It was the beginning of winter. Cold winds started blowing faster than winter robes could sell. A loud pop could be heard in the middle of Hogsmeade.
Fred Weasley appeared and already regretted Apparating into the street rather than into the bar. Perhaps it was a better decision than being inside. He would be able to leave and no one would know he had been there.
He stared through the window of the Three Broomsticks, not allowing himself access to the warmth within. It was rather empty, it being a Tuesday afternoon, and Harry and Hermione were huddled together in the middle of the bar. Their mouths moved rapidly, sometimes Hermione would frantically move her hands and Harry would push his hair back. Even through the window, Fred could see the lightening bolt scar. He wondered if it still caused Harry pain.
A breeze cut through Fred's robes, instantly chilling his bones. He decided he should actually go inside rather than watch Harry and Hermione through the foggy window.
His steps were reluctant. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to go home and sleep. He fiddled with his wand, but continued to walk inside the bar. George had made him promise. He had to do this for George.
"Hullo, Fred." Harry greeted upon seeing the familiar face. Fred didn't understand how someone who had suffered so much could be so warm and welcoming. "Could I get you a butterbeer?" He offered.
"I'll take a firewhisky, if you don't mind." Fred answered. Hermione gave him a pointed look and he felt her disapproval course through his veins but couldn't bring himself to care about her judgment.
"Sure." Harry motioned for Madam Rosmerta and she shuffled over. "Two firewhiskies and a warm butterbeer." He ordered.
"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "You've got to go back to work."
"I have a feeling I'm not going to want to go back into the office today, 'Mione." Harry said.
Hermione pursed her lips and shot Harry the same look she gave Fred, yet it was softer. She allowed Harry this one without further argument. Hermione never conceded to anyone, but perhaps Harry was where she cut some slack.
Madam Rosmerta put the drinks on the table and went back to behind the bar. Hermione reached across the small round table for her drink.
"Here." Fred said, handing it to her so she didn't have to reach and grab.
"Thanks, Fred." She smiled at him. It felt as warm as Harry's greeting.
Harry and Hermione sat close, Fred noticed—not intertwined like a couple would sit, but close enough that they were touching in way that only people who know the depths of each other would. Like he would with George.
Hermione took a small sip of her butterbeer and licked her lips. Harry laughed and took a timid sip of his firewhisky. He winced, but savored the taste. He liked the drink, but could not get over the burning sensation that trailed down from the tip of his tongue right down to his stomach. Fred took a sip—slowly at first, like Harry—but once he felt the familiar feeling, he gulped it down. He almost slammed the glass down on the table, making Hermione jump. He licked his lips and motioned again for Madam Rosmerta to bring him another drink.
Hermione began to scold him—no one should be drinking in the middle of the afternoon—but Harry grasped her upper arm and she stopped herself.
"So why has my dear twin sent me to see you two?" Fred asked.
"Er—" Harry started, but Hermione gently interrupted.
"He figures it would be easier for you to transition back if you talk to people who are, well, sort of going through similar emotions."
"I'll bloody transition him." Fred slammed on the table. Harry and Hermione immediately stood up with their wands out. Fred didn't notice when, but one of them had already disarmed him. Hermione's hand was shaking violently as she held it in his direction.
"Wands away, wands away!" Madam Rosmerta shouted. "I'll have no dueling in here. You can go over to the Hog's Head for that."
The pair seemed to calm down at Rosmerta's voice.
"I'm sorry, Fred." Hermione was the first to speak. She handed Fred his wand back.
"Is it loud noises for you both, then?" Fred asked. His voice was quiet, and although he spoke with understanding, it still was a bit rude.
"Loud noises, shadows, strangers, people slamming on tables—"
"Nightmares." Hermione added to Harry's list.
"I get nightmares, too." Fred admitted. "I sleep with the light on."
The three sat in the rough silence of the bar. Six goblins could be heard arguing at a different table. Madam Rosmerta's heels clinked against the floor. Harry's breathing was heavy and erratic. Hermione kept staring at Fred, who refused to look up from his hand still on the table.
"What happened?" Fred asked.
Harry and Hermione told him everything they could, from everyone believing Fred was dead, everyone believing Harry was dead—"Are we sure You-Know-Who is dead, then?" Fred joked. Hermione gave him a horrified, angry look. He shut up. Harry talked about Ginny's growing frustrations and worries. How he wakes up in the middle of the night and trashes the home he and Ginny were trying to build. How Ginny was now considering ending their engagement because she could not live in the past any longer.
Hermione interrupted him there. "Ginny never told me that."
"She's mentioned it a few times." Harry said. "I think she's told Ron, too."
The news awakened a deep-seated fear in Hermione—a fear almost greater than her everyday ones. What is Ron was thinking the same thing?
But Hermione only nodded and let Harry continue to talk until the conversation got lighter, and the three had a little more to drink than intended. She told Fred how George and Angelina both refuse to admit their feelings for each other.
"Guilt, I think." Hermione said when Fred asked about his brother's love life. "Angelina's last boyfriend was, well, you, and you really only just came out of a comatose state. Neither of them wanted to…" Hermione paused, trying to figure out how she was going to word what she was going to say next.
"It would have been weird." Harry finished for her.
Fred understood, but felt guilty. George should be happy. George didn't need to suffer because he was suffering. Harry changed the subject.
"Malawi won, which was an upset. Everyone thought Senegal had the cup. George wasn't surprised—he was able to predict the match so well that we all thought he was a Seer."
"Yes, it was very funny. I loved when he said I would be promoted if I wore a specific red bow to work." Hermione said bitterly.
"You don't even believe in Seeing, yet you still did it."
"Because I thought there was no harm!"
"What happened with the bow?" Fred asked.
"Everyone was shocked that he knew exactly how the World Cup would turn out—"
"—Which shouldn't have been that surprising considering you both bet on the outcome of the last World Cup accurately, as well." Hermione chimed in.
"But no one did," Harry continued, "So George kept making predictions. He told me that something I had broken dozens of times would soon not be able to be repaired. The next day, I broke my glasses and when I tried to fix them, they shook a bit and stayed broken. He told Ron that his pockets would soon be heavy. Ron found a hundred galleons a few days later. George kept on telling everyone things would happen and then suddenly, those things happened."
Fred chuckled. "What about the bow, then?"
"I didn't believe anything he said until what happened with your mum. George told her that something she thought was lost would be found. It was a general prediction—people lose things all the time and suddenly find them. But she was cleaning a cauldron one day when—"
"—A wand appeared? Her first wand, the one she thought was lost forever?" Fred asked.
"Not you, too!" Hermione said.
"George and I stole that wand when we were little. We used it all the time. Mum thought it was lost and we let her think that. We always talked about giving it back to her one day."
"Ron and I were considering buying a house. So when I learned of George's prediction of what happened to your mum, I thought there would be no harm in trying. One day, before work, I put a red bow that I never remember owning before in my hair. It looked nice, but reminded me a little too much of Umbridge for me to ever wear my hair like that again. I went into work feeling lucky—as if I would get that promotion and we'd be able to afford a house. I didn't notice everyone looking at me strangely until I met Harry and Ron for lunch, who were kind enough to tell me that there was a bird in my hair that squawked at everyone when I passed them by."
Fred could feel the anger in Hermione's voice, but couldn't keep from laughing. Harry joined in, forcing Hermione to spare a chuckle, as well.