A/N: This is another Hermione x Fred drabble-y ficlet. I only want to say, that this would have to be AU for the whole Ron-Hermione relationship through DH (and thus the epilogue is non-existent). Otherwise though, it would have to be DH compliant—though it doesn't really matter that much. Enjoy. R&R! Thanks. –Mac
Disclaimer: I don't own HP.
Visions of a Future Lost
Hermione yawned as she slipped on her robe. She tied the sash as she stepped out of the bedroom. She found him hunched over his kitchen table. He was fiddling with something obscured by his body and out of her sight. She smiled as the soft murmured melody reached her ears. She quietly approached, hoping to not disturb him.
"You sing while you work, do you realize that?" Hermione murmured as she leaned over his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him.
Fred laughed lightly and put down what he was working on, "Yeah. George always comments about how tone deaf and off key I am. Next time, just tell me to shut the hell up and I'll stop."
"No," Hermione nestled her face in the crook of his neck, "I like it."
"Well then maybe you're the tone deaf one," Fred chuckled. He reached up a hand to hold hers where it still rested against his chest.
"Very funny," Hermione replied. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder before spinning around him to situate herself on his lap. "What are you working on?"
"Just a little something for the new line of Weasley Wizard Wheezes," Fred shrugged, "Did I wake you up?"
"I don't mind," Hermione answered softly. "It means I get to spend more time with you."
"Oh, well I can't argue with that?" Fred grinned. He leaned forward and captured her lips with his. She sighed and melted against him She wrapped her arms around his neck and his hands tangled in her hair.
Even as he was pulling her closer, she felt an invisible force pulling her away.
…
Hermione woke in her bed, drenched in a cold sweat. She was panting slightly and she closed her eyes as she tried to steady her breathing. She untangled herself from her sheets and grabbed her robe from where it hung from the bedpost at the head of her bed. She pulled it over her shoulders and tied the sash. She slipped out of her bedroom and moved toward her kitchen. She filled her kettle with water and placed it on her stove. She opened one of her cabinets and pulled out a cup for her tea and left it on her counter.
Hermione sat down at her kitchen table. She let her face fall into her hands. Her head was filled with images of a future she should have had, but had so tragically been stolen from her. As she began to cry—for herself, for the love she had that died with Fred Weasley, for all the tragic lives cut short by the war—her tears began to seep through her fingers to drop onto the wood of the table. They left discolored marks on the wood that dried and vanished nearly as quickly as the dream had faded away. The world went spinning on as she sat motionless—haunted by the visions of a future lost.
The sound of her sobs was drowned out by the whistle of the kettle.