Meanwhile, a pre-Epilogue Harry Potter story

A/N: This story has been a personal amusement of mine for around two years now. I wouldn't consider myself a writer, but I do enjoy writing fanfiction on occasion when I have the time. When the pages of this one started adding up, I realized that I might as well share it for the anonymous readers of the internet, just in case someone could enjoy it.

With that being said, here are some warnings:

As I said, this is the culmination of around two years of writing. As such, the style and chapter lengths change slightly throughout. I also don't have a beta reader since I'm a bit embarrassed to share it with people I know in real life.

I would say I take a few ridiculous liberties with the plot (read: clichés), but you can be the judge of that.

I currently have twelve chapters written. I figured that I would post two every two weeks, since there is no guaranteeing when I'll be available to write more. This is a slow moving project, both in the story and in actual creation. Feel free to subscribe if you would like to see updates!

I realized too late how much I loathe to write in first person AND present tense until it was already quite a few chapters in, so I apologize for any awkward writing on my part. The story switches from Hermione and Ron's perspectives with each chapter.

Any deviations from canon are likely to be temporary. I'd like to stay as true to canon as possible.

Mature rating is for foul language, occasionally raunchy humor, and (attempts at) citrusy situations. Assuming citrus is still an actual term used in the fanfiction. Most of my favorite fanfiction was written around 2004.

For those who are curious, the title is a reference to the series finale of "Futurama." I won't spoil it for anyone, but I would say the title is fitting.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Is it selfish of me to feel so startlingly inadequate? Loved ones sob for their loss, evident in the bodies lining the walls of the Great Hall. Seamus and Dean share a couple of butterbeers, honoring the lost life of Collin Creevy, the overzealous boy with the camera who had always wanted to belong. Parvati and Padma hold each other as Professor McGonagall pulls a blanket over the body of the woman I had once envied during my sixth year at Hogwarts, whose face was now irrevocably damaged beyond recognition. Andromeda Tonks stands resolutely over the bodies of her daughter and son-in-law, clutching the last living part of them tightly in her grasp. Teddy merely squirms in her firm embrace, blissfully unaware of the state of his parents. A handful of red-haired people gather together over the body of a fallen son and brother, all of whom I have grown to love over the past seven years.

I have spent a better part of my life with these people. I have spent a better part of my life in constant fear. We all have, and we grew together because of it. But now that the threat is finally over, I have nothing comforting to say to anyone, much less the people who need the comforting most. I am not alone in this. Harry and I shared more than one glance since standing here in the middle of the aftermath, unsure of what to feel, let alone what to do. The Weasleys have insisted on more than one occasion that we are family to them, yet as I painstakingly notice Ron's haunted face as he bends over his older brother, I am not so sure. My heart is breaking to be there for him. To touch him, to make him grant me one of those lop-sided smiles, to see his eyes sparkle as he cracks a joke surely intended to rile me up. I am terrified of those things never happening again, knowing that I have come to depend on him more than I dare say. Harry too, of course, but it was different. Never did a genuine laugh from Harry make me let out a breath that I hadn't realized that I had been holding. Content as it made me to see Harry happy, Ron's happiness had become a matter of life for me, after losing him once due to that terrible locket. Yet after all that we have been through, the three of us, Harry and I choose to stand back for the moment, letting the family grieve.

"It's hard to believe that it's finally over," Harry says, breaking a long moment of silence.

"This is the first time that I honestly have a reason to feel happy, and yet-"

"You feel nothing?" I interject, glancing at his face to find only emptiness in those emerald eyes. Over the years, I have come to learn how to read Harry much like one of my favorite books. In some instances, it meant keeping him alive. Now that this war is over, it is just a convenient facet of our comfortable friendship. "I know what you mean, but surely after time, we will be able to rejoice in the fact that Voldemort is gone for good."

Harry merely nods, staring intently at the Weasley brood. I can only hope that what I say holds truth. After what everyone has lost, I can only hope. My eyes join Harry's silent vigil, just in time to see the tallest of them stand from his stance of mourning. Ron looks our way, and I can see the agony sketched across his face as he approaches. Never had I seen him look so candid. Unlike Harry, Ron's face was a book of a completely different language. A language expressive and beautiful, yet infuriating due to my inability to comprehend it. A thought comes to mind before I can stop it: he had looked so beautiful, so deliriously happy, the moment after I first kissed him mere hours before. I understood him completely then, in that moment. Although I felt selfish for reveling in such a moment at a time like this, the thought made me realize that I'd give a lifetime to see him that way again.

"Mum's taking him home tonight for the… funeral," Ron murmured when he reaches his place at my side, his face stonily arranged. "She figured we should stay here for a few more days to help with repairs and all that, so it's happening Tuesday. I reckon there's no arguing with her at this point."

"Not that we'd want to," I say, squeezing his hand comfortingly. I am pleasantly surprised when he holds it in place. "It's only right that we help repair the place that has been home to us for so long. And surely they'll need help with the injured, and I know a few spells that I think would be helpful."

"Hermione - knowing a spell?" Ron half-heartedly quips in mock surprise. Harry chuckles, and I am taken aback by the joke. I worry about what is boiling under Ron's blasé exterior, but I have little time to discover it. We part, hating to do so, going in the direction of where our skills are needed most.

0000

Despite his efforts to retain his composure, I end up coming upon Ron a few hours later in an abandoned, ravaged classroom, sitting upon the floor with his head between his legs, sobbing quietly. I am not surprised. I say nothing, but sit with him in the comforting way we have grown accustomed to over the years. A teary eyed Ginny, with Harry in tow, enter the classroom soon after, and join us on the floor in terse silence.

Ron finally raises his head, angrily wiping away a tear off of his freckled face. "Damn it all to hell," he curses, his stare fixed resolutely at the opposite wall. I bite back the reflex to scold him. "He was laughing, you know, bloody laughing! This wouldn't have happened if he was paying more attention."

"It's not his fault, Ron. Not anyone's, other than the gits that blindly worshipped that bastard Voldemort," Ginny replies heatedly, the wisdom in her words being accented by the Weasley temper. She scoots over so that she is facing her brother, with Harry following. Already, they seem attached at the hip. "There wouldn't have been blame to place to begin with if it weren't for them."

"You're wrong! I should've been there to save his arse. He was our brother, Ginny." Ron's voice is breaking. He glares at his younger sister, whose brown eyes mirror the sapphire ones of her brother's in their ferocity.

"I know, you prat, I know. But you can't blame yourself! Fred wouldn't have wanted that." Tears fall down both of the siblings face's, and the room is silent once again. Harry and I both huddle closer to our loved ones, knowing that in this moment, it was right to be there with them. Ron puts his arm around me and uses his other hand to hold Ginny's. Ginny leans into Harry, her large eyes flitting about between all of our faces, as if to never forget any of them.

All I can think, in the midst of all the agony, is that we are here. We are together. I can only hope that it would be enough to heal the destroyed family that I consider mine.

The rest of the day is grueling, with only an hour or so rest to offset the longest day of our lives. By night-fall, the remaining bodies have been recovered from the ruin, the majority of whom were thankfully not on our side. However, there were still notable losses, including a first year Gryfindor whose bravery truly warranted him the house designation.

It was devastating to line up the casualties of this war, but by dinner, which took place in a surprisingly untouched Room of Requirement, we started thinking of the true enormity of what had occurred. House elves joined humans in the meager feast, non-Voldemort-sympathetic Slytherins ate with the Gryfindors, and stories were told about the lives of those we had lost. Stories remained light, however, as people started to realize that they were finally rid of the bane of many a wizard and witches' existences. We all inclined our glasses in recognition of many of the heroic acts that we finally had the time to tell - Harry's death and rebirth, Neville's killing of Nagini and leading of the rebellion with Ginny, Ron's (brilliant) idea to get into the Chamber of Secrets, and even my destroying of the Hufflepuff Cup.

I linger on that as I trudge up to the Gryffindor common room with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. I never knew the truth of Ron's experience with destroying the locket, although I gathered that it was terrible from what little Harry had mentioned of it. I feared that my experience would be similar, and I was very reluctant when Ron suggested that I be the one to destroy one of the final horcruxes. He said it would only be fair that I have my turn, after everything I had done to help in finding them. I agreed to do it, if only to understand what Ron had been through, and the experience was nothing short of horrifying. It kept showing me back at the Malfoy Manor, being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, but I wasn't the only one. Instead of hearing Ron's desperate cries for me faintly in the back round, he was being tortured right next to me, and Bellatrix kept telling me that I had to chose between him or Harry. One would die, the other would live, or so she claimed. Although I never thought that they would actually keep one of them alive had I made a decision in that case, the thought had always haunted me throughout the war. Ron, or Harry. Ron, or my parents. Ron, or anything I had ever loved. What had scared me most was that in every instance, I couldn't come up with an answer. Ron, as strategically adept as he is, would probably have a better shot at choosing who would have been a better hope for the future of the war. It had always been an insecurity of mine - how much Ron means to me, to the expense of my own logic.

I try to find comfort in the fact that now that Voldemort is dead, I will probably never have to face such a situation. Now, as we tell the portrait of the Fat Lady the password and she enthusiastically opens the threshold, I ponder about Ron's experience. I could only wonder what Ron was tortured with before he destroyed the locket, but I feel terrible for hitting him when he returned with the Sword of Gryffindor if it was even close to what I had gone through. Although Ron has never admitted it, I know he is plagued with insecurities, some of which I may have unwittingly inspired in our countless rows that resulted from mere miscommunication. I hope that after all that we have been through, and after all that has finally occurred (mainly, that kiss), that there will be no need for misunderstanding. With the man that I have deeply cared over the past years, though, I know to never expect anything.

I am jolted from my thoughts by Harry's announcement that he will be retiring for the evening. Ron tenses as he sees his little sister follow Harry up to the boys' dormitory, and although such an expression is unnecessary, I appreciate the familiar gesture.

"I reckon we shouldn't go up there for a while," Ron mutters between clenched teeth.

The implication that underlies his words makes me blush, but I rebut him all the same. "I'd imagine not. As much as it pains you, those two have a lot of catching up to do. I can only imagine what Ginny has gone through these past months, not knowing if Harry was dead or alive…" I trail off momentarily, bitterly recalling Ron's brief absence in our lives. I had cried every day for a month. It's no small wonder Harry didn't abandon me all together, though I tried to make up for my weakness by being extra productive during the day.

"Harry IS alive, though," Ron is quick to remind me, probably interpreting my far off gaze as worry for our friend. He takes my hand and leads me to the leather couch near the fire. How foreign its mahogany color seemed, although I had curled up and read a book on it dozens of times before over the years. Everything looked different after being away from it all for so long. Neville is sound asleep on the recliner opposite the couch, no doubt too exhausted to even make the trip up the stairs to bed. The desks are antique, worn with age, and still maintain the carvings of students of years past. I imagine that if I stood up, which I wouldn't have dreamt of doing with the way Ron is rubbing his thumb along the palm of my hand, I would have been able to see the rather obscene poem the twins had engraved for Professor Snape after a particularly bad day in Potions. The thought of both Fred and Snape sobers the thrill that Ron's hand in mine caused to run down my spine.

"But he could be dead. In fact, he was. I could have lost him. Or Ginny. Or you." My last mention on the list is barely a whisper. The thought of losing the man in front of me, and never seeing his light blue eyes flicker in the fire light again, breaks me. I am exhausted, and I admittedly don't have the best track record for keeping my emotions in check, but I am ashamed as a solitary tear rolls down my cheek. The large freckled hand that is not toying with mine comes up to brush it away, and I am momentarily stunned when it remains there on my cheek, caressing it.

"But you didn't. We're all here," Ron simply reassures me. I immediately miss his warmth as Ron drops his hand from my cheek. His expression falters, and his eyes grow that dark blue color of a storm at sea. Fred. I hadn't realized that as I had blathered on about potential loss, Ron really had lost someone, and here he is comforting me. I feel like an idiot, but I know that bringing it up won't help the situation. I decide to switch topics, remembering what I had been curious about twenty minutes before.

"When I destroyed the cup in the chamber, I had lost you… and Harry, Ginny, everyone," I admit, tacking on the last bit to prevent myself from further vulnerability. I regret not telling the truth about the fact that he was the only one next to me being tortured in the manor. After all, I hope to achieve complete openness with each other, but right now I can't bare the thought of him further withdrawing from me. "It was probably one of the hardest things I had to do in the past two days. Destroying that inanimate object. It's preposterous, given the circumstances, but I can't seem to let go of it."

Ron shifts uncomfortably, moving to rest his feet on the table in front of us. Never does his hand leave mine, and I am constantly aware of it. "I understand. Getting rid of that bloody locket was hard… I lost you, too. You just have to remember that Voldemort was an arsehole. We've done the world a service by ridding the world of that piece of shite," His hand squeezes mine, and I return it, despite the redness in my cheeks over his language. Although I am curious to know far more than what he had told me, it was still a great deal more than anything he had ever mentioned. For tonight, it would be enough.

Regardless of his reassurance, I need to feel more of him, to know he is here with me. I move, daring to lean against him on the couch. He has held me multiple times before, from Dumbledore's funeral onward, although nothing was ever said about it. Now, as it dawns on me that we are alone (aside from Neville's softly snoring body adjacent to us) for the first time since our heated embrace almost 24 hours prior, I flush with heat. He puts his arm over my shoulder, and I look up to see that his neck had darkened to a light shade of pink as well. I nuzzle into it, if only to hide my own pink face, and a small sound escapes him that makes my body tingle.

There are definitely many things that I want to know from Ron Weasley, including how we are defining whatever it is we are doing. Today, however, has made that seem trivial. I have waited forever for Ron, and I can give him the time he needs. The war is won. We are here, we are alive, and we have a future. There is time. I feel a ghost of a smile at the thought as I drift off to sleep in the safety of Ron's arms.