"…for silence is pure. Silence is holy. Only those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking"

-The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks

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Five days had passed since Fred's death. It seemed like an eternity and yet like an impossibly short amount of time.

He couldn't stand the silence. It was almost suffocating to be in the overcrowded house, trying to avoid everyone's morose faces. He did his best to avoid them all, especially Hermione. He would catch her looking at him with indescribable sadness on her face. He had barely spoken to her since the day they had kissed. He knew he was being a coward and hated himself for it. He knew he should've been trying to comfort his family and Harry, who felt responsible. He was shutting them all out but had no idea how to put any of his feelings into words.

He chose the easy way: he ran away, again.

He slipped out of his room at nearly one in the morning, when everyone had finally settled down to sleep. He avoided looking at the mantel above the fireplace, knowing it was crowded with photographs. He didn't think he could stand to see Fred waving happily, unaware of the grieving family he'd left behind.

He walked to the old apple tree on the very edge of the orchard. He'd always come here to escape his brothers, particularly the twins. He sat under the huge tree, wondering if he was supposed to feel this…empty.

Ron was so deep in his stupor he didn't notice her until she was a few feet in front of him, her lit wand held aloft. "Hermione," he said, surprised. He didn't think anyone knew he was out here. "What are you doing out here?"

She sat down next to him, placing the wand in between them. In the dim light, he could see the shadows under her eyes, making her look all the more fragile. "I could ask you the same thing," she said, shivering involuntarily.

"You shouldn't be out here," he said. He felt a bit guilty knowing that her concern had dragged her out of bed at this hour of the night. He hurriedly took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

She was quiet for a moment as she looked up at him. "I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine." He did his best to avoid her eyes.

"Ron, please," she said, the pleading note in her voice finally making him turn his head in her direction. "Let me be there for you."

"I haven't been purposefully avoiding you. It's just…"

"I know," she said quietly, covering his hand with hers.

He looked down at their hands, turning his over so their fingers were intertwined. "You do?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Silence pressed around him once again, but this time it wasn't so bad. Not with her hand in his and the steady sound of her breathing to sustain him.

"It happened so fast," he said, half to himself. "Laughing one second, dead the next." To his shock, he felt his eyes fill. He hadn't cried since that night.

Hermione reached up silently and brushed a tear away with her thumb. She left her hand on his face, her eyes searching his. Then she leaned in and brushed her lips against his, the kiss as delicate as the flutter of butterfly wings.

He leaned his forehead against hers, their fingers still entwined.

There was no need to speak.

-fin