After the war, life went on.
Harry and Ginny married. Ron became an auror. Bill and Fleur had a child. Lee moved in with his girlfriend, Percy got a job he loved, Molly fussed over her children and thanked Merlin everyday she hadn't lost any of them.
Fred and George went back to their shop and the little flat above it. George reconnected with Angelina. Fred cracked jokes, tested products on Angelina because he claimed it was initiation into the Weasley family. Katie invited him over to meet her new puppy. Andromeda left Teddy with him to babysit. New Hogwarts students came in to buy Skiving Snackboxes.
Some of the students came in with scars or flinched when someone brushed past them. Some came alone and determined. Some came with one parent, some came with half. Some hid their colours under hooded robes and looked at their feet when Fred checked them out at the till. They were ashamed, but they needn't be. It wasn't little Jamie Perkins who had killed her, and Fred didn't blame his green and silver robes one bit.
The next year, Jamie Perkins brought his girlfriend who nudged him until he looked Fred in the eye. Fred smiled.
Life went on. It was going on all around him. But sometimes, in the moments in between, Fred was haunted by the life he could've had.
A little muggle-born girl with bright eyes had eagerly asked him to explain how the Daydream Charms worked, practically bouncing with curiosity. Fred had just grinned conspiratorially, given her one for free, and winked. Fred heard her voice when the little girl left the store, and the bell over the door tinkled. You know, that really is extraordinary magic.
That night he'd stared at the ceiling with her smile behind his eyes until the sun came up.
George liked to worry about him, he knew. Fred loved George, and loved him for his worrying. He heard his twin talking quietly to Harry in the lounge when they thought he was asleep. He almost smiled at the thought. It would've been their anniversary. How could he be asleep?
"She would've wanted you to move on with your life," Harry said to Fred.
"But what she wants doesn't really matter now, does it?" he'd replied with a laugh.
As if to prove his words, the Ministry built a statue.
He went to her grave sometimes, but he hated to look at the girl on top of the pedestal. The first time the statue had looked down at him and smiled a smile that wasn't Hermione's, he'd almost destroyed it. They thought it would be a nice tribute to her, but she would've hated it. The statue's hair was sleek and wavy, her features slimmer and more dainty. She held her wand delicately - like a lady. She had been prim, yes, but Hermione had never been a lady. She was a scholar and a warrior. She wasn't delicate and soft, she was hard and fierce and fiery.
He could practically see her haughty sniff.
"Why would they waste galleons on that when they could be paying their house elves?" she would demand.
He dreamt that Hermione was alive, and he was racing across the battlefield to reach her. When he put his hand on her shoulder to turn her around, her face was bronze, eyes blank, and she looked up at him with a smile that wasn't hers.
Fred expanded the WonderWitch line with her words ringing in his ears. Fred Weasley, do you really think all witches care about is looks and boys? The first thing he created was a spray that made parchment brand new again. Wrinkles gone, smudges erased, complete with the scent of fresh parchment. She'd once said she knew she fancied him because he smelled like amortentia. Fred didn't know what amortentia smelled like, nor did he want to. The thought of being attracted to anyone else made him feel dirty and traitorous. He wondered if it would smell of anything at all.
He tried, once, to watch the memories he had of her. Harry had asked for some, and Fred thought it might help him grieve too.
That night, he'd slept. But he'd dreamed of her laugh and woke up screaming. George didn't ask what had happened. Fred didn't tell him dreams of her falling on the battlefield hurt less than remembering how happy they were.
He handed the less personal memories off to Harry and hadn't touched a pensieve since. Sometimes that memory still popped up as he was stirring his tea, or brushing his teeth.
"We'll see each other in a few weeks, Fred, don't be dramatic," she scoffed. The sun hit her hair, and Fred's heart warmed.
"Oh Hermione, a few weeks apart from you is a few weeks too long," he gasped dramatically.
"I'll miss you, too," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, looping her arms around his neck, "but it can't be helped."
"Then I'll see you every night in my dreams!" he joked.
She tried to act unimpressed, but laughed when he spun her around in his arms.
Fred thought it was funny, really. She always loved to remind him to be careful what he wished for.
He couldn't watch his memories, but he loved to read her letters. Their correspondence over holidays, notes passed to each other in the Great Hall. It made him smile to get to know young Hermione all over again. He kept the scraps of paper in a locked wooden box next to his bed. A physical testament that she had been there, and she had loved him. Fred sometimes wondered if Hermione had kept his notes and letters and doodles, or if they'd been lost in the war. Harry offered to come with him to go through her things, and Fred agreed. But not for a while yet. Not for a while.
Fred asked if Harry and Ron wanted to come with him to Australia.
"How will you find them?" asked Ron.
"I'm brilliant enough to figure something out, Ronniekins!"
Ron rolled his eyes. Harry shook his head, but agreed to come. Fred thought maybe Harry wanted to get away from it all, too.
Australia was hot and open. Harry and Fred spent days roaming the country, looking and hiding. When Harry gave his name at hotels, nobody gaped. When Fred was silent and didn't have the energy to smile, nobody prodded him. They liked Australia. Fred could feel her in the wind. He wondered if the wind had a smell, and thought of amortentia.
He dreamt of their last weeks together before the three of them had gone off to find the Horcruxes. He dreamt of how his mum had sent them to de-gnome the yard, and how she'd blushed when he teased that one day they'd send their kids out to the yard in turn. He woke up with a wet pillow. Harry woke up screaming.
They found Hermione's parents. It took a great deal of effort to return their memories. Fred laughed in delight. Brightest witch of her age.
The Grangers were confused. Where was Hermione? Why had she sent them to Australia?
"The wizarding world...we had a war," Fred started haltingly.
"Hermione was off saving the world. She sent you here to hide you from the people who wanted her dead."
Harry sat silently by Fred's side, stewing with grief and guilt. It wasn't your fault, Fred wanted to say to him. But that wasn't worth a knut.
"So she wiped our memories? Why did she send you instead of coming herself?"
Hermione's mother was getting indignant. The breeze laughed through the window. Fred smiled a watery smile. He had thought the next time he went to dinner with the Grangers it would be under very different circumstances.
"She couldn't come herself. I'm sure she's very sorry about that, wherever she is."
"Is she missing? A prisoner of war?" her father asked.
"No," said Fred, "the war is over. She's gone."
Harry and Fred had an international portkey ready to take them home. As they left the Grangers' house, Fred allowed himself to imagine for a moment that he was going home to her. That he'd asked for the Grangers' blessing in taking Hermione's hand. That she was the Minister of Magic, and every Sunday he paid their house elves (clad in little knitted socks and hats) then forced her to leave her paperwork and come to bed. He didn't think about the boxes of her things they would have to sort through when they returned, or the statue of the girl that wasn't her. Instead, he thought of freshly mown grass and fresh parchment.
He left the Grangers in Australia. She whispered to him in the wind.
We'll meet again, Freddie.
And life went on.