sitting here terrified and you're–"

"Oh, don't get me wrong," he interrupted, "I've been thinking about it too. Thinking about it a lot, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I hadn't," she replied, not even trying to hide the venom in her voice. "How could I have when you've stopped talking to me?"

He did his best to ignore her wholly accurate remark. "Y–Yeah, but I just assumed it is what it is and we'll figure it out as we go. Kind of like always, yeah?"

"Ron, there is no always! This has never happened before!" She was growing more animated and frustrated by the minute at his unwillingness to take her anxieties seriously. Figure it out as we go? Who did he think he was talking to?

"Right, well, not this very thing, no. But…other things."

Just then, the timer dinged, and Ron stood up from his chair, walked into the kitchen, and opened up the oven. No plume of smoke emerged, which was probably a good sign, so he slipped on the oven mitts and pulled out the glass bakeware, its top bubbling with cream sauce.

"Doesn't quite look like Mum's, I reckon, but not too bad."

He set the casserole on the counter to cool and returned to his seat, eyes still darting around the room. Eventually, Hermione grabbed him by the sides of his face, forcing his gaze onto her. "Ron. Please. Talk to me."

"I am talking to you, Hermione."

"You're talking, but you're not saying anything."

"The bloody hell does that mean?"

The groan came from deeper inside of her than she thought possible, and she tried to clear her mind of everything except the matter at hand. It proved difficult, though, as her resentment over being the only one to take things seriously was growing.

"Tell you what, I'll lay it out for you, alright? Completely straightforward."

"Please…"

"By the time I leave in less than two days, we have to decide how we're going to continue this relationship. Many couples do long-distance by keeping in touch with letters, but some people struggle with it since they're not physically with their significant other very often. Some stay together and try to visit each other as often as possible, like on weekends. And a few…a few decide that the best thing for them would be to break it off and see what happens in the future. If they wind up back together, then that's lovely and it's meant to be, but if they don't, they don't."

Ron was quiet for a long while. It was important that he had time to process her words and that she didn't interrupt him; the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was rushing him. There was too much riding on the decision for either of them to be impulsive about it. Still, it would've been much more comforting if he'd immediately reassured her that he wanted to stay together.

"Hermione," he said, eyes finally glancing up toward her. "Is that what you want?"

"What?"

"Us breaking up and just…seeing what happens later on."

"No, it's not. Of course it's not. But Ron, I need something. I can't go back to school just assuming we'll try to 'figure it out'. Long-distance relationships are a lot of work. They require sacrifice of time and energy if they're going to succeed. I'm willing to put in that time and energy if you are because you mean so much to me. You really do. But if I'm the only one invested…if the letters only go one way…"

"Right, I get it."

His eyes had glazed over, as though she'd left him even more confused than he had been before. In the back of her mind, an imaginary clock started ticking down, adding a sense of urgency to their conversation. She had never been more conscious of the time constraints and cursed herself for waiting until the last minute to address these heavy issues with him.

"I know we could have a future together, Ron," she added, her voice practically pleading with him. "I know it. I don't want to lose you. But I can't be the only one fighting tooth and nail to make that happen."

Lips pressed into a thin line, he nodded toward her. "I understand."

He stood up, making his way over to the stove where the casserole was cooling. Pulling down two bowls, he started to ladle spoonfuls of his creation for them, moving slowly and cursing to himself when the steam burned his skin.

Hermione, meanwhile, was growing more and more concerned about Ron's apathy. 'I understand'? 'I understand'?! Part of her wanted to shake him until he finally saw reason and agreed to an actual plan, but the rational side of her knew that only he could come to those types of conclusions on his own. So she sat, waiting for a revelation that might never come as he rejoined her at the table, setting her bowl in front of her.

Dinner proceeded in total silence. It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of Hermione's life, which only deepened her sorrow. They had so little time left together, it seemed like such a waste to spend it not talking to one another. By the time her bowl was empty, she wasn't even sure what the food had tasted like; surely Ron had prepared a good meal, but when he'd asked her if she'd liked it, she said yes automatically, not because she could actually recall its flavor.

As soon as they finished, she stood up from the table and collected her jacket. She couldn't stand to stay any longer, watching the threads of her newly woven relationship unraveling in front of her eyes. For his part, Ron didn't put up much of a fight, following her upstairs when she said she had to go.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, tentatively peeking up at him.

His eyes flitted all around the room, eventually landing on her as he produced a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, tomorrow."

"And…we can talk? I know it's uncomfortable, but we're running out of time."

"I know," he agreed. "We can talk. I just…need to think. You've given me a lot to consider."

"I know I have."

Ron leaned forward, capturing her in a hug. For the first time that evening, she felt his warmth and a sliver of the reassurance she'd been looking for. "And Hermione…look, I care about you. You know I do. In fact, I care about you too much to answer just to…make up an answer, yeah?"

"I understand."

"And I have been thinking about it."

"Ron, you don't have to justify–"

"I know. But I need you to know that this matters to me. Getting it right matters to me, yeah?"

"Of course," she said, pulling back and kissing him on the cheek. "To both of us."

"Good. I'll send a Patronus tomorrow?"

"Sure. Tomorrow."

With one last hug, she turned and stepped outside, pulling her thin cardigan around her body to protect herself from the evening chill that swept down the street. It was unseasonably chilly for late August, and a light sprinkling of rain began to fall, pitter-pattering against the sidewalk all around her. Her hair and outfit were starting to get wet, but she barely noticed, worried instead about the state of her fragile relationship with her boyfriend.

The apparition point was only a block away, but the walk seemed to take hours. A gnawing feeling dug at the inside of her stomach and the back of her eyes. as she hurried down the sidewalk, trying to make it off the public street before she started crying. Something about Ron seemed…broken, dysfunctional. Not only did she worry about them as a couple, she also wondered if he would be in a reasonable state to start Auror training. The rest of his life was at stake, and he didn't even seem to care. How was she supposed to help him when he refused to help himself?

Mercifully, she turned down the side alley and behind the large boxwood shrub, pulled out her wand, and twisted on her heel just as the tears began to fall. A moment later, she reappeared in her backyard, immediately kneeling down and tucking herself behind a row of hedges. She didn't want her parents to see her crying, so she waited, minutes passing as she held her face in her hands. All the while, she tried to remember the good times she'd shared with Ron, but every time those positive memories popped into her head, her vision was clouded with images of his downtrodden face.

All she could do was hope he'd see reason, hope he'd remember why they'd fallen for each other in the first place. She knew the man she'd fallen in love with was still in there, but he needed to find that part of himself. If he couldn't, was it somehow possible that their relationship, one that had just begun and felt so full of promise, was destined to fail so soon?