The Third Bar

Hermione frowned as she set the plate of food outside his room. She was sure that Ron heard the familiar scrape of plate on the scratched wooden floors and the clink of a glass of juice being set in front of his door. She pressed an ear to the door, listening for the sound of the slightest movement. Three minutes passed without event, so Hermione sighed and backed away from the door.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me, Ron," she said, loud enough for him to hear. A sigh was her only response.

After the creaks of the stairs had ceased, she found herself in the Burrow's sitting room. The usual sight met her eyes; Ginny sitting on the couch, her head on Harry's chest, his arms around her, George talking with Charlie and Percy, his eyes starting to gain their lost spark back a bit. Bill and Fleur had left the day before, so the loveseat usually occupied by the couple was now in the use of the Weasley parents. Molly was holding hands with Arthur, the two murmuring quietly to each other.

The family was slowly recovering from their grave loss. Surprisingly, George was the first to gain some of his old personality back. Two weeks after burying Fred, he had made a small joke about how Fred would be bored with all the silence in the house. They had all been surprised as George's sudden outburst, but he had simply said, "Fred would never forgive me if I turned into a grouch just because he had to leave us early. He wouldn't have wanted us to change," The rest of them had recovered quicker after that.

The one exception was Ron. After all the numerous funerals were over, he had shut himself in his room, refusing to come out. When anyone tried to talk to him, he tuned them out, turning his head in shame, refusing to leave his room. Ginny tried to explain to a tearful Hermione.

"He blames himself for Fred," she whispered.

Hermione scoffed. "There was nothing we could do, though! The explosion destroyed the entire wall, we couldn't have prevented it!"

Ginny nodded, and spoke in a low voice so her parents wouldn't catch her conversation.

"I know. But he has somehow warped his mind into convincing himself that it's his fault. Like if he hadn't taken so long in the Chamber, they would have come upon Fred and Percy sooner and they all would have moved on from that part of the castle by the time the explosion happened. But we all know it's no his fault. Nobody blames him except himself…" She trailed off.

Then, softer still, so that Molly couldn't possibly hear, she growled, "Stupid git,"

Hermione looked down to her hands in her lap, eyebrows furred. She stood abruptly, and announced, "I'm going to go drag him out,"

The room grew quiet, and seven pairs of eyes flew to her face. Molly wrung her hands together uncomfortably, and Arthur led her upstairs, mumbling something about needing to make an early start tomorrow morning. Molly kissed each one of them before leaving, but she didn't say anything about Hermione's idea. Arthur took her hand as they left for bed.

Harry was in the middle of shifting Ginny into a more comfortable position in his lap, trying not to seem affected by the outburst, but his eyes grew slightly alarmed at Hermione's words. Almost subconsciously, he grabbed her hand as she turned to leave, and said, "Er, Hermione? I'm not so sure that dragging him out is a very good idea,"

Charlie nodded in agreement. "You wouldn't want to push him into talking,"

"Maybe it would be best to let him go through his grieving privately," Percy piped up.

"Oh, shut it, would you all?" Ginny snapped. "Ron needs to get out of that room of his and talk to us. He needs us; closing himself off is just sodding ridiculous!"

George smirked. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that from you, Ginny. What would Mum think of that kind of language?"

"Oh, shove it, George," she chuckled.

Although the atmosphere had lightened considerably, Hermione couldn't shake her lonely feeling as she sat down next to Harry and Ginny on the couch. Ron may need his time to grieve and such, but didn't he realize that she needed him throughout all this?

Although she hadn't mentioned it to anyone, when she had flung herself Ron during the battle, it felt like a turning point to her. She hadn't really thought about what she was doing, either. Kissing Ron just felt so natural and normal and right; and when he had kissed her back, she was sure that they would be alright.

Granted, they still needed to defeat Voldemort and such, but when he had been lifting her off her feet, mid-kiss, she felt completely and perfectly whole and simply couldn't summon the energy to fret about Horcruxes and Death Eaters for those few precious seconds that he was snogging her.

But now, with the war over and everyone trying to rebuild their lives, she needed Ron next to her, to help her through the confusion and pain and loss. And what had he done? He had holed himself up in his room, the great prat, when all she really needed was a hug or a loud row. Something -anything, really- to signify that he was still the same Ron, and that they would be okay.

She leaned back and stretched herself across the couch, her feet bumping against the couple at the end of the cushions. Ginny swatted Hermione's feet, and a half-smile escaped her before she returned to worrying about Ron. She closed her eyes and tried to envision him in her mind. Everything about him hit her in a rush; his lanky legs, freckled shoulders, toothy smile, icy blue eyes, fiery hair, and the strong, calloused hands that should have been laced with hers at the moment. She flew through possibly plans on how to get him to leave his room, each idea more complex and highly unrealistic than the last. She grew exhausted from all the worrying, and the next thing she knew, it was morning.

She sat up slowly, pulling a blanket off herself, not recalling who had draped it across her after she had succumbed to sleepiness. She rose off the couch, stretching her muscles, which were cramped from her awkward sleep positioning for the past night.

Wandering into the kitchen, she noticed a note on the table. She plucked it off, and read Mrs. Weasley's large, swirly handwriting.

Hermione-

We've left for Hogsmeade . . . I thought it best not to wake you; Merlin knows you haven't had a good night's sleep in awhile. Charlie left for Romania last night- he got an urgent owl from work about a dragon or something of that sort- but George, Percy, Harry, and Ginny are at the shop if you'd care to join them when you've woken up. Arthur and I have some errands to run, so it's just you at the house. Well, and Ron, of course.

Speaking of which- I just wanted to let you know that I wholeheartedly believe that Ron will come to his senses soon, so don't worry your pretty head too much over him. He'll come out soon, for you, I'm sure of it. You make him smile, dear.

- Molly

Hermione immediately crept upstairs, Ron on her brain. Her socks caused no sound on the floor as she walked to Ron's room. She took a few deep breaths before finally turning the handle. To her surprise, it was open. She closed the door softly behind her as she stepped into the familiar room, inhaling Ron's scent. It was like the woods after it rained, cinnamon, sunburn, spearmint, and a warm fireplace.

Ron was sitting next to the window, looking out over the garden. He did not acknowledge Hermione's entrance except to clear off space next to him on his bed. She sat next to him and studied his face wordlessly. She took his hand, intertwining their fingers, but he didn't respond.

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered. His eyes showed a flash of pain, but realization slowly started to appear as well. A few minutes later, he nodded once, and then twice, accepting her words.

Slowly, she took his face in her hands, and turned his head so he would look at her. His eyes were shining, and it was all she could do not to tear up. She kissed his left cheek, then his right, then his forehead, and finally his lips. She pulled back after a moment, and Ron pulled her into his arms. She leaned into him as he kissed the side of her neck.

She stood, and pulled him up with her. She took his hand as they walked out of his room and down the steps. She led him onto the front porch, where she sat. After a second of hesitation, he sat next to her, pulling her into his arms.

"We're going to be alright," she said softly.

There was a moment's silence, but he finally replied, more strength in his voice than she had heard in awhile.

"Yeah," he said, hugging her tighter. "I know,"

Author's Note: Hey, everyone! This was my first Harry Potter fanfic, so I hope that I didn't disappiont too badly! haha(:
Anyways, this was inspired by the song "Set The Fire To The Third Bar" by Snow Patrol. Touching song, I suggest you check it out.
Reviews, please? (: