Perhaps it was the fact that she could now stare at him unabashedly whenever she liked. Not attempting to hide the obvious affection in her eyes by glancing hurriedly away, and as a result, missing certain details. Observing him now, his movements, the jittery taps of his long fingers against random surfaces, the subtle quirks of his lips or rise of his brows, the way his mesmerising ceruleans studied the room like she was so used to seeing him study a chessboard; like she had caught him studying her over the past few weeks. Because he had too, stopped hiding his emotion-filled gazing.

But watching him as closely as an intricate potion in the process of brewing, meant watching the way he interacted with his environment. Or rather, how that environment interacted with him.

Perhaps it was also the fact that the traumatising events of the past year, the hunt and all the sentimental unfoldings it had brought along, taught her more about his mind and his heart than any book ever could. In the salty night breeze of the sandy beach at Shell cottage, and the whispered confessions it had set the scene for, she had gotten the opportunity for the first time, to get to know a Ron Weasley that was stripped of all layers and barriers, the ones that used to act as a broken filter between his heart and his mouth. Open, honest and repentant.

And when she thought she couldn't love him more, he proved her wrong again.

So now, as she sat quietly in the surrounding murmurs of the Weasley clan, munching on Molly's perfectly cooked chicken, she wondered whether it was the reasons above that changed her perception of everyone at the table, including herself. As since she had arrived at the Burrow's front step a few weeks back, hand squeezing Ron's much larger one in comforting assurance, everything felt decidedly different.

Even through the unusually heavy atmosphere of grief that lingered, she had felt it. When George's humorous comments and Ginny's teasing at Ron's expense, seemingly a familiar occurrence she became well-accustomed to over the years, appeared significantly less innocuous than ever before. When she could clearly distinguish the difference between Ron's playfully acceptant roll of the eyes, and the tense twitch of Ron's lip, the almost undiscernible flicker of insecurity immediately suppressed by a series of staccato laughs and followed by subsequent silence on his part.

Several times, though not quite as often, she'd even caught Harry's hesitant glance towards his best mate. Unsurprising, knowing he was the only other person who knew Ron best besides her. He'd actually been there that night, the night Ron had painfully relayed to her in vivid detail whilst rubbing tiny sand particles between his thumb and forefinger.

His siblings' jesting jabs wasn't the only questionable behavior she had been pondering so thoroughly. It was a thought-provoking combination of off-handed phrases, mocking glances and general lack of consideration.

"D'you want to tag along?", Bill had offered gallantly to his youngest brother, who was carefully folding away the freshly-laundered blankets. The older Weasley had suggested him and Harry go grab a pint a few days after the end; 'to chat and unwind' he had explained. That offer appeared incredibly caring on his part: talking to Harry brother-to-brother, revealing how much he cared about him, enough to want to spend quality time together.

And yet, Hermione, who was curled up in an armchair with a book and surreptitiously watching the scene unfold, felt irked at the way he phrased it. 'Tag along'. He'd probably meant nothing by it, but the familiar flicker in Ron's eyes told her he perceived it as woundingly as she had. He politely declined.

When a sweaty, overworked Ron who had been single-handedly de-gnoming the Weasley garden in the humid heat of mid-may without a complaint, returned in hopes of a recently promised afternoon snack only to discover a heap of corned-beef sandwiches while Percy and his father were discussing ministry matters in the lounge.

Or when just now, minutes earlier, a jaunty Molly Weasley, which was a much rarer sight than it once had been, was seating everyone excitedly at the dinner table, a mouth-watering variety of foods stretching miles on the tablecloth. Everyone had a coping mechanism, and cooking had always been hers.

"I've prepared everyone's favorites," she declared cheerfully, plopping down beside her husband who was eagerly diving towards a fresh lamb chop. "I've thought over what Georgie said and I do think F-Freddie would never want to see us crying for his sake. So, let's tuck in!"

Hermione had noticed with delight that her nonchalant admittance to loving a Welsh rarebit a few years back, hadn't gone unnoticed.

What had gone unnoticed was, well, anything remotely related to Ron's favorite food. Her hopes of pudding salvaging the situation had remained unfulfilled and observing Ron's nonchalance at the obvious fact saddened her further.

So there she sat, his thumb casually drawing relaxing circles on the skin of her palm under the table, rethinking every single interaction she's ever witnessed.

Ron's polished and perfect-timed reactions were even more unnerving. It's been happening for years, she had realised, right in front of my eyes. Why had she never noticed anything? Why had no one ever noticed? Why does everyone keep pretending it's the most natural thing in the world?

Dinners at the Burrow were always a lengthy affair, so Hermione had an abundant amount of time to sort her musings. When at last people started spreading around the house and Ron offered to take her empty plate, she was almost startled by his whisper, "Meet me on the porch in 5?"

She nodded, feeling some of the stress seep out of her at the prospect of some alone time with him, his charming grin and peck on her temple warming her cheeks unfailingly.

Minutes later, as she balanced her chin on her knees, she became aware of the cool draught against her bare arms. Ron must've had a similar idea when he slipped through the back door, holding an extra sweater in hand.

"Is this alright? It's the one from a couple of years ago…", he trailed off, settling down beside her and extending the maroon garment.

She slipped it on without a second thought, smiling up at him, "It's perfect". It was still rather large on her, sleeves reaching way past her fingertips and as a result, providing her with the type of snuggly comfort she associated with Ron.

The twinkle in his eye as he examined her attire brought her plenty of warmth, and reminded her of the idea she had earlier.

Sliding off the porch and pulling him with her, she whispered, "I want to take you somewhere."

His eyebrows rose in a mixture of amusement and curiosity, urging her to go on.

"Have you ever tried muggle ice-cream?"

"Eh… no."

"Perfect," she met his excited gaze as understanding dawned upon him. "Hold on tight."

"Wait!", he squeezed her palm urgently.

"What?"

"Is this…", he hesitated, scratching his neck in a telltale sign of nervousness, "like a date?"

She had to bend her neck backwards to observe his expression, winding and unwinding their fingers anxiously. "I guess you could call it that, is it too much?"

"No!",he assured her immediately, "No," he repeated more calmly, brushing a stray curl behind her ear gently, "no, when I said we can do whatever you want, whenever you want that night, I meant it."

They grinned at each other as she remembered their first night together, just sleeping together in his old hogwarts bed and waking up occasionally to kiss and murmur about this and that.

"I meant it too", she responded in kind. "So, what is it then?"

"Oh," he blushed a weasley-red she could discern even in the golden lantern light of the late evening. "I kind of hoped I was the one to ask you out on our, erm, proper first date," he shrugged.

Something about the concept of Ron planning an evening specifically for her gave her butterflies.

"Yeah?"

He nodded quickly.

"Did you… have something in mind?", she moved closer, sliding her arms around his waist and gazing up at him from her position against his chest.

"Well," he held her around the shoulders, "I hadn't completely planned it yet, but I was thinking maybe first taking you to a place you'd really like, maybe that tiny vintage bookshop you clocked when we were getting supplies in that little village, what was it again, Gr-"

"Grasmere," she supplied excitedly, "Dorothy and William Wordsworth are known to have lived there, and their work is some of the most wonderful poetry I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Especially their depiction of nature, it was so innovative of that period."

"Yeah," he smiled down at her fondly.

"I can't believe you remembered that, I just mentioned it thoughtlessly really."

He shrugged once more, looking up to the night sky, just as uncomfortable with receiving compliments as he had always been. "I remember everything when it comes to you."

She thought she could cry but instead, reached upwards to grab his jaw and pull him down as she tip-toed up to kiss him gently, lips fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

"You are absolutely wonderful and you don't even know it," she breathed onto him eventually.

He blushed once more, unsurprisingly, but grinned sheepishly back at her. "I love you"

"I love you too," she bit her lip to stop herself from tearing up. "What was the second part of that date?"

"Hmm?"

"You said 'first', so there must be a second part to it."

"Oh! Of course, then I was thinking of making some sandwiches, grabbing something to drink, and taking you to my favorite place."

"I swear if it's the kitchen or the bedroom…", she teased and brightened at seeing him let out a hearty laugh.

"Nah, nothing like that…"

The silence was filled with the sounds of the night and their breathing, followed by his indignant squack as she slapped his butt lightly.

"So? Are you just going to leave me hanging?"

"It's supposed to be a surprise!", he justified.

"Well, now you got me all excited," she mumbled, and upon seeing his mischievous grin knew exactly the kind of mistake she'd let slip. "Get your head out of the gutter," she scolded, cupping her palm onto his mouth, which he proceeded to kiss.

"You set that one up yourself I think," he chuckled, and she released his lips from her hand's captivity, laughing lightly as well. "Let's get us that ice-cream, and I'll take you to my spot."

"Are you sure?"

"We've never been too traditional anyway, and it sounds like a good time to me. Is it okay with you?"

She grinned, "You're going to be there. That's more than enough."

For a split second she thought she noticed a more vulnerable, bleary-eyed look from him, before he leaned in for another kiss.

"But you're not completely off the hook. We're definitely going to Grasmere at some point," she poked his chest once they parted.

"Noted," he laughed, as she clasped his hand and spun them away.

"So, stores like these, they work 24 hours, every day?", Ron asked in awe as he looked around at the overwhelming variety of products lining the shelves.

"No, not all. But 'express' units like this one," she gestured with quotation marks, "are intended to be quick and accessible convenience stores. Oh, here we are," she pointed to a tall freezer filled with seemingly endless options of ice-cream tubs.

"Where do we even start?", Ron stared open-mouthed, occasionally attempting to pick out the various flavors.

"Well, Ben and Jerry's has become quite popular here, it's originally an American brand, but this one's a classic."

"I'm not even going to attempt to pronounce that."

"It's German, but the name is supposedly Danish, Häagen-dazs," she smiled up at him. "Which one would you like?"

"I'm not sure…This is amazing! Are we getting a big one?", he asked as eager as a child on Christmas morning, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Why not?", she laughed, his excitement contagious.

"Okay, okay, uhm…", he rested his hands on her shoulders and massaged the area gently as if it were helping him think, easily able to see above her head. "I know it's probably the tamer of flavors here, but I'm feeling rather chocolatey today."

"Just today or every day?", she turned her head to smile teasingly up at him.

"Fair point. D'you think I'll like it then? This, belgian chocolate one?"

"Oh, definitely. It's got a very profound chocolate flavor, you'll love it," she opened the freezer door to grab his tub and hand it to him, hearing him sigh an almost inaudible 'wicked' as she did so.

"What about you, what do you usually take? Wait, no, let me take a guess."

She gestured him to give it a go.

"Let's see, it's got to be either Strawberry Cheesecake or oooh, salted caramel, let's say… the second one. Did I get it right?"

She rolled her eyes in defeat, "Yes, you did," and retrieved her own tub, "am I really that predictable?," she laughed off nervously, as they walked to the register.

" 'Course not," his arm slung across her shoulder, "you're probably one of the least predictable people I know, actually."

"Sure I am," she rolled her eyes once more.

"No, 'm serious. I'd just like to think I know you quite well," he squeezed her shoulder, "for instance, look at your ice-cream choice, Salted caramel. It's such an elegant dessert, just like you. Silky smooth," he kissed her hand, "and sweet, but with a tinge of saltiness that makes it stand out from the other desserts, but not to the point of being pompous. Just, a perfect blend," he concluded reverently.

Hermione smiled at the ground, wondering if he'll truly be able to make her cry by the end of their date. Date. A date with Ron Weasley. It sounded like a figment of her hopeful imagination, and yet, here she stood in the arms of the ginger man that had starred in all her romantic dreams ever since she could remember having those.

"You really do have a way with words when you talk about food," she squeezed the long fingers hanging off her shoulder.

His chuckle rumbled against her and he smiled wider, "Who said anything about food?"

"Then I'm paying next time," he asserted finally, once they materialised in the Burrow's back garden.

"You're still going on about this?", she huffed, turning to give him a stern look, but he absorbed her glare easily and maintained eye contact until she sighed, "fine, you'll pay next time, happy?"

"Ecstatic," he cheeked, smiling down at her and leaving her incapable of containing her own smile.

"So then," she diverted, "are you taking me to this secret place of yours or not?"

"Calm your thestrals, alright? I was about to head there. Now give me your hand," he clasped her tinier palm once more.

"Is it far?"

"No, just uhm, difficult to reach. Wouldn't want the ruckus to wake the whole house."

Before she could question his description or express her doubts about everyone being asleep, an invisible essence was pulling at her neck. The moment they landed however, she struggled to find proper footing, clinging onto Ron for support.

"Sorry 'bout that, not the most even of surfaces to apparate on," he apologised, steadying her with a large warm hand on her lower back. Which is when she'd finally gotten to properly take in the scene before her.

The starry night sky, clear of obtrusive clouds, stretched out endlessly around them, leaving her with the surreal sensation of floating in midair. That was when she glanced down, almost tripping in her surprise.

"Woah, careful there, let's sit down," he lowered her gently beside him onto the scratchy surface of the Burrow's roofing shingles, the stone-bricked end of the house's chimney extending even higher to her left.

The mesmerising stars continued twinkling as she switched her gazing back to the ginger, who was already looking at her. "It's really beautiful," she wondered out loud.

"Yeah," he grinned dazedly before clearing his throat gently, "I'm glad you like it. Actually, here let me," he swiftly pulled out his wand and cast a spell silently, the purpose of which was revealed to her the moment the ledge beneath her softened.

"That should be better, feels a bit like a pillow now."

"That was brilliant, and non-verbal too!"

His blush returned full force, "Always the tone of surprise," he smirked before she could protest, revealing the joking nature of the comment. He placed his wand carefully, leaving a softly cast lumos to light up the roof.

His lips turned down into a frown suddenly, "Bollocks!", he palmed his face roughly.

"Wha-"

"We forgot spoons…", he sighed, making a move to get up but her hand grasped his bicep just in time.

"I've got them," she smiled, pulling out a pair of mismatched tablespoons.

Ron stared at her like she had just singlehandedly placed the Chudley Cannons top of the league. "You're absolutely brilliant!"

"So you've let on," she grinned as they finally opened their tubs and dug in.

Ron's ginger locks immediately flew back as did his head, eyes closed in ecstasy and a gratified groan slipping past his lips, "Fuck that's good"

His throat had no right looking so delectable, she thought absently, before scolding his crass vocabulary.

"There's no other way to describe it, it's so amazing," he continued devouring another spoonful while she nimbled delicately on her own deliciousness.

Distracted once more by the hypnotising orbs above, she had to ask, "Do you come here often?"

Ron swallowed before answering, "I used to yeah," he turned slightly and pointed to the opposite direction, "see there, it's a bit hidden in the dark but that's the tree house, 's a good vantage point. I'd climb up here when I wanted to be alone, right through the attic window," he gestured vaguely below where they were currently seated.

"That's quite a steep climb," she said apprehensively, but he waved off her concern.

"Been doing it since I was six, have it down to muscle memory at this point." His gaze wandered, lost in thought, along the inky landscape, a breath-taking view of the horizon, she assumed, given the proper lighting. "It's always been a great spot really. Only accessible through my room and no one knows about it besides me from what I gathered. Whenever F… Fred and George were looking to pull a prank on me, I'd hide up here, so they'd think I wasn't in the house," he gulped down the momentary lump formed by his name, "then I'd see them searching in the garden, and I could come back down to my room safely. Or… just stay up here anyway."

Dealing with strong emotions of others wasn't really Hermione's forte, but oh how she wanted to be good at it, for him. She'd felt the pain the entire Wizarding population had, having lost people she knew in the war, yet she couldn't imagine the pain of losing someone so close. She settled for placing a dainty hand onto his.

When his neck twisted to look back at her, wordlessly sensing her intentions, his eyes were undoubtedly shiny, but a timid smile graced his lips. "It's like mum said, he wouldn't want us to mope. His life's goal was to get a laugh out of people, wasn't it? I just… when I feel a bit down, I try to think of the good times, good memories, you know?"

She nodded silently, eyes connected unwaveringly to his own, thumb stroking.

He sniffed slightly, his eyes darting around her face and coming to settle back on her own, "You look really beautiful, by the way."

Her breath caught in her throat, as it usually did when complimented by him. "Thanks," she murmured timidly, smiling and opting to snuggle her flushed face, against the nook provided by his arm and chest, as he reached for her other side.

They gazed at the stars for a while in comfortable silence, nibbling on their ice-cream. "Can I try yours?"

She looked up at his keen expression, thoroughly amused, and offered him a spoonful. Gobbling it down in one go, he licked his lips to savor the flavor, "Oh yes, very, very good."

"Does it receive your stamp of approval?"

"Definitely. Like I had predicted, perfect combination."

She sunk further into his embrace, soaking in the comforting relief his presence afforded her. "I've told you my parents are dentists, haven't I?", she began softly.

"Tooth healers, yeah? You've mentioned once or twice."

She hummed in affirmative. "My mum once told me that, if she didn't choose dentistry, she would've went for astronomy."

He dug his spoon into the ice-cream as a place-holder, and Hermione knew she had his full attention, even as she continued trying to mentally classify different stars.

"Muggles study astronomy too?"

"Yes, well… the muggle version relies more heavily on mathematical calculations, but generally, yes. It's one of the only subjects we could discuss properly from the Hogwarts syllabus, " she reflected.

After a pause, he asked, "Why didn't she?"

"What?"

"Study Astronomy."

"Oh, my mum's family wasn't that well off, so it was more about practicality, finding a stable job. That's not to say she doesn't love what she does, it's just a bit different. Then she met my dad at uni, and the rest was history."

She felt the tears before she truly realised she was crying.

"Hey, c'mere…"

She spun completely to burrow herself in his warm wooly sweater, holding him as tightly as possible, one hand gathering the cloth at his back into a fist while the other steadied the ice-cream tub. His own free hand was sifting soothingly through the curls at her scalp.

"We'll find them, it'll all be okay, and we'll find them," he murmured repeatedly like a mantra.

She paused in her hiccupy sob to argue that, "I'm not sure i-if I did the spell correctly, or-or if they actually went where I suggested, or-"

"Listen to me," he tugged her face to look directly at him, thumb brushing away wet streaks, "I don't know much, and you can call it blind faith or a gut feeling, but if there's anything I'd bet my life on, it's your brilliance, Hermione. You can reverse it, I just know it. And I'll be there every step of the way. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out, alright?", he asserted gently, displaying the kind of unshakeable conviction she could use to calm and stabilise herself. So she nodded, nuzzling into his large palm that was still framing her face.

"Sorry I'm being all," she gestured at herself vaguely, "weepy."

"Rubbish, don't apologise for that. As a matter of fact, I've been a blubbering mess for half the time we've spent as a couple, and still you're here, oddly enough."

The mention of their relationship status brought a smile to both their faces. Sometimes it still felt pleasantly surreal that they made it through all that horror and came out of it alive and together.

"I'll always be here, as long as you'll want me around that is."

"So, forever?", he stated casually, underlining his own devotion to whatever beautiful thing they were building together, and she wasn't particularly surprised when the answer came to her just as easily, almost like it was second nature.

"Forever."

Some time later, the moon was shining high above as they chattered and laughter flowed freely, their hearts leaping to the same tune. She'd forgotten, sucked into the bottomless chasm of despair, seeking to finally put an end to evil's reign, how it truly felt, this all-consuming light that spread through her, the warmth that bloomed within when they were together like this.

The serenity, the joy, the laughter. Memories of late common room conversations, just the two of them, momentarily unbothered by the pressure placed upon them, instead talking of simple things; they used to fuel her motivation, when the hopelessness was too much. Now here they were, in the cool peaceful night, and it felt like she was basking in the sun.

She was leaning against the bricked chimney, knees tucked to protect her further from the crisp breeze, though she had to admit he was doing a much better job of it. Pressing his chest against her shins, large palms stroking up and down her bare calves, causing goosebumps of a whole different nature.

His own chocolate delicacy finished off long ago and vanished into non-being, providing her with the perfect excuse to feed him some of hers mid-conversation.

It was only after they'd finished debating on whether moving stairs would me more efficient if they weren't actually moving, that Hermione considered it a suitable time to finally bring up the issue that had been bothering her.

She didn't have time to form the question, before he nudged her knee, "What?"

"What?"

"You get this wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're thinking too hard about something, so spill it out," he balanced his chin on her knees.

"Okay, I was wondering, I've just noticed over the past couple of weeks…", it was rarely that Hermione Granger struggled to form coherent sentences, a testament to her nerves about this topic. "Why do you never say anything, when your family treats you like that?", she began softly.

And it was a testament to how it clearly affected him when he didn't ask her to elaborate. "I don't kn-"

She sent him a challenging look that stopped his deflective retort halfway.

"Okay, yes, I know what you're talking about," he mumbled, tracing shapes on her leg's skin.

"And…?"

He exhaled heavily after another bout of silence. "Look, there's not much I can do about it, can I?"

"Maybe you could tell them how it makes you fee-"

" 'Course I couldn't."

"Why on earth not?"

He reached for her now empty ice-cream tub, "Let me vanish this for you," proceeding to do just that.

"Ron…"

He sighed, "You really want to talk about this, huh?", though a fondness only he could offer her pestering seeped through his tone.

"I do," she brushed some of his fringe off his forehead.

Ron half-stood, gesturing for her to do the same, and taking her place against the weathered stone bricks, coaxing her gently into his lap. "Wanted to be a little closer," he murmured almost inaudibly; almost.

Their fingers tangled between them, playful and tender as always, and she looked imploringly into his downcast eyes.

"I've felt you looking at me, in moments like…that."

"Because it hurts me that it's hurting you," she answered honestly.

He nodded understandingly, perhaps attempting to fully absorb that fact. "It doesn't hurt as much as it used to, though. I've gotten over it, in a way."

She untangled one hand carefully, stroking his freckled cheek tenderly and urging him to look at her, which he promptly did. "Gotten over, or gotten used to?"

His sheepish lop-sided grin was met with her own timid smile. "You have to understand though, I really can't do anything about it. No, listen, I can't. Believe me, I've given it plenty of thought over the years, and it won't work."

His hushed words rendered his voice deeper and huskier than in the context of a normal discussion, but she had to stay focused.

"Why?"

"It's like, think about it. If I do say something, right, not only will it make everyone feel guilty and forced to tip-toe around me, but I'll never feel like they're being genuine ever again."

"Elaborate for me," at which he chuckled.

"Let me try. It's like, I know they'll try to make me feel better by praising me and complimenting my skills more often or something, almost like a child, but it would come out of pity, not from the heart, y'know. Now at least, I know that when I do get praised once a decade, it carries a ton more… value, if that makes sense. Cause then I really did do something great."

"But you do great things all the time!", she stated emphatically, feeling her eyes become wet once more. This time, it was him who lifted his hands, cradling her head, brushing her hair, stroking her cheeks.

"Perhaps," he shrugged uncertainly. "But you saying that, is a lot more important to me, than anyone else. It's your opinion that's always mattered most, y'know."

She nodded and settled deeper into his hold, trailing her dainty hands to the center of his chest.

"In a bizarre way, poking fun at me was like, the first proper laugh George's had since Fred… and all," he continued. "And mum, she actually smiled, genuinely smiled, at dinner tonight. So what if she forgot my favorite food? I love seeing everyone I love, happy. And as long as I get to eat muggle ice-cream with you after that, I feel happy too."

Hermione pressed her lips to his at once, the kiss deepening as he joined her passionate display. "You are the most kind-hearted, loving, selfless person I've ever met," she panted against his swollen lips seconds later, seeing them turn up immediately.

"I love you, so much," he breathed back.

"I love you too, you can't even imagine how much," she proceeded to connect their lips once more.

"Is that a challenge?", he grinned, his large palm holding the back of her head, thumb tracing the shell of her ear.

And she giggled, so uncharacteristical of the image she portrayed to others, yet so natural around him. They snogged fervently - lips biting and sucking, tongues duelling - just like they often interacted. That, intermingled with sessions of delicate kisses, soft and tender, hands brushing different parts, whispered 'I love yous' and 'you're gorgeous' and 'so are you' and red-tinged faces.

And perhaps he was right. No one else mattered.

Thanks so much for reading! I don't often write about the summer right after the battle but I'm thinking of writing more stories related to that era. Let me know if you enjoyed this one! :)