He nudges his way through the people, accepting condolences and touches now and then, but he can't focus on anything but her. She keeps seeming like she gets further away, like a nightmare where everything he wants is just out of reach, corridors stretching impossibly long and his breath tight in his chest when he realizes even if he runs full out, he'll never catch up. He has dreams like this about Fred, where Fred's on one end and George is on the other, and Ron's in the way, trying to hold everything together, bring them together but keep them apart all at once.

"Ron? Are you all right?" Hermione's voice breaks through whatever's got hold of him. He blinks and looks at her, with her frizzy hair and slightly cross expression, and he nods. He's not all right, not by miles, but he doesn't know what else to say. Everything's supposed to be all right now, and it's still not. Voldemort's dead and Harry's alive and Neville's a hero and Hogwarts is being rebuilt and there's work to be done and things to look forward to and a future, a future bright enough to blind him. But there's also dark shadows that stretch out and linger, cold fingers where there used to be warm, holes in family photographs now, spaces where other people used to be.

"D'you think we could go for a walk, Hermione?"

"Of course, Ron." She takes his hand and he clutches it tightly. It's still unfamiliar, this bit, but they're together well enough. Everyone says 'I told you so', but Ron ignores them and just tries to remember that destiny isn't always the nicest sort of thing to have coming after you. Harry taught him that, taught him everything that Hermione didn't. Sometimes he thinks he's never known anything at all until they came along. "I keep rather expecting him to pop out of the woodwork with a loud 'ta-da', don't you?"

Ron nods a little, becase that's exactly like Fred, but he knows it's not going to happen. "George would kill him."

"Yes. George would." She rubs her thumb over his hand. "I think George would have to get in line though."

"Actually, George would know. Suspect, I imagine. I mean, they're twins, right? Know stuff like that." He looks down at their hands and then up at her. Hermione stops walking and meets his gaze, the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. His brow furrows and he looks at her suspiciously. "What?"

"Nothing, Ron." She leans in, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips. "You're just really sort of clever sometimes, I think."

"I said something clever? Really?"

Hermione laughs and Ron memorizes the sound because he's learned that there's not always time to do that in the future, not always time. "No, Ron. But you one day might." She squeezes his hand again and starts walking. He follows along, figuring that's got to be better than nothing.