20Written for Sing Me a Rare: Mash Ups. Much love my beta and alpha, NuclearNik and VinoAmore. This piece placed in runner-up Best Romance. This was my first attempt at the Fred/Hermione ship, and I really enjoyed it. I'd love to hear what you think too!
Song Prompt – Good Things Fall Apart by Illenium ft Jon Bellion & Circles by Post Malone.
I guess that sometimes good things fall apart.
I couldn't be there even when I try you don't believe it
A familiar buzzing filled the air, and the quill trapped between his fingers finally gave way under a tight grip. With his teeth digging into the plush of his lower lip, Fred waited with bated breath for the slime to expand. He wasn't sure what it was supposed to be, but he figured if he made it this far, an idea would spark.
Nothing.
No sparks.
Across the room, which was only a few feet, his brother sat behind the desk. He hadn't sat up from where he was hunched over the books, but the curse that slipped out wouldn't go unnoticed, no matter how quiet it had been.
Like clockwork, George straightened and rolled his shoulders. "Everything alright over there?"
No, not particularly, but like hell if Fred was going to admit it. "Fine." His fingers closed tight around the edge of the miniature basin, almost pleading with the stagnant slime to spark, glitter, or foam. As if mocking him it stayed perfectly still, slowly hardening. "Just a fluke."
George must have thought Fred didn't see the shadow cross his face, but he always did. George's disapproving glares were becoming more frequent as of late. "Right," his jaw was tight. "Just a fluke."
At one time, the sound of his twin echoing his words would have caused a bubble of laughter to expand in his chest. Doubling and then tripling—maybe even more than that—until his body couldn't contain his own mirth. That's why he had a twin, his mum said once when he was toddling around the Burrow.
Things had changed since the end of the world.
Fred's fingers slipped against his collar as he tugged it in frustration. No matter how loose his clothing was, he could still feel the pressure of bricks toppling down on him, crushing him. If he could manage to grasp onto the image of the first face he'd seen as the bricks were hauled off of him, maybe, maybe he could have found some peace.
At this point, he wondered if it had even been Hermione's face he'd seen. He never did get the chance to ask her, and she'd left months ago.
His younger brother had been pretty broken up about it.
"Fred!" came the snapping voice. "Do you know what this charge is?"
He didn't hear the scraping of chair legs against the floor or the determined, heavy steps George made as he crossed the short distance to stand next to him. Fred did, however, recognise the charge on the invoice list George dangled in front of his face, and he knew George wouldn't be happy about it. "It's…" Fred motioned toward the slime.
For the record, it still wasn't doing anything at all. Even when he glared at it and prayed it would do something so he didn't have to own up to the consequence of wasting money on another faulty experiment.
"I thought we agreed." George curbed the edge of his voice just words into his statement, but it was clear it had taken a great deal of effort. "We said we wouldn't buy any supplies without talking to the other." You promised you wouldn't do this because we've lost enough already.
Fred's defensive gaze locked on his brother's as the unspoken words hung thick and heavy between them.
Clearing his throat, Fred knew he ought to be more regretful, but he couldn't drum up the effort. "No, you said that I needed to tell you before buying anything. You don't ask me for my opinion before placing orders."
George blinked as his lips moved to form a retort, but nothing came out.
"I saw the delivery today. Peeked inside." Fred shrugged. "It was all ingredients."
"This isn't the time to talk about this."
Fred snorted. "Sure it's not. You'd rather walk on eggshells, is that it? Oh, I'd better not talk to Fred about the problem. It's better to act like there isn't one." Standing, he waved his wand and summoned his coat from across the room.
"You're admitting there's a problem?"
"I'm in a slump, I know."
George's shoulders fell, but it clearly wasn't from relief. "This isn't a slump. I told you, you ought to see that mind healer—"
Merlin, this again?
"Calm down." Fred slid his arms into the sleeves. "I don't need a mind healer. What I need is a bout of inspiration." The sound of bubbling was sharp, and Fred glanced over his shoulder. "See? It's working."
"Is that what it's supposed to do?"
He didn't know what it was meant to do, but Fred couldn't let him know that. "Yeah."
"And then?"
There was a pause, and lead formed in Fred's stomach.
"We already sell slime, and it's not a very good seller." George's voice was quiet, and it had to be one of the things Fred was most tired of.
Everyone kept their voices down around him, like if they spoke too loud they might spook him as if he were a wild animal.
It was so fucking exhausting.
Fred's lips pressed into a thin line. He already knew that slime wasn't a good seller for the shop, but he'd hoped it would turn into something.
Evidently, hope wasn't enough. If it were, he'd have bounced back already.
The start of a witty retort was on the tip of his tongue, just the right amount of humour with added irritation, but slime pelted into his back before he got the chance.
George shouted and then his wand was in his hand, and he set to cleaning his brother off.
He yanked away, muttering, "I can do it myself."
"So, was that supposed to happen?" The edge was back, sharper than it'd ever been, and Fred recognized what was coming. Dragging a tired hand down his face while crinkling invoices in the other, George growled, "You had no idea what it was going to do, did you?"
So, he hadn't.
"What are you thinking? Ordering supplies and trying to think of an idea on the fly? How many times do I have to tell you—"
"I'm still half owner and your partner." Your brother, he almost added, but it would have felt too much like a guilt trip. "Not to mention, we used to always buy what supplies we could get our hands on—"
"We used to have a profit!"
"—and we always experimented. We always had good ideas." Fred could remember sitting on the floor of their Hogwarts dorm fondly.
George's lower lip shook, and it was the only warning Fred had before the words flew out of his mouth. "You used to have good ideas!"
The flinch couldn't have gone unnoticed. Fred pushed past him without a word, ignoring the words that followed him.
I didn't mean to say it like that.
It did absolutely nothing to soften the blow. George meant every word, no matter how it was spoken.
Their flat was out of the question. How anti-climatic would it be to storm away and then immediately come face to face again? From the Apparition point at the edge of Diagon, Fred vanished and landed outside the Burrow.
It was familiar, and he stood there for a moment to look at the leaning structure. They'd been adding onto it for a long time with each addition to the family.
If he went inside, he could see his family, but they would pick up on his mood. The last thing he wanted was intrusive questions.
Tucking his hands into his pockets, he veered to the right, making his way down the overgrown gravel walkway until he came to a worn shed—his father's piece of the Muggle world filled with trinkets he'd collected over the years. The door creaked as he opened it, and the scent of aged wood and old leather filled his nostrils. Sunlight beamed through the small, cracked window making it hard to miss the dust floating in the air.
The car was still there, though there had been some much-needed repair work after the run-in with the Whomping Willow. A smile split his face at the memory.
With the door springing shut behind him, Fred picked up the first thing he saw on the workbench. It was covered in various bobbles which he couldn't even begin to name as he cleared them off. He remembered the day Hermione had brought this to Dad, a faint smile turning her mouth as he wrapped her into a hug.
"It's a postcard, Mr. Weasley. My parents always take me on holiday here, and I thought you might like it."
Dear old Dad had enjoyed it very much. Even now, it was under a strong charm so dust couldn't coat it, and it was just as shiny as the day she'd brought it.
Turning it over in his hands, he stared at the cliff and the waves that crashed against the bottom. While it was still strange to see a picture that didn't move, Fred didn't think about it as he ran his thumb over the corner.
"It's my favourite place."
She'd said that. He'd never been in the habit of watching Hermione Granger too closely, for reasons that didn't really matter, but Fred had heard that much before he'd been dragged away.
What was it about this place that made her so happy?
Guess I'll find out for myself.
Fred snorted at the dust that surrounded where the card had been and returned it back to its original spot.
Dad really needed to clean the shed.
It didn't take long for him to figure out why this place made her happy. The cool breeze carried the salty sea air through the streets. From a distance, he could hear waves crashing against the rocks, and he found it oddly calming.
Multiple people waved to him, cheery smiles lighting their faces, and for the first time in what had been too long, a genuine smile stretched his lips as he waved back. Shouldering his bag, he ambled down the worn streets, comforted by the solid snap of his shoes against the stone.
Just as a weight—or multiple, honestly—had been lifted from his shoulders, it crashed downward once more, nearly causing him to topple over.
"Fred?"
He whirled around, eyes wide, and choked when she stared up at him.
"It is you," Hermione breathed. In her arms, there were bagged groceries, more than she could carry comfortably. "I saw your hair, but I thought it couldn't possibly be you."
"It's me," he said with some difficulty and waited for the inevitable question.
When it did, it wasn't the one he expected, and he put his foot square in his mouth.
"Have you found a place to stay yet?"
"None of your bloody business."
Her brows lifted, and his mind came to a hard, full stop.
"Wait, that's not..." Fred cupped the back of his neck and felt a fierce burn rise to his cheeks. "I put my foot in my mouth."
Pretty brown eyes dropped to the ground before slowly coming back to his. "That sounds uncomfortable. You have big feet."
The weight vanished again. "You know what they say about blokes with big feet, don't you?"
Her face brightened before pink rose to her cheeks, and she laughed quietly.
"They wear big socks."
She smirked. "I don't think that's what they say."
"Care to start over?"
Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other and nodded. "Sure, but you'll have to help me carry these if you want a second chance."
"That's doable." Fred took half of them, tried to take even more but she wouldn't let him.
In the time it took them to walk to the little house she stayed in, Fred didn't think of home or all its problems. Not once.
Perhaps this Muggle town held a bit of its own magic.
"It belongs to my parents." Hermione twisted the key in the lock and nudged the door open with her foot.
"They won't mind that I'm here with you, will they?" Fred had never met her parents, but he'd caught a glimpse of them on the platform before. Nice people. Her mum was quite pretty, but he'd kept that opinion to himself.
And to George.
As she set to shelving cans, Hermione kept her back to him, and long seconds stretched between them before she answered. "They're not here."
"Oh."
"You don't know?" Hermione turned. She leaned against the counter, her fingers curling around the edge, gripping it until they turned a stark white. "Ron didn't tell you?"
He shook his head. "Ron hasn't talked much about you since you left. I don't mean—"
"It's fine. He didn't want me to go, and I understood. We all cope differently."
Cope.
Fred wasn't sure he even knew the meaning of the word, much less how to do it properly. Still, it struck a chord didn't leave him.
"Would you like some tea?"
He heard himself say that would be fine, but Fred thought she might be trying to keep herself busy.
His thought was nearly confirmed to be true when she began again, but only once she was putting the kettle on.
"I Obliviated my parents before the three of us had to go on the hunt." Hermione's voice was soft, barely there, but he caught the tremor in it all the same. "They were starting to realize how bad it was getting, and I thought they might take me as far away as they could."
His chest clenched.
"It wouldn't have been far enough. Eventually, if Voldemort hadn't been stopped, it would have spread to other countries. If it had…"
He hadn't known. There had been publicised parts of the war in the summer that had followed. He knew there was a scar on her left arm that would never completely go away, a cursed scar from Bellatrix Lestrange. He knew that she'd given up a great deal during the war, but this was more than he'd expected.
"You did the right thing."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Yeah, that's what everyone says, but it doesn't feel like that." She slid into the chair at the table, and he sat across from her. "I found them in Australia, but the spell can't be reversed without heavy risk."
He didn't know what to say. Sorry would be too cheap. Fred sighed and opted to tell the truth, just like she had. It was only fair, he thought. "I left England because I couldn't stand it anymore."
There was that smile again, so bright it made him pause. "I think I can understand that. You thought I was going to ask why you were here earlier, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"You sure had that response at the ready." Her fingers tapped against the wood, and he noted the pale pink that coated her nails. "Have you found a place to stay?"
"Not yet. I thought I'd figure it out once I arrived."
Her nose wrinkled. "That sounds like a terrible plan, but if you'd like, there's a spare room."
In all the years since he'd met her, he knew next to nothing about Hermione Granger, but he wanted to say yes anyway. "You're sure you wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all. It's lonely staying in this house all by myself."
The best part about sitting with her, Fred decided, was that she didn't ask what had caused him to leave home. She didn't ask about George, his family, or the shop.
Probably because she understood.
She kept to herself. Whether it was for her sake or what she thought he wanted, Fred wasn't completely sure.
What he was sure of, though, was that Hermione needed to get out of the house.
In the morning stretch of the day, he found her curled up in a large window with a pillow tucked behind her. There was a novel cracked open in her lap, and her cheek rested against the glass.
Her breath fogged it up, and Fred lingered in the entryway for a moment. She had no idea he was there, and it granted him a glimpse of her. Merlin help him if she looked up. He'd look like a bloody creep.
Still, he couldn't help it.
Hermione was pretty, though it felt like an understatement.
Sunlight streamed through the window, filtering through thick spirals of hair as she turned the page, and her lips parted.
Pretty.
More than pretty.
It was no wonder Ron had pined after her, even if it hadn't worked out in the end.
Hermione accidentally tilted her book upward, and a grin spread across his lips. He stepped off the ledge, allowing the stomping of his feet to announce his arrival as she snapped the book shut. "Is that a naked bloke on the cover?"
Her cheeks flushed red, nearly a Weasley branded shade, and she spluttered, "he's not naked."
"Bloody close, I'd say," Fred laughed. He snatched the book from her, careful not to open it. He didn't really want to embarrass her, though the thought of reading an excerpt out loud did cross his mind. He flipped it around to show it to her and pointed. "His trousers are about to fall off!"
She swallowed, her throat moving with the movement. "Maybe he couldn't find a belt."
Roaring with laughter, Fred grinned even wider when she joined him. "Oh, sweet Granger, I don't think he's looking for his belt."
Sweet?
Nibbling her lower lip, Hermione took her book back from him. "You're right. He's not looking for a belt."
"A shag would be more believable."
She exhaled through her nose and glared at him. "It's a love story!"
"Well, I'm pretty sure people who are in love still shag. Probably one of their favourite past times."
A wicked smile curved her lips, and he couldn't decide whether it should exhilarate him as much as it did or terrify him. Both, definitely both. "That must be how your parents ended up with so many of you."
He coughed. "Gross! Unwarranted! Downright cruel, Granger!"
"I don't know about cruel," Hermione smirked. "Did you need something?"
Fred watched her, wishing the sunlight didn't make her seem so much brighter. His mind did that all on its own, and he'd yet to piece together what it all meant. "No, but you do."
"I do?"
There was that echo, but it didn't cause his stomach to twist.
Well, it did, but not due to anything bad—depending on his point of view.
"I want to go out," Fred told her then, resisting the urge to reach out and wrap a curl around his finger. "And you're coming with me."
"I am?"
Another roll of his stomach. "You are."
Hermione pondered it for a moment. "But my book."
"Fit bloke will still be here when we get back."
She snorted. "His name is Logan."
"Forgive me," God, it was so easy to smile, "but I don't think you care that his name is Logan." He hooked his arm through hers and pulled her out of the room. "What is there to do here?"
Holding up one finger, she told him to wait right there.
And he did.
Fred made Hermione give him the official tour of the village.
The wind swept through the village softly as the sun shone in the late morning sky. Hermione brought him to her favourite spot on the beach. She told him it had been a good place for her to gather her thoughts. He watched her discard her shoes and dig her toes into the sand while water rolled across them.
When she urged him to do the same, he hadn't argued, despite the fact he hated sand.
After that, they'd peeked into various shops and in all the time they spent together, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes didn't come up once. She pointed out a shop housing sports gear and informed him some people got together on the weekends to play rugby. It's not Quidditch, but you might like it. When he'd asked her if she'd tag along to cheer him on, Hermione lifted her head and nodded.
The slight colouration to her cheeks meant nothing, he reassured himself, but obviously it meant something.
Everything meant something.
They stopped in a bookstore, and Fred offered to carry the books she bought. He hadn't stopped to consider how many she might buy, but even if he had, he still wouldn't have changed his mind. Though he'd seen Hermione as a bookworm growing up, he now realized that didn't mean it was strictly textbooks she'd been reading.
The pink dusting on her cheeks never fully went away as she roamed the aisles. "I've always loved romance novels. I used to glamour them in school."
He understood that. But— "You glamoured the covers to look like textbooks?" Fred's jaw dropped.
How many times could she have been sitting across from him in the Great Hall reading about Logans? Or curled up in that chair she always liked in the Gryffindor common room?
"Of course, I did. Ron would have never stopped teasing me."
On the contrary, Fred thought his little brother would have asked Hermione to Hogsmeade had he realized that she'd been interested in romance.
He would have.
Wait.
Hermione stacked three more books in his arms and discreetly cast a featherlight charm. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Merlin, he needed to get a grip. "Like what?"
She didn't elaborate and weaved her way toward the register. "There's a deli down the street, and I know the best place to have a picnic. Want to go?"
The word yes was out of his mouth before he'd even realized what she'd said.
What Hermione had neglected to mention about this perfect spot to have a picnic was that it rested at the top of a bloody cliff.
"We couldn't have Apparated?" Fred wheezed. She knew where it was, after all. Once they were out of sight, she could have grabbed hold of him and gotten them up here in seconds. Glancing behind him, he saw the steep trek they had climbed. "I'm not going back down; I'll break my neck."
She snorted. "We'll Apparate from here. It's high enough no one will see or hear the sound." Hermione pulled a blanket from her bag, draped it over the grass, and sat down. "Also, you're right—you would fall down the hill. I did once."
His eyes popped up. "Recently?"
Hermione pulled sandwiches from the brown bag and held one out as he sat down. "No, when I was younger. My dad brought me up here once; it's how I know about it. Mum always hated it because it was too dangerous."
"Smart lady." Fred bit into his sandwich while choking down a laugh.
"So, we came up here with lunch from," she motioned to the bag. "On the way down, I let go of Dad's hand to chase a butterfly, and…"
Staring at her, Fred swallowed. "How old were you?"
"Seven."
"Were you hurt badly?"
Then she grinned. "Broke my arm on the way down, but Dad sprinted down and caught me before I had a chance to break anything else. Mum never found out though."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Technically, Dad didn't realize I'd broken my arm either, just thought I was lucky. I knew though. I felt my bone crack."
Fred winced. "Accidental magic?"
Nodding, Hermione unwrapped her sandwich. "I think so. McGonagall and Dumbledore agreed when I asked them. By the time he got to me, it was healed, but it was so sore!"
"I'll bloody bet it was."
Minutes passed, and Hermione ate her chips while stealing a few of his. He didn't stop her either. "Do you ever want to ask me why I'm here?"
"I know why you're here." Her brows furrowed. "You didn't want to be in England."
"But you don't ask me what happened to make me leave," Fred clarified, watching her closely. "You aren't the least bit curious?"
"Of course, I'm curious. That's my nature," she laughed. "I just assume you'll tell me if you want to, and if you don't, then it's none of my business."
Fred kicked his shoes off, and they joined hers at the edge of the blanket. "And if I want to talk about it?"
"Then I'm all yours."
Of course, she was. It wasn't possible to imagine that she'd have said anything else. Swallowing hard, Fred pretended not to notice when her gaze dropped to his fingers as they dug into the blanket and the dirt below. "The shop isn't doing well."
She bit into her sandwich, only giving a small nod as an indicator that she'd heard him.
"It hasn't, uh," Fred cleared his throat again, finding it dry, "it hasn't been turning a profit since we reopened our doors."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Hermione didn't ask why, and she wouldn't ask anything if he decided to cut the conversation short. Still, he pressed forward. "It's my fault."
"I don't believe you."
His nostrils flared. "You—"
Water dribbled from the edge of her mouth when she tipped the water bottle back.
"I can't create anything."
She shook her head. "You've invented several things, brilliant products. I'd know since I had to confiscate them."
"George and I had a fight. That's why I left." Ever the patient one, Hermione didn't say anything, and he almost wished she would have. "I ordered supplies without an idea, and I pointed out how we had always done that." The and it always worked out went unsaid, but she'd caught it.
Of course she had. She was brilliant.
And she thought his inventions were as well.
"He told me that I used to have good ideas." Used, as in past tense, he wanted to add bitterly, but didn't. "I wasn't doing much good around the shop anyway unless you count running it into the ground."
Hermione tilted her head to the side, a frown dragging the corners of her mouth down. "You're in a slump, Fred. That happens with any form of creativity."
He'd heard it all before. He'd even said it, over and over again. Except the difference was when she said it, Fred almost believed it.
His pinky toe slammed against the leg of the kitchen island, and a string of profanities slipped out before he had the mind to stop them.
A quiet giggle distracted him from the not-so-momentary pain, and Fred's head snapped up to see Hermione lingering in the doorway. "I've lost count of how many times I've done that."
"Feels like my toe is squished to a nub."
Another laugh, this one not as quiet. "Think you'll live?" Hermione smiled widely, but just as quickly it slipped away. "What is it?"
"I was just thinking that—" What the fuck was he thinking?
Hermione took a small, infinitesimal really, step toward him. And then another.
And another.
And then another until she closed the gap between them.
"Are you blushing?" Her eyes narrowed, and the corner of her lips twitched, just like they always did when she tried not to laugh.
It hadn't even been a full two weeks since he'd come here, and somehow the world had flipped upside down all over again. Which would have been a bad thing, except for the fact that before it had meant everything was wrong.
For it to be flipped back meant that everything—maybe not everything—was right. Closer to where it was supposed to be, and things could be fixed.
A finger poked into his sternum, and Fred realized it looked like he wasn't breathing at all.
"You are blushing."
"I was thinking I had never realized how pretty you were before, and wondering how I could be so blind." As soon as he spoke the words he wanted to cringe. Surely there had been a better way to say that.
Practically any other way would have been better.
Twenty-six letters in the alphabet, and he'd come up with that.
However, Hermione didn't seem to mind. She arched an eyebrow. "Well, we never spoke much, and it was only recently I learned a simple charm to smooth my hair which has made it so much easier," she laughed.
His chest deflated. "We're good? No awkwardness?"
"Nope." Her lips popped at the end of the word.
A brief beat of silence followed, and mercifully, he recovered with a wry smile. "I think this is where you admit you've always found me devilishly handsome."
With her back resting against the counter, she folded her arms over her chest. "You think so? I suppose if we're sharing." Hermione gave a little shrug, but before he could comment on whether or not she was serious, she spoke once more. "Why can't you sleep?"
It was the same as it always was, but he'd never admitted it to anyone. "Sometimes I dream I'm under that wall again."
Pale, pretty lips parted in horror, and her eyes widened.
"I'm suffocating, and my chest feels like it might collapse." He didn't know why he didn't stop. Maybe it was because he couldn't, or maybe it was because it needed to come out. "My family is yelling, all of them, plus you and Harry. The pressure lessens with each piece pulled off of me, but…"
She closed the space between them and pulled him into a tight hug. "Is this okay?"
"More than okay." He rubbed her back, holding her close and already dreading the moment she'd pull away.
"I'm so sorry."
He rested his chin on top of her head and hoped Hermione wouldn't notice his lips brush her hair. "I've got a question for you."
Hermione wiggled against him, managing to lift her head.
"Are you the one who pulled the slab off my face?"
Slab felt like a hideous word, but he remembered staring at the piece of stone that had robbed him of the ability to breathe. It had been big enough to press down into his chest, and each breath had been harder than the last.
A shudder went though her, and his arms tightened around her.
"Yes," she breathed.
"I always see your face just before I wake up." Fred didn't mean to sway; it was just a nervous tick, but she moved with him.
Swaying. Slowly back and forth in the kitchen where the only light was the moon pouring through the glass. Over the tile, he could see the stream of light split due to a crack in the window.
"Honestly, given the rest of the dream, it's not a bad way to wake up." Her breath caught, and small fingers curled in the front of his shirt. "I was never sure if it was real."
If anyone asked him, Fred couldn't say what pushed him to lean down.
But he knew that while her eyes widened a bit, Hermione didn't pull away from him. If anything, she'd pressed closer to him, her fingers still wrinkling his shirt. She breathed his name, just the one syllable as his hands settled on her hips and her back met the counter again.
He knew he had kissed her first, and it had been little more than a brush of his lips against hers until Hermione pulled him closer still, and kissed him until he couldn't breathe.
Hermione sighed when he pulled her into his lap in the window nook she frequented so much. Her book tumbled from her hand, and she whispered, "I'll lose my place."
His fingers slid through her curls, and his nails scraped her scalp just slightly. "I have no doubt you'll find it again."
She didn't argue with that. A soft whimper slipped through her teeth when he kissed a slow path down her throat, fingers gripping her hips.
Then she rolled her hips against his.
Sweet Circe, she was going to kill him.
Fred nudged the hem of her shirt and glanced up. "This okay?"
Hermione tugged it over her head herself with a cheeky grin before pressing her lips to his and pulling his shirt up. "It's only fair."
It was a flurry of movement, a bit of confusion and a lot of laughter that he hadn't expected, that led to laying in the large window with her. He worried it might be uncomfortable, but Hermione had slipped her legs around him and pulled him down before he could ask.
She bit his lower lip when he moved too slowly, he learned.
Scratched his back when his fingers traced designs in her flesh just so.
Moaned his name and arched her back when he reached between her thighs.
She might kill him, Fred decided, but it was hard to mind.
Especially when she straddled his waist again, and sank down on him, knotting her fingers in his hair while she kissed him so slowly, all the while whispering moaning his name as if it were a prayer.
And after, when they found their way to the floor and she laid on his chest, Hermione kissed him again, her smile as wide as his.
"Logan, who?" Fred asked, and snickered when she swatted his chest.
Her laughter turned into sweet sounds when he rolled on top of her, content to earn them in whatever way he could.
As it turned out, there were a lot of ways to do so.
Eventually, all things came to an end.
Those were the words Hermione used when letters came for them both. She sat in his lap, and looped her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I know you're upset by what was said the last time the two of you were in the same room, but he's your brother. I'm sure he's sorry."
He'd already skimmed the letter and knew it was true. "I don't know how he found me."
"Probably the same way the Ministry found me."
Fred arched a brow.
"They're nosy."
Merlin, if he knew it.
"It's a job offer, isn't it?"
"It is." She folded her hands in her lap, hesitating as she pulled her eyes back to him. "I want to take it, but I don't want to leave you here either."
That meant something. "Then we'll go." Fred sighed, drawing a circle on the flesh of her hip. "I have to admit I'm not all that interested in staying if you're not here."
The smile that crossed her face could have stopped his heart, and he didn't even care how sappy it sounded. "We can't stay away forever," Hermione whispered, and kissed his temple. "But it's different this time."
Already, the idea of setting foot in the shop made his stomach churn. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she confirmed quietly. "This time we have each other."
While those six words had made him feel a hell of a lot better when it came time to hold the portkey, the relief they'd brought him slowly dissipated within a few weeks.
It was hard, Fred reasoned, but that didn't mean it would always be that way. Still, his own voice rattling around inside his head did little to reassure him.
It was always something. Like everyone had expected, Hermione Granger had joined the Ministry, and she was doing a bloody good job. If she wasn't promoted to something higher by the end of the year, he'd be surprised. As for him, Fred slipped back into day-to-day life in the shop, but he hadn't drummed up the courage to say more than a few words to his twin at a time, and he hadn't talked about anything other than the business. Still, George started an apology time and time again before walking away as it fell on deaf ears.
Hermione crept into his bedroom late one night after she'd missed dinner with him, pushing the door shut with a soft click. "Oh!" she squeaked when he sat up. "You scared me."
He chuckled, and if she noticed there was no real mirth in it, she didn't say anything before climbing into his lap. "You're awfully late. However will you make it up to me?"
The way she stiffened almost went unnoticed. "Well," Hermione looped her arms around his neck, "I thought I could treat you to dinner later this week."
Not the idea he was going for, but Fred nodded. "You don't have to."
"I didn't think you were going to wait up." Her lips brushed his, but she pulled away before it could deepen. "It's so late, Fred."
"Come on, we've stayed up so much later than this."
Her teeth dug into her lip, and she glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, but that was before we both had to wake up early for work."
"Tomorrow's Saturday." It would be just like her to forget what day of the week it was, but Fred caught the shadow that flickered across her face. "You're working tomorrow?"
A nod.
Fred's stomach dropped. "I thought we were going to spend the day together." Honestly, it had been weeks since he'd gotten the chance to spend a single twenty-four hour period with her; looking forward to it had been the only thing to get him through the week.
"I'm so sorry. It's a large project, and normally they wouldn't ask someone so junior to help." Hermione's shoulder fell. "It's a great opportunity."
One look at the witch in his lap was all it took for him to know that if he asked her not to go, she wouldn't go. Fred considered it for a fraction of a moment before dismissing it. It wouldn't be fair, not to mention the building resentment it would cause. This would only be the first time she needed to cancel their plans.
He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Then you should do it. I'll still be here."
She smiled broadly. "I promise I'll make it up to you." Her lips slid against his, and he almost forgot the sharp twist to his stomach.
In the next month, Fred had lost count of how many times they'd had to cancel on the other. It wasn't just her anymore.
She was busy at work, which came as no surprise. The Ministry was a mess of overlapping red tape, and while he knew his girlfriend couldn't untangle all of it, she would be the one to try.
The shop had gotten a sudden wind of traffic pouring through the doors, and while it should have given him the boost in his mood that he desperately needed, Fred didn't feel any better.
He also couldn't ignore Hermione's mood. It had taken a sharp dive, and she itched her forearm through her sleeves constantly. Frequently, when she slept in his bed—since it was all the time they got to spend with the other—she woke in a fit of screams.
He kept the room silenced now after she'd scared George.
Thing was, Hermione wasn't always awake when she screamed. Sometimes, her eyes shot open, remaining glassy with tears, and she screamed until she couldn't breathe. Nothing woke her, at least not anything he had discovered, and she had an awfully mean right hook when he tried to shake her.
To make an already bad problem worse, she refused to talk to him about it. Hermione huffed in frustration and said it was just the world that reminded her of things she'd rather forget altogether. Everywhere she turned, there was another memory waiting to confront her, and there wasn't anything she could do to stop them.
After missing the other so many times, it had been Hermione's idea to return to the Muggle world, and their first stop had been a small trinket shop.
"I loved these when I was a little girl." She held up a tiny ring with a stone centered in the middle. "It's a mood ring."
He blinked.
"It's supposed to detect your mood."
"That's not possible though, if Muggles made it." Still, Fred bought one and slipped it onto her finger. Even if it was a complete rip off, the grin it earned made it more than worth it.
They'd gone to the cinema, and she repeatedly told him he needed to stay quiet. Eventually, Hermione had decided the only way to keep him quiet was to snog him.
He had no complaints, and even if he didn't know what the film had been about, it had felt perfect.
So fucking perfect.
That day had somehow brought them here, to this exact moment where Hermione wrung her hands and stared at him with tears in her eyes. She'd missed another date, one she'd been so excited for, but her tears weren't for missing the date.
No, that would have been too easy.
"You want to break up?" He heard his voice, heard the words, but couldn't accept them. "What did I do wrong?" Admittedly, he hadn't been in many relationships. There had been one date in Hogwarts that hadn't gotten a second when she said he made a joke out of everything, but nothing more.
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. You've done nothing wrong."
"I don't understand." His throat felt like it was burning. Everything had been fine, he thought. She'd left that morning after kissing him, though now as he thought about it, it had been hesitant. "If this is about our date, it's okay, Hermione. We can always—"
"We can't keep doing this," she blurted. "You're happy with me because you can ignore everything that's happened, and I can ignore it, but we can't keep ignoring our problems. We can't keep using each other to cope! We can't."
"I don't understand." He could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. "I'm happy because you make me happy."
Tears slipped openly down her cheeks. "We aren't healing."
"I'll go to a mind healer then, Hermione. Don't do this."
In the moment, he could see reasoning with her wouldn't be possible with her so worked up. Hermione had made up her mind already, and somehow—some-fucking-how—she had convinced herself that she was doing more harm than good.
"If it's because you don't want to be with me, the least you can do is admit it," he snapped.
Hermione flinched. "Is that what you honestly think I—"
"How can I know what you think if this is the first time you've ever mentioned it?" Fred yelled, realizing there wasn't a silencing charm on the bedroom. "If it's what you want, then go, but don't act like you're doing it for me."
A harsh sob escaped her, and when she tried to say something, Hermione couldn't manage it. "You'll understand." The door banging shut followed her words.
Somehow, he didn't think that would be the case.
He did go to a mind healer, and the realization that Hermione hadn't been entirely wrong ran him over. While he didn't agree with her reaction, or her solution, Fred could see it.
She'd been a balm to the pain, but falling in love hadn't healed it.
It had covered it.
Love.
Sweet fucking Merlin, he was so in love with her it hurt.
Floo calls went unanswered which initially led him to think she was ignoring him.. He knew his witch, and it was more like her to have thrown herself into her work to keep her mind off the unpleasant.
He apologized to George the day after his first appointment. "I'm tired of arguing. It feels like I'm missing a limb."
Fred stuck to the back of the shop, choosing to catalogue inventory rather than work the counter as he always had. Unfortunately, it left him with plenty of time to think about Hermione, and plenty of time to mope over the hole in his chest losing her had left.
It was in the middle of the night, though, that an idea struck him. Ron had taken everything to her after she'd walked out that night, but it appeared he'd forgotten one thing. Plucking up the book, Fred snorted at the cover. Logan, he thought wryly. As he flipped it open, intending to pick up where she'd left off even though it would only make him feel worse, her bookmark fell out.
A tiny scrap of Muggle paper was all it was.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
After showing it to George, and earning his agreement a bookmark with a modified sticking charm would sell during the next summer just before the new term, Fred had sat at the workbench. Turning the bookmark over in his hands, he wondered if he could get it to Hermione without actually bothering her.
"Fuck, that's it!"
George dropped his clipboard. "What?"
"I've just had the best idea I've ever had." Fred pocketed the bookmark and raced upstairs.
With an hour to wonder whether sitting on her doorstep was a good idea, Fred had a lot of time to contemplate all the ways it could go. Maybe she's decided she likes being single more. Maybe she's not interested anymore. Maybe—
"Fred?"
She peeked at him from around an armload of groceries. "It's freezing. How long have you been here?"
He took the bags from her and waited for her to invite him in. "I started seeing a healer."
Hermione pulled her scarf off. "I'm really proud of you."
"And I realized that you were right." Fred rocked back on his feet. "But you're wrong too because maybe I was trying to ignore my problems, but I told you I haven't had a good idea in months. I was thinking of you, and I made this."
"A bookmark?"
"You always complained about losing your place when I made your book fall. It sticks."
Her lips parted. "These will be good for the start of term."
Fred stepped forward. "Will you give me your hand?"
With a little sigh, Hermione placed her hand in his. "Fred, I—"
"Shh," he smirked. Sliding the ring onto her finger, Fred held up his hand, revealing his. "You told me you loved those Muggle mood rings so I made these. They're a pair."
Her breath caught, and she blinked.
"It's real for me, and if you can give me another chance, I swear you'll never have to wonder if I'm serious again." He watched her fiddle with the ring. "I lost my inspiration for a while, Hermione, but it was you all along. What I needed has been in the magical world the entire time, beyond the exceptions, obviously."
Hermione's eyes watered. "I'm so sorry I didn't stay to talk."
He crushed her to his chest and kissed the top of her hair. "Don't be. You gave me the push I needed to pull my head out."
When she whispered his name, Fred pulled back to look down at her. She was nibbling her lower lip again. "What does blue mean?"
"That means I'm mind numbingly in love with you." His thumb slid over her cheek bone.
Stretching up, which wasn't necessary when he picked her up, earning a loud squeal, Hermione kissed him feverishly. "I love you too." Another brush of her lips. "So much." In between kisses, she asked him to stay the night and led him down the corridor while unbuttoning his shirt. "Fred?"
"Mmm." He picked her up once more, and unclasped her bra before nudging her bedroom door open.
"What does red mean?"
He chuckled and felt her lips curve into a smile. "Oh, that? It means I'm randy."
Hermione threw her head back and laughed. "As if I needed a ring to tell me that."
"You wound me, Granger."
"Look at that," she whispered, pressing herself closer to him. "Blue again. I love you."
Fred was certain he'd never tire of hearing it, but by the end of the night, her neighbors certainly would as her voice had climbed with each movement of his body against hers.
