Jane Smiley's Epilogue

There was a creaky step somewhere at the bottom of the staircase – this much she remembered though the memory’s lack of precision was a bit of a nuisance. How was one supposed to flee from a familiar place when the familiarity of it escaped you?
She had walked down all the way to the fourth step, enough to hear the little sounds coming from the kitchen and adjoining living room – the non-stop clicking of knitting needles, and the scraping of a dish brush against metal, all of which went perfectly along the unlike mix of baked cinnamon and freshly cut grass. Hermione remembered all that, yet the precise step eluded her.
She wasn’t family. She had no business coming here the night before, yet she let herself be convinced for at the time she
Weasley, however, never got to finish her question since Ginny jumped and clung at Hermione with such force she had trouble keeping herself seated. The attack jumpstarted her lungs and she got to breathe despite Ginny’s strong hold. The redhead didn’t seem to notice Hermione’s slow and controlled breaths.
Ginny flopped into the chair beside her, her shoulders pulled low. “I’m sorry I never went to visit you in the Infirmary.”
Hermione shook her head and attempted a smile. “I understand,” she steeled herself with a breath before continuing, now to both women, “I never got to say it, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
Mrs. Weasley’s fist shot to her mouth, and Hermione instantly regretted her mentioning it. “I—”
The apology died in her lips as Mrs. Weasley raised her other hand to silence her. “I know, dear, thank you… Now eat, you two. I’ll go fetch the boys.”
Ginny gave her a half-smile. “Mom’s a little…all over the place. We know you’re the one that kept Ron and Harry alive all this time.”
“It’s not exactly how it happened—”
“Isn’t it?” And the amused smile that crept onto Ginny’s face was the only happy one she had seen all morning. “Because those two would never mistake a poison mushroom for and edible
“Okay, perhaps it was a bit like that.”
“I knew it. Harry?”
Hermione shook her head, and her face twisted at the memory. “Ron.”
The girls shared a smile.
“Listen,” started Ginny leaning in, her voice dropped to a whisper, “Ron told me—”
But whatever Ginny was about to tell her concerning Ron was interrupted by Ron himself, as he and Harry joined them in the kitchen. “‘Morning.”
Ron yawned, a very loud, very long one that echoed like a call to his bed. Harry, on the other hand, circled the table, and kissed the top of Hermione’s head, before giving Ginny a proper kiss. He sat beside Ginny, whose eyes kept darting between herself and Ron as if waiting for something. His eyes never met Hermione’s, yet he had no reserve scowling at his sister.
Ginny just snorted. “And Mom?”
“Upstairs with Charlie, trying to get George out of the room,” Ron answered as he cut a slice of his mother Treacle Tart.
“How is he?” Hermione