AN: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, but hopefully you think it's worth it either way ; )

Chapter Ten: Your Voice Always Helps Me

Fred sat in the dark, the quiet stillness of the Burrow almost unnerving. This house was supposed to be a place of happiness. He was supposed to revel in the quiet of night, such a stark contrast to the loud bustle of daily activity. Instead he hated the silence and the time for reminiscing it provided. There was too much he simply did not want to think about.

A shuffling from across the room drew his attention and he sat as still as he was capable, holding his breath until a gentle sigh told him that the rooms other occupant was still asleep.

He clenched his jaw as he stared across at Hermione's sleeping form. So many times he'd been tempted to come in here during her visits to simply watch her sleep. To be able to look at her freely without fearing what she might think; without the fear of having her turn to glare at him or being forced to watch her walk away.

Her breaths came in a slow rhythm, her chest rising and falling in time with each inhale and exhale. Her hair was out and a complete mess across her pillow, random strands making their way across her face. No matter what she did, she always woke up with a face full of hair. More often than not, he did too.

He let out a small sob, burying his face in the crook of his arm to muffle the sound. It'd been over six months and the pain and loss still felt as raw as that first day so long ago. He'd begun to wonder whether he'd ever be "alright." If he'd ever be able to move on or find some sort of peace. One glance across the room was all it took to answer that question. Without Hermione back in his life, at his side where she belonged, he'd never escape the pain.

If only his past self could see him now. He never thought anyone, especially Hermione, could bring him so much happiness… and now it was gone, and he was starting over.

He drew in a shuddered breath and froze as Hermione shifted and sat up, peering into the darkness. He closed his eyes, praying that she might not see him there, slouched with his back to the wall, but he knew he wouldn't be so lucky. His luck had run out months ago.

"Fred?" She sounded nervous and he knew he had to say something. Wiping his face hastily he stood and strode towards the door.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, flinching when his voice cracked. "I know, I shouldn't have. I just…" Unable to voice what had compelled him to come here when every other night he had resisted, he reached for the door handle. As he did so, he heard her faint footsteps cross the room.

He felt her small hand take hold of his arm, gripping it nervously. "Fred, what is it?"

He couldn't stand being like this, didn't like the person he'd become. Weak; broken; unhappy. He and George were supposed to be the happy ones. No matter what was happening, they'd made it their job to cheer up the lives of those around them. Now though, it was like he'd completely lost that person he was at the same time he'd lost Hermione.

"It's-" His voice broke and he swallowed against the lump that'd risen in his throat. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him like this but nothing he did seemed able to calm the clenching pain in his chest. The damned tears wouldn't stop. "It's June 26th," he choked out, afraid to turn and look at her. He could tell by her lack of reaction that she didn't understand the relevance.

"Our anniversary," he explained, then let out a harsh laugh. "Well, if you can call it that before it happens. One year from today we're supposed to be married."

Silence followed and Fred knew he shouldn't have said anything. Should have just brushed her off and left. It'd be better that way, for her at least. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, moving to leave again. "I shouldn't have come in here. I didn't mean to bother you."

Her grip on his arm tightened and he shivered as she slid her hand down to join his own. He couldn't help noticing a trepidation and a nervousness there that cut deep. He'd never imagined her ever being that way around him.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice still scratchy from sleep. "I… I can't imagine what this is like for you. I don't know what happened or if what you say is all true but…" She let her forehead rest against him arm. "But I can tell it's real for you. I know there's not much I can do but…" She stepped back slightly, a rush of cool air punctuating the loss of contact. He bit his lip to hold back any sound he feared he might make and nodded slowly.

"Thank you." He took a step forward, increasing the distance between them, but his hand remained held steadfast in hers.

"You can stay."

He heard her voice and the words it formed but his mind seemed unable to comprehend them. Everything seemed to be swimming around him as he followed her blindly, her small hand his lifeline in the dark. She reached the bed and shifted across it, leaving room directly in front of him; a space for him to lie down. He managed to fight back a new rush of tears as he stared at the spot, reminding himself forcefully that she'd chosen the left side of the bed out of convenience, and not because she remembered laying that way so many times.

He shouldn't do it. Should just thank her and walk away but he found himself unable to. He'd been fighting so hard for any kind of acceptance from her that he would take what he could and ignore the rising bile in his throat. She was doing nothing more than trying to comfort a friend while he was climbing into bed with his wife. He reminded himself of that again and again as they settled against each other and she fell asleep in his arms.

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