Ron sat in the Great Hall, Hermione next to him. His plate was loaded with food, but as usual he could eat none of it. Thought chased thought through his head, none of them happy, so that he barely registered the talking and laughing students around him.

His mother sent them a letter at least once a day, begging them to "take care." She had wanted them both to stay home, he knew; and have the Grangers come to stay. But when they had decided to go back to Hogwarts, Dumbledore had told her not to argue. And she hadn't.

Ron wasn't sure, really, why he had needed to come back; or, perhaps more accurately, he did know why, but would not admit it to himself. The memories were painful - almost more than he could bear - but the last, faint vestiges of Harry lingered here more than anywhere else. And Ron clung to these, like a drowning man to a life preserver - to any remaining bit of his lost best friend.

The strong aroma of the food, rising steaming from his plate, was nauseating; his stomach churned in protest at the thought of swallowing even one hot mouthful. No, he could not eat.

Ron turned his head ever so slightly to look at Hermione, not wanting her to know that he was watching. She sat several feet away. When had they stopped sitting close to each other? He missed her warm presence by his side. Ron couldn't remember the exact day that this had happened, this distance, a fact that distressed and irritated him. How could you miss a thing like that?

He wondered what would happen if he slid down the bench towards her, closing the gap. Would she get up and move away again? The idea both frightened and excited him. Did he dare? He saw her hand, clenched tightly in her lap, and had the sudden, overwhelming urge to grab that hand and cover it with his own.

Why not? he asked himself. It was a simple thing, to reach out and take her hand in his own; yet Ron couldn't bring himself to lift his arm. Why don't I? He wasn't afraid to touch Hermione, after all. (Was he?) She's my best -

He stopped and bit his lip, abruptly breaking off the thought. The truth was, there should have been a third person sitting there with him. A second best friend. But Ron wouldn't think about that.

Next to him, Hermione gave a quiet sigh and set her fork down by her plate. Her food, like his, was untouched. Ron noted this and nervously he planned what he would say to her. He had to say something, even at the risk of inciting her anger. She had eaten nothing at breakfast and nothing at lunch, and now nothing at dinner. Ron couldn't ignore that. As her best friend, the only one she had left - Ron winced at that thought - he couldn't very well stand by and watch her starve, could he?

He would have to say something.

"Hermione, you haven't eaten anything," he said, in a low voice.

"Neither have you," Hermione retorted, defiantly. "Why should I have to eat if you aren't?"

It was a fair point, Ron admitted to himself. He hadn't eaten. But Hermione should eat, even if he wasn't. She was the girl, didn't that make him responsible for her? Someone should make sure Hermione was eating, at least. She was more... delicate.

He didn't really care what happened to him. But he cared deeply what happened to Hermione. He struggled to put this into words that she would understand, words that wouldn't make her angry.

"Ron?" Her voice was tight. "I need to talk to you." In his other life, he might have said You are, just to annoy her. But he hadn't had the heart to tease her in a long time.

"Somewhere private," she added. Wordlessly, Ron got up and followed her out of the Great Hall. They walked through the entrance hall, down a corridor, and stopped outside an empty classroom. They could have gone to the common room - most of the students were at dinner - but there was a chance that someone might be there.

Ron followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. "Well?" he asked, after a pause. When Hermione remained silent, he reluctantly dragged his gaze from the stone floor and fixed it on her. In the dim lighting of the room she looked tired and drawn.

Patiently, he waited. Finally Hermione swallowed hard and opened her mouth. "I've been unhappy, Ron," she said softly. Tears trembled in her voice, barely checked. "I tried to deny it to myself, at first, but I couldn't; and I can't pretend that I'm not anymore, not to you. I can't eat or sleep, I walk around the corridors in a daze..." She swallowed again and took a deep breath. "I feel like I'm lost."

Ron stared at the ground, not liking to look at his friend's pale, sorrowful face. He didn't raise his eyes as Hermione, her breathing suddenly strained, reached a hand towards the wall for support.

Then the silence of the room was shattered by noisy sobs.

His head snapped up. Hermione had collapsed in a heap on the floor. "Hermione!" Ron knelt by her. "Please don't cry."

She lifted her head out of her hands but continued crying too hard to speak. Tears streamed from her eyes, painfully locked with his. There was an anguish in them now that haunted Ron. How long had it lain there, barely concealed? How had he failed to notice it? Not knowing what else to do, he uncertainly felt her forehead with the back of his hand. No - she didn't have a fever.

Hermione leaned over then, still weeping, and put her arms around his neck. Her wet cheek was pressed to his, sending a strange chill through Ron.

The sudden closeness was unexpected but welcome, and the warmth of her body in his arms comforting. Instinctively, he hugged her tightly back, then realized with a pang that this was the first time he had touched Hermione in weeks.

Far from soothing her, the embrace seemed to cause her some greater inner anguish; for her sobs now reached a desperate crescendo. Ron clutched her helplessly.

Finally the tears slowed. After a minute they halted completely and the room became silent except for the sound of Hermione's shallow breathing. Ron could feel her trembling in his arms. Poor Hermione.

Tenderly, he turned his head and kissed her on the cheek. The bittersweet taste of her tears lingered on his lips. "Hermione..." he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

A sob escaped, but it was muffled.

"I miss him, too," he whispered. There was a lump at the back of his throat. His own eyes began to feel hot and itchy with the need to cry.

"Everyone just goes on, living their lives, as though everything's normal, as though he hadn't died just a month ago, as though..." She broke off and shivered. "He's really never coming back." Ron felt her shaking as the tears started again.

Tears splashed down his own cheeks, but he was afraid to turn away. He hoped Hermione wouldn't realize that he was crying, too, and would think the tears were only hers. Ron cried for himself as well as for her. He had failed her, as a friend; watched, oblivious, as she grew sadder by the day. How could he forgive himself for that?

How could they keep living like this? How could they live at all, when Harry was dead? Dead more than a month ago, and never coming back? What was wrong with the world? His soul burned with this new agony, as fresh and raw as if Harry had died today. His best friend was gone forever.

Sadness swelled inside his chest and tightened there, painfully. In a second he yielded and his own sobs joined Hermione's. What did it matter? Why should he hide his pain any longer?

Look at us! he thought. Look at us both, sitting here together! Sharing the same pain, but afraid to comfort each other! Since Harry's death, since the battle and the victory, they had withdrawn into themselves - and shut the other out; and delt as best they could, alone, with the crushing wave of grief that threatened to overwhelm them. By trying to push their grief away. But that left no room for healing, Ron realized now.

And yet - how could they stay friends without Harry?

Did he feel guilty? Was that it? To be here, still, with Hermione, when Harry was gone forever? It's not my fault, Ron thought. It's not my fault I'm still
alive. God knew how he had wanted to die. How he would have welcomed, had even begged for death.

"Oh, Hermione!" he groaned. "What's happened to us?" He lifted his head out of his hands and looked at her. Her eyes were bloodshot, almost swollen shut with crying, and strands of hair stuck in clumps to her wet face.

How he loved her at that moment, more than ever! The feeling vied for room inside his chest, jostling some of the pain and sadness that had settled there like a heavy cloud. His face softened, his eyes grew bright and gentle; Hermione caught the passing expression before it vanished.

Without answering, she scooted around to him so they were sitting side by side with their shoulders touching. "I know what you mean," she said, softly. Her voice was hoarse from crying. They sat like that for a long time, neither speaking. Ron reached over and took her hand. What else could he do?

"Do you feel guilty?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Ron said, slowly. "Only... it feels wrong to me, to be here with you. When he's dead." His voice was flat. "I shouldn't be here. I should have died with him."

"Please don't say that," Hermione pleaded. Her voice shook, and he realized she was crying again. He turned his head away, not wanting to see. "I - I c-couldn't lose you, too, Ron! It t-terrifies me to think - what if I had lost you both! What would I have... w-what would I have done?" She broke off, and sobbed into the hand not holding his. Ron clutched that hand more tightly.

And he was struck with a thought. Something that he recognized only now for the truth. Harry wouldn't have wanted it this way. He wouldn't have wanted them to give up. He would want them to be together, even without him.

He would want them to be happy.

"Hermione," Ron whispered. She lowered her hands without looking at him, shoulders slumped. Ron felt a wrench when he saw the fresh tears on her face.

His heart pounding, he leaned over and tilted her chin so she was looking directly into his eyes. "I'm not going to leave you, Hermione," he said. His voice was strong - stronger than he felt right now.

Their faces were so close. Ron couldn't breathe. You've got to do it. Now - or you never will.

"I won't ever leave you," Ron said. "I love you too much."

Then he kissed her.

---

I hope you like this! I've had it for a few months now. I'm sorry about the funny formatting in spots. I've tried to fix them, but I'm basically retarded with formatting (I know it's awful, and I'm taking some computer classes next year). Oh - and here, I'll bribe you: If you review me, I'll review you.