: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

He gives her the paste for the bruise she'd received from the punching telescopes, and she takes it hesitantly, being very careful to make sure her fingers do not brush against his. It is the only interaction they have that summer beyond awkward smiles that neither of them mean.

As she leaves the store, she glances at him, hoping she can get a good stare without him noticing, but he is glancing at her at that same moment. Brown eyes meet blue eyes in a longing gaze, and they both understand.

They're both sorry, but neither of them want to talk about it.

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

He does try to write her. Only once, during the first semester of her sixth year. But all he can manage is I can't stop thinking about you I hate this I hating being without you can we please go back to what we were I miss you like hell and he knows he can't send that. Not if he wants a chance.

So he keeps his letters in his nightstand drawer, along with various items that reminded him of her. Like a book of hers he'd found with his things. The case of color-changing ink she'd gotten for him after her original birthday present for him didn't work out. A short note she'd written him once (signed Yours, Hermione) that still, after all this time, smelled faintly of her. A Muggle story by some bloke called Shakespeare, since she'd gone on and on about this Hamlet fellow. And, of course, a growing pile of products he invented that were inspired by her.

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

"I'm worried about you."

Fred freezes, doesn't take his eyes off the inventory checklist he's going over. "You are?" He tries to sound casual, but his voice breaks. Damn it. "Why?"

"You know why, Fred."

He finally turns around and flinches at the dark expression on his twin's face. George shifts his weight.

Fred ducks his head, sighing. He drags his hand through his hair. "I know." He admits. "Knowing that she's still at Hogwarts, doing all the dangerous shit she does, that kills me. Knowing that she's spending all her time with Ron and other blokes who are interested in her, I'm not ecstatic about that. But I know she can handle anything. And I know that she'll make the right choices. She'll do what makes her happy." He stops and shakes his head, realizing he has no idea where he'll stop.

"Fred," George says, speaking gently now, "she wouldn't want you to be like this…"

Fred buries his face in his hands, groaning loudly. "She hates me, and I'm in in love with her. I'm in love with her and I never even got to tell her."

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

He expects it to get easier as it goes on. He expects missing her to gradually subside until it's just a distant memory. It doesn't.

Quite the opposite.

He sees her multiple times – during the holidays, over summer break – and each time, it makes his stomach clench. From the look on her face, he guesses she feels the same way. But they must be subtle. No one can know.

There is so much he wants to tell her, so much he wants to say, but it never feels like the right time and he can never put it into the right words.

She always was the eloquent one.

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

Over holiday break, he takes the first opportunity he can to pull Harry aside.

"How is she?" He asks earnestly. "How has she been?"

Harry studies Fred's face carefully, then sighs. "She's been all right. I think she misses you. But she's – she's still angry."

Fred nods, giving the younger boy a sad smile. "I expected nothing less. She's my stubborn little Gryffindor, after all."

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

"You're not very subtle."

Fred glances over his shoulder at the sound of her voice, his face sobering. He looks back up at the evening sky and lets out a deep sigh. So she had noticed him leave.

"You're going to miss the New Year's Eve party." He tells her.

"So are you." She retorts, taking a seat next to him. He desperately wants to touch her hand, but she has her arms folded and her shoulders hunched.

He stares at her. "I couldn't handle it."

"Handle what?"

"You." He says honestly. "And Ron. I didn't want to see you two…" He trails off, knowing that if he keeps talking, his voice will break.

She laughs lightly. Damn, he misses her. "You're still worried about that, are you? Fred…it's not like that between Ron and me. It never has been and it never will be."

"That's not what he thinks." Fred tells her. "You know, you're making this whole 'getting-over-you' thing a lot harder. Not that it wasn't plenty hard in the first place." He adds hastily.

She chews at her lip. "I'm still angry with you."

"I know."

"I still love you."

"I know."

She looks at him. Finally. "But – we can't…Not with the war…A-and everything—"

Softer this time, "I know."

She doesn't go inside until 12:02 and when she does, she whispers that she's sorry and scrambles to get up and Fred shivers.

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

He doesn't get to see to her again until the week before Bill and Fleur's wedding. She shows up at the shop just before closing. When she finds the door locked, she raps her knuckles on the window.

"We're closed." Fred shouts. He's leaning at the counter, taking inventory.

"Even for me?"

Even with her voice muffled, he can tell it's her.

He nearly trips over the displays trying to get to the door quickly enough, and when he swings it open, she is breathing heavily. Later, he finds out it is because she ran here.

"Hermione," he says.

"Fred," she breathes back. "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, he opens the door even wider, and she pushes past him. "What are you doing here?" He asks, following her. He winces at how harsh it sounds. "I mean – is something wrong?"

"We're leaving." She says. At his blank stare, she continues, "I c-can't say why, but I wanted to tell you because I thought I owed it to you. We're leaving. Soon. Even – " Her breath catches, as if she's about to cry. "Even earlier than you did." She laughs softly. "Any of us could die. I could very likely die in this war. You could die. Harry could die. It's…it's a little overwhelming. Terrifying, I'll admit."

He isn't sure how to comfort her, because to tell the truth, he's terrified, too.

She takes a deep breath. "But that's not why I came here tonight."

He pauses. He wonders if she has any idea how he feels about her. "Then why?"

"I don't want to die without—" She stops herself. "I don't want to—" She stops again, smiling embarrassedly at the ceiling. Refusing to meet his gaze, she inquires with a pink tint to her cheeks, "Do you remember what I was originally planning on giving you for your birthday?"

He stares at her. "Yes…"

"My birthday is coming up in September, you know."

There is one moment of utter disbelief before he closes the space between them and, with his hand at the back of her neck, he kisses her hard.

"Are you sure?" He whispers.

"Positive."

From the look in her eyes, the way she's biting her lip, he knows he doesn't have time to waste. He lifts her easily and sets her on the counter. As they explore each other's mouths, his hands toy with the hem of her shirt. Her hands are clasped around his neck, tugging on his hair.

He moves from her lips to her neck, and he gives no mercy.

She hikes her breath in shakily, whimpering his name.

When he pulls away to look at her, she tosses her shirt aside, and, in a hurried motion, helps him remove his.

Panting heavily, she latches onto his mouth. His hands travel up and down her bared skin, and when his fingers brush across a sensitive spot on her hip, she gasps.

When she does, he smiles against her lips, emitting a sound that is wholly possessive and startlingly eager. He pulls her off of the counter, impossibly closer to him.

"Fred," She says suddenly, breathlessly, "Maybe we should go upstairs."

They do.

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

"Well?"

"We shagged. Twice."

"Bloody hell."

"Keep your voice down, George. She's asleep."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell!"

"George!"

"Sorry."

"Fred? Are you awake?"

"Coming, love."