oOoOoOoOo
"You weren't absent! You were always with me when I needed you. That was the very strength I drew from when Bellatrix carved those words in my arm, what I focused on so I did not break." She was straining not to shout. "I would have done anything to have you there with me—to set your brother straight, to keep Harry laughing when he slipped into depression, to keep me together every time I was about to fall apart, but Dumbledore entrusted the three of us to do it alone. Dragging you along would have been one more burden for me, and I just could not afford to be distracted by your safety."
oOoOoOoOo
The tent was quickly filling with relatives and friends, both Weasley and Delacour alike. Fred, George, Ron, and a disguised Harry took their turns dutifully escorting wedding attendants to their designated seats.
As he stood aside, extending his hand to indicate the chairs this collection of old codgers needed to take, his forced, fake smile turned into one of genuine pleasure. The flash of lilac had stolen his attention when she swept into the tent. The tendrils of lilac fabric seemed to float as she sashayed in, created an ethereal quality to her movements. The lilac delicately complimented her ivory skin, and accentuated the deep brown of her sleekly styled hair, the earthy color of her eyes, even the faint freckles dappling her nose and cheeks.
Fred stifled a moan, letting it escaped as an exhale. Merlin…
"Stop gawking, Freddie," his brother nudged him shoulder to shoulder, smiling. "It's unbecoming of ladies men of our caliber. How am I going to woo one of the Veela cousins if they see my dopey, lovesick brother making eyes like a first year."
"Georgie, between you and me," he smirked, " the Veelas have nothing on this girl."
He smacked his brother on his back, and made his way to a conversing Hermione.
"… Oh, Dear, is this the Muggle-born?" she was saying as the pair approached. "Bad posture and skinny ankles."
Aunt Muriel's comments, obviously. He hoped the old bat choked on a bit of cake tonight, putting everyone out of her misery.
"All that stooping over books will do that," Fred teased, feigning severity. "See, over education has ruined you forever, Granger. Who will love you now?"
Then he winked when no one was looking. Hermione just pushed at him in the chest and bit back a smile.
"Don't take it personally, Hermione. She just told me that my ears are lopsided," George laughed, his demeanor taking on a wistful quality. "I just wish Uncle Bilius was still with us—he was a right laugh at weddings."
"Isn't he the one who saw a Grim, and died twenty-four hours laters?"
"Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end," conceded George.
"But, before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party," Fred added. "He used to down a whole bottle of firewhiskey, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling flowers out of his—"
Watching her laugh was his favorite thing in the world. He could remember all those years back, when they first were getting to know each other better, and how he was pleasantly surprised to discover just how witty she was under all that pretense of seriousness and responsibility. He could still envision how she looked the first time he managed to make her laugh so hard she threw her head back, brown curls bouncing, unable to breath, clutching her side.
In that moment, Fred felt a personal duty to make her laugh like that whenever possible, for the rest of her life.
"Sounds like an absolute charmer," Hermione replied, darting her eyes toward Fred. "Now I see where you get it."
The sound of laughter drowned out the approach of dark haired young man who entered the tent, shoving his invitation at Ron and taking in all of Hermione.
"You look vunderful."
"Viktor!" She exclaimed, clearly astonished to see him, and dropping her beaded hand bag in surprise.
The sound it made as it hit the ground was suspiciously disproportionate to its small size, yet Fred was the only one to notice. Bending down to retrieve the bag, he used the distraction of Krum to unlatch the clasp and peer inside.
Books, medicine, food, even the tent his father had used at the Quidditch World Cup. She couldn't be thinking… look who he was talking about. Of course she was. For being the brightest witch of her age, sometimes, she was a right proper idiot.
Standing, Hermione's eyes met his, a blush on her cheeks as she expected his ire from her interaction with Krum. Taking grasp of her wrist, he pulled her away to talk privately outside the tent.
"Jealous, really? Honestly, Frederick, I would hope at this point you would realize…" She sighed misconstruing the hurt on his face with envy, until her cut her off.
"Planning a holiday, are you?" He asked, opening the bag to expose the contents.
Hermione's eyes went wide, her mouth slightly ajar, but she countered quickly.
"It's nothing," she brushed it off, always terrible at lying to him. "Just a bag… in case of emergency"
"And, were you planning on including me in your plans?"
"Fred—"
"Stop lying, Hermione. You can't fool a professional fool," his tone eased a bit, "Were you going to run?"
"It's not that simple, Fred!" she spat through gritted teeth, eyes flashing, moving about looking for bystanders who might overhear.
"Then, elaborate," he pleaded, dropping his head to meet her eyes, his hand to the small of her back to pull her closer to him.
"I can't. I would love to, more than anything," she expressed solemnly, taking his face into her hands, eyes conveying the depth of her worry. "But, I made a promise. One I intend on keeping, which that means walking away from the only thing I want in this world, second only to stopping You-Know-Who."
"Is that what—"
He began to ask, but Hermione cut him of his a deep, but short lived kiss. Pulling away as Fleur's voice could be heard, she broke from his hold, and refused to meet his eyes as they lined up to take their places in the procession.
Fred swallowed his ire hard, forcing his smile again despite his true emotions at the present. He had to keep reminding himself that this moment was not about him and Hermione, it was about Bill and Fleur. It was about normalcy in a time of chaos and intrigue and fear. Right now, he was going to back off from the topic. He could always talk to Hermione after the wedding. If he could just talk to her, he knew she would see sense—she was too rational not too. It was not as if she was going to be leaving any time soon.
They took their seats in the first two rows, and a train of family members followed—Charlie and Bill, Ginny and Gabrielle, and finally Fleur linked in the arm of her father.
The look on Bill's face as Fleur came gliding down the aisle, the glow and the swell of emotion blooming inside him—Fred knew that feeling. He felt it every time he met the eyes of the witch seated directly behind him. Every flustered argument he witnessed, every know-it-all smirk she flashed whenever she was right, the determination in every cast of her wand… her bravery, her wit, and most of all, that infectious, glorious laugh that only he could seem to pull out of her.
He loved Hermione Granger.
"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle…?"
As the presiding wizard began, Fred discretely slipped his arm through the gap in the chairs. Reaching behind, he felt the smooth skin of one of her legs crossed over the other, trailing his finger down the length of her calf. He felt her start excitedly at his touch, and he pursed his lips, fighting a mischievous smile, quite proud of himself. Upturning his hand and opening it in an offering towards her, he breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her own hand slip into his.
"… then I declare you bonded for life."
Fred gave her hand secure squeeze, turning slightly to catch her smile and her tear rimmed eyes, just before releasing her hand so that he and George could lead a round of applause for the happy couple.
For all the beauty the ceremony had been, the reception was just the release that everyone needed. No one more than Hermione, and Fred knew that. If there was something she felt compelled to do, a promise she had made, he knew it would have only been to Dumbledore. He knew that he could not stand in her way- she would not stand for it. But, he also had no intention of letting her go about some mission to stop Voldemort by herself.
Right now thought, with her spinning delightfully in his arms, brown locks and lilac tendrils flying as she came back against him, he was content just to be the bit of levity she needed. There was no other girl in the wizarding world, sans his little sister of course, he had absolute confidence in to take care of herself. A Hermione spurned was a force to be recknoned with—he had heard stories from Ron from his sixth year, and he knew that she was taking her anger over Fred's departure from Hogwarts out on the closest Weasley available. But, he had also witnessed it himself on the occasions she had been emboldened enough to stand up to Umbridge. It was that fire burning within, just simmering under the surface that had captivated him during DA. Her unabashed confidence, even when it was a pretense, was the most attractive quality she possessed.
"It feels like a troll has smashed both of my feet," she mumbled, forehead to his chest, breathless. "I need a rest, or I shall be useless for the rest of the night."
"I suppose this is where I pretend to be a gentleman, and retrieve you something to drink?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Don't worry, Fred. In my heart, I'll know it was a ruse the whole time," she promised, tapping his cheek gently as she turned to take a seat next to Harry.
Lifting two chilled butterbeers from the table, Fred's head jerked towards the white flash that had erupted in the center of the tent.
The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are on their way. Shaklebolt's voice boomed from his patronous.
The butterbeers fell from Fred's hands, glass shattering at his feet, and he felt the lurch in his stomach as the words registered. Where was Hermione? He had to find her before she did something incredibly daft. He had to make her see reason. He had to stop her from leaving him behind.
Guests scattered pell-mell, fleeing in all directions. From across the dance floor, now covered in moving bodies, he heard her shouting for Ron. Ron, and not him. He bolted towards her, fighting his way through the sea of panicked guests, but the tide was too strong. Hooded figures apparated out of no-where. Screams were drowning out his thought processes. Their eyes met over the top of the crowd. Her face was that of firm resolve, clutching Potter and his git of a brother, and the beaded bag in her hands.
"Hermione!" he shouted, eyes pleading, fiercely scrambling, throwing people out of the way. "NO! Wait! Let me—"
I love you, was all she mouthed just before the trio twisted away into the ether.
By the time Fred reached the spot she was standing, there was nothing but an empty space.
"Fred! Get it together!" George shouted.
"I lost her," his voice was weak.
"You haven't lost her yet you git, but she might lose you if you don't c'mon!" George grabbed a hold of his brother's robe, choking him for the split second they twisted through time and space.
Landing roughly on the floor of their flat above the shop, Fred slammed his fist on the floor, fighting the tears burning his eyes.
