It seemed it had only ever been the three of them. He had lost count of how long they had been together. Was it years or months? Was it lifetimes? Only the three of them- even when there were others around.

The rest of the world had ceased to exist outside of their circle. Outside of their search. What would they do now they had found what they had been looking for, and it was all destroyed? So much had been lost in the process.

Just a little more waiting until they received the sign from the others that it was safe to come out of hiding. They hated cowering at Grimmauld Place.

Only a few more rogue Death Eaters to round up. A few politicians to placate.

Just as well they had to wait. Harry knew that Ron and Hermione believed he wasn’t ready to face anyone just yet. He probably agreed with them.

Harry tried to send his mind back to the time before. Before Ginny had died. Before a dying Voldemort had made one last desperate attempt at immortality, grasping the soul link through Harry’s scar. Before he’d started to lose his tenuous grip on sanity. Before the pain.

Voldemort’s attempt hadn’t worked and the Dark Lord had perished, but not before wrenching a small piece of Harry’s soul to take with him, leaving a ragged edge, bleeding life, as his newly opened scar did likewise. Everything inside him seemed to ache.

Breathing…moving... thinking.... Even his hair seemed painful.

They had drawn him back. And sometimes he hated them for it. As he felt himself slip back into the universe that was his grief and pain, he felt the hand stroking his hair. He felt the whisper on his skin as they brought him back again.

Together.

His mind steadied onto a point in time. To the first time.

*****

He knew they needed to be with each other, but it just wasn’t fair. He had lost his consolation. They still had each other.

His loneliness warred with his gratitude. Where could he go to give them some room? Where could they go to not feel guilty about leaving him out? Deep inside, underneath his ever-present guilt, he depended on their devotion to him and loved them back for it.

Never could someone have friends such as these.

He knew they watched him as he slept. He knew that Ron hadn’t really slept in months. He knew that Hermione’s eyes were on him as she brewed potions and muttered incantations. He knew they thought he was too thin, and too quiet, and too....far away.

He knew that they both watched him when he started to get lost inside his search for a memory. When the pain would rise up and overshadow his awareness of the world around him.

And he knew that the only thing keeping them strong for him was each other.

He couldn’t take away any chance for them to enjoy a respite. So what drew him to the door to watch them? He felt like a child spying on his parents. Feeling safer because they loved each other.

And like a child, he blushed when he noticed that they had seen him.

Like a child he shuffled forward as Hermione had opened her arms to him. He had crept in under the blankets and allowed them to enfold him in their love. And when the pain had come again, and he was swept away from reality, he knew that Ron had held them both in his arms as Hermione had drawn him into herself and eased his despair away.

As she had allowed him to feel again. To be connected to the body he had been walking around in.

To receive in a way he had never had the opportunity to do. Not as a small boy, locked away under the stairs. Not as a growing lad thrown into communal living when he was used to isolation. Not as a teenager with the object of his love cruelly taken from his arms.

When had Ron learned to be so tender? When had his emotional range expanded from a teaspoon to an ocean? It was a father’s love that smoothed his hair and massaged the aching scar and a friend’s devotion that stroked long calming lines down his body until he was too lost in the moment to know who was touching what. To only know that he was still alive.

*****

He heard them whispering, and tried to walk away. Find somewhere to not be intruding.

"We are going to have to talk about it, Ron!" Hermione hissed.

He stood, frozen - listening despite himself. I’m pathetic, he thought.

"Why?" sighed Ron wearily. "Can’t we just let it be? It is what it is. We are both okay with it. Don’t make it more complicated than it is already."

"But it IS complicated!"

"No. It’s simple. We’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll give whatever we have. I know that. You know that. And I think Harry knows that."

Funny how to Ron it really was that simple, thought Harry.

There was a pause. Harry heard a muffled sniff.

"Come here," said Hermione more gently. "Are you sure you don’t mind? Are you sure we can make it work?"

"I’m sure." Ron sighed again deeply. "So sure. Except for one thing."

"What is it?"

"Babies."

Silence.

"I don’t know if I could handle you having his baby."

A chair scraped gently.

"I won’t."

"How can you say that? How do you know?… You wouldn’t…!"

"NO, Ron. I wouldn't!" Hermione drew a deep breath. "…Ron…"

Her voice sounded so small. Harry found himself straining to hear the next husky phrase.

"It’s a bit late to be worrying about that...really. There’s... there's already one there. I… I didn’t know how to tell you… I thought you’d be cross…"

"CROSS!!!!"

"Shhhhh! Well, frightened…"

Somehow, Harry knew that Ron was smiling.

******

A green light. A high cold laugh. A young woman’s face framed by red hair. Blinding pain making him gasp and clutch at his head. It was his own thin, white hand raising the wand. His own sneering lips speaking the deadly spell. His own red eyes that saw the woman fall to the floor. He saw his mother’s face and then the features blurred and changed. GINNY!!!! NO!!!!!!

A hand reached out in the dark and steadied his flailing arm that was grasping for his wand.

"Alright Harry. Shhh. Hush mate. It’s okay. You’re okay."

The slow smooth strokes down his back helped to steady him again. He knew it was Ron stroking him. Like he was a baby. Or a cat.

Why doesn’t this feel weird? Harry thought for the umpteenth time.

They'd had The Conversation.

It had been excruciating in the light of day to put words to what happened silently in the dark. Night after night. But at least they could all look each other in the eye again. They had both been right of course.

It was complicated. And it was simple.

He reached for Hermione. The bed was empty there. A panic started in the pit of his stomach. He sat up, head pounding in the aftermath of the dream. The gentle hand pulled him down again.

"Shhh. Hush, mate. It’s okay. You’re okay."

"Hermione… where is she? Is she alright? Is she dead?"

A blurry haze appeared above him in the dark.

Ron chuckled softly. "No, Harry. She’s here. She’s alive. Just… She’s not feeling too well. I sent her into the other room to get some more sleep. I said I’d… Uhhhh… watch you."

"I’m not a bloody T.V."

"I know mate."

"And I’m not a baby, either. What are you going to do when there’s a real baby to look after?"

"Don’t be stupid. I don’t think you’re a bloody baby. I just… You’re my best mate. We… I love you. You need us."

The large warm hand inched over his waist, and began tracing circles on his stomach. Soothing. Lightly the circles increased, further, broader.

"Do you want me to… I can…"

"You must hate me. For what we’re doing…"

"No! Don’t start that again. I don’t. Not from the first time. Not now. I’m just happy it helps you. And so is Hermione. And it’s not pity." Halting his protest. "It's love."

Love. It’s what saved him.

Who’d have guessed how that would work, huh?

Suddenly tears started to leak out of the side of his eyes and make tracks down into puddles in his ears. Relentlessly he clamped down on them. He hadn’t cried yet. He wasn’t going to start now. Turn into a blithering git on top of everything else…

He drew a deep shuddering breath. The hand stilled. And then he heard a low groan next to him. Harry felt on the table for his glasses and put them on.

Oh God. Ron was crying.

Ron.

Crying.

Confusion rose in his thoughts. Had Ron been lying? Had he been suffering in silence all this time?

"I’m so sorry mate. What I’ve put you through."

"No," gulped Ron. "I’m just so glad you’re okay. After everything else that happened, I thought… I thought we’d lost you, too. But you’re going to be okay. I’m just… So glad… You’re all right."

A light broke through into Harry’s heart like the sun shines through a crack in the curtains and warms the room with morning light.

Life.

Returning slowly to his bruised and battered soul.

And suddenly he knew.

He was here. He was alive. He was going to be okay.

Soon he would be ready, they would be ready to face the world again. The new world they had helped to create.

He turned slowly to the long, gentle man next to him. The friend who had given everything he had to give. Even the woman he loved. He gathered him close, cradling his face to his chest, rocking gently and stroking his back with long, smooth strokes. It was his turn to offer the comfort of a loving touch.

After a little while another body eased itself gently down on Ron’s other side. A little awkwardly manoeuvring so that the slight swell of her stomach rested in the small of his back. Harry felt long thin fingers cup his cheek.

Soon they would face the world. But for now they lay together. And they cried together. Over all that they had lost.

And over all that they had not lost.