AN: I don't own Harry Potter! Please let me know what you think!
The Brightest Witch of All Ages and Just Me
It'd been nineteen years since the war. During that time many had married, and many more had expanded their families, all trying in their own way, to forget the horrors of Voldemort's reign. It wasn't something that was talked about freely. Not even by my Hermione and the two men she called best friends.
The first days following the Harry's victory had been filled with tears and blood. No one has escaped unscathed. But now that all those physical wounds were healed and scarred over, there were the other injuries that not even Poppy's strongest potions and spells could heal.
This was especially true for the Golden Trio, and even more so for my Hermione.
After months on the run with Ron and Harry, countless weeks with barely any food and rest. Her body wasn't used to steady meals and consistent rest. And her two friends, while willing to take care of her, needed to get better themselves.
Ron took to mum's coddling like a little babe. Harry was a little different, he spent a couple weeks sleeping in her bed, holding her through the nightmares that were inevitable. But still, it wasn't enough. She was so jumpy back then, her wand always clutched in her hand a stunner at the tip of her tongue.
During the battle she had been brilliant, yielding magic as if it was an extension of herself. The very air crackled around her body. She had trailed Harry through the hallways of crumbling castle, deflecting and shielding him from spells as he ran. Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort, but Hermione Granger made certain that the boy-who-lived stayed alive long enough to win.
About three weeks after the final battle, I found Hermione in the Burrow's kitchen, trying to pour a cup of tea. Her hands convulsed with involuntary tremors and boiling water spilled everywhere but in her cup.
Back then we didn't know the symptoms of long term crucio exposure, and I certainly didn't know of her time in the Malfoy manor under Bellatrix's wand. I often think back on that moment as the beginning of my life with her. I could've easily taken the kettle and poured the water myself, but instead I put my hands over hers, steadying them.
"Brightest bloody witch of my age, and I can't make a cup of tea," she whispered angrily.
"Brightest bloody witch of all ages," I corrected her. It was true, and not only because it was printed all over the Prophet.
While her body trembled and shook her magic compensated. Her wand started achieving feats that would rival the accomplishments of Dumbledore.
Ever since that day in the kitchen I made it a point to be near her during meal times, to steady her hands and give her back a little bit of the control she craved. She had two types of days, the good ones and the bad ones. The bad ones were very bad, with angry shouting, and tears. And Hermione unavoidably locking herself away in a dark room.
The good days were filled with almost-there smiles and quite conversations.
Yet slowly she started to heal. And those bad days became very few. At least outwardly, she seemed better, the tremors were almost completely gone, and she had graduated to eating a full meal a day.
Thankfully my lovely girl is a creature of habit and she'd gotten used to me being about, seeking my company several time throughout the day. I know my mother was grateful for my devotion to Hermione, worrying about her more than any of her other children.
Then one day, out of the blue, Hermione decided it was time to collect her parents. We all tried to convince her to at least let someone go with her, but she was adamant on going alone. The time she spent in Australia was the first time I learned to miss her. But life kept going. Harry and Ginny got together again and Ron did whatever it was that Ron did.
Exactly two months after she left we received a visit from the minister of magic himself, Kingsley. He mentioned that Hermione's international portkey had arrived a week prior. And he was inquiring of her whereabouts to offer her a job at the ministry.
The poor minister only managed to spread panic amongst the Burrow. And of course the first ones to run in search of her were Ron and Harry. Mom looked tearfully at the newly-added hand on her clock, it hadn't moved from "traveling" in the last two months and it wasn't about to move now. Ginny left soon after, collecting Luna and Neville. They were going to look in Hogsmade.
But I can't say I noticed much after the minister's visit. A flood of chilling fear filled my chest. And the first thought that came to mind was of the rogue death eaters. She was the perfect target. They could've easily found her. I sat there for all of an hour, planning my own search party. Death eaters were a remote possibility, but as the news started to sink, I had another thought.
Her parents. She went looking for them and it was very likely that she was at home with them.
And that's exactly where I found her. Curled up on her childhood bed, fast asleep. I suppose living through a war sharpens your senses, because she woke up the moment I step in the room. Her hard expression quickly slipped off when she realized it was me. She told me she found her parents, and had removed the memory charm. But they had not been exactly pleased to see her. In fact they had sent her away with loud promises she was dead to them.
Her grief was so powerful, it rendered me unable to speak. So I just held her for a long while letting her cry until she fell asleep. I sent a patronus, letting mum know I'd found Hermione. And then started to methodically shrink everything in the house.
There was no question in my mind, Hermione couldn't stay in this house anymore. So with a pocket full of shrunken things I woke her, and apparated us to the Burrow.
Mum gave me a particular look as I took my crying charge up the stairs and into the room she shared with Ginny. Tucking her gently I made to leave, but a cold hand grasped my wrist.
"Stay?" She asked.
I could hear the sadness in her voice. Looking into her pleading and tearful brown eyes, I knew there was no way I'd ever say no to her.
She spent the night telling me everything. From how scared she'd been to send her parents away, to her torture, and how much she hated to be so broken now. All I could do was listen and hold her close when the tears overwhelmed her words. We stayed together all night, she whispered her fears while I whispered encouragements, and as the first rays of sunlight started to slip past the curtains, I kissed her. I tried to show her how perfect and wonderful I thought she was with that kiss.
Two more months and my bed turned into ours. She was mine and I was hers. She took Kingsley's offer and life seemed to finally be moving on.
It took her a very long time to get used to me taking care of her. The first time she had a nightmare in my arms was one of the most frightening nights of my life. Her brain seemed trapped in the war. Her body convulsed in pain, and no matter what I did she just wouldn't wake up. I had to silence the room and floo Harry. The next day I learned all about muscle memory and hot baths. She was in terrible pain and her tremors were worse than ever.
Night terrors, Harry called them. He said the longer she spent trapped in her nightmares the worse off she be the next day. Eventually I learned to chase away those dreams too.
I was worried about her working and being about without me. But my clever girl managed, and she was brilliant.
Exactly one year after our first kiss, we shared another first. I got to kiss her again, but this time instead of kissing in my little sister's room, I kissed her in front of all our friends and family. That day I became her husband and she my wife.
Mum cried the entire time. Harry gave her away. She looked so lovely. And the only time her hands shook was when I slipped her ring on, but I'd like to think it was the overwhelming love that made her tremble, rather than Bellatrix's curse. She laughed when I told her that, and I vowed to make her laugh like that everyday for the rest of my life.
She dedicated her career to bettering the wizarding world. With Harry, Neville and surprisingly Malfoy supporting all her newly written legislations she made our world a better place, and took down all mention of blood purity from our laws. She had McGonagall's ear at Hogwarts and the Minister's favor. She created spells and potions, and even penned a book or two herself. She worked so hard and at first I couldn't understand why. We just won a war, shouldn't we be able to live freely and happily.
But my Hermione kept working tirelessly for years. Staying awake countless nights, letting her exhaustion aggravate her tremors and lingering pain. On one occasion I found her soaking in the bath, her face scrunched in pain, one hand dangling off the edge clutching a small stack of parchment.
"Pet, why are you doing this?" I asked her, dropping my lips on her sweaty forehead.
"Because, my love," she started letting a shaky wet hand trail over my cheek. "I want the next boy I meet with a scar on his forehead to tell me it happened when he fell off his broom, and when I see one of my mates and he tells me he lost his parents that it was because of old age. And I want that little muggleborn girl getting sorted into Gryffindor come next spring to be proud of her parents. I don't want children brewing illegal potions in a girls laboratory and I when I see a shaggy black I want my heart not to break, and when I bump into lavender next week I want her to tell me that she got the post at Witch Weekly despite her lycanthropy."
She dropped her little stack of parchment and pulled me closer. "I do this, so children can meet their grandparents, and so that no one has to live trapped under a fidelus charm. I do this, because all headmasters should die warm and happy in their beds. Because I want the Forest of Dean to be place where happy memories are made, and the Tales of the Beetle and the Bard become just children' stories once again. I do this because I want our babies to stay babies for as long as possible, but most of all I do this so that the next time a bride's hands shake when her husband is putting on her ring is because she trembling with overwhelming love."
Sometime during her bath proclamations I started to cry. And my wonderful, wonderful wife looked at me with tears in her own eyes. It was there, as she sat bare before me, that I fell in love with her all over again. The urge to hold her was overwhelming, barely managing to slip off my trainers I crawled in the tub with her. The hot water sloshed over the sides, but neither of us cared. I cradled her aching body close to mine and thank Merlin that she was mine.
"I'll help you, then," I told her. "And the next time I marry you, you'll be trembling with overwhelming love."
How she laughed, peels of unrestrained joy escaped her. And I vowed to make this world a better one, but unlike my wife, I would do it just for her.
When it came time to bring our first little one into the world I was scared. Hermione's pregnancy hadn't been easy. The added strain of having to grow another person was almost too much for her. Near the end her pain was almost constant. The labor was as complicated as the pregnancy, but almost 36 hours after it began, we finally welcomed a little girl.
We had two more after our daughter, a little boy and another girl, each time I was as scared as the first. But the image of my sweat-soaked wife, sobbing in happiness as she held a brand new baby to her chest, was something I could look at for the rest of my life.
"Welcome, baby," she whispered each time. "Welcome to the world."
And what a world it was. She changed it and made it fair and just. She made it as perfect as she could for those three little bodies sleeping down the hall from us.
A few weeks ago I found her soaking in the bath again, her face still scrunched in pain, but unlike last time she had a copy of Witch Weekly in her had.
"We did it love," she said without even looking up.
"What did we do now, sweetheart?" I asked her.
"Teddy stopped by this morning, a nasty gash in the middle of his forehead," she smiled. "Know what he said?"
"What?" I humored her.
"I was having a go on Uncle Ron's broom and I fell off," she looked up.
"Bet it'll leave a wicked scar," I replied without thinking.
Her magazine slipped off her hand, landing open on a story penned by Lavender Brown. "And McGonagall asked me to tour the parents of a muggleborn girl through Hogwarts," she added.
"Yeah? That's lovely," I said taking her outstretched hand. "The children are asleep," I mentioned. "I read them from your old copy of the Tales."
She laughed pulling me closer to her. "We have three beautiful babies, who will live in long happy lives, thanks to you," I said pulling my trainers off, and slipping in the water behind her. "I suppose I only have one question left."
She let her back rest on my chest. "Oh I suppose you do."
I kissed a trail from her shoulder to her jaw. "Hermione Weasley, will you marry me... again?" I whispered.
She let a tiny chuckle out, before turning her head and letting our lips meet. "Yes, Fred Weasley, I'll marry you again."
Our second wedding was just as lovely as our first. Mum still cried. And Harry gave her away again. And she looked as lovely as she had almost two decades earlier. And when her hands shook as I slipped on her ring, I was positive that she was trembling because of our overwhelming love.
I know the nightmares will never fully go away and her body will ache for the rest of her life. But those are things I can't fix, and I will welcome them as long as it means having her by my side.
I will watch over her as she watches over our world. The brightest witch of all ages and me, just Fred.