It was later that evening as they were lying in bed, the lights still on, their pillows propped up behind them, that Hermione finished one of the three books she'd bought earlier. Watching her place the novel on the side table, Fred figured it was now a good time to speak. "Good book?" he asked.

She looked sheepish as she realized that she really hadn't been paying him much attention since she'd cracked open to the first page of the book. "Yes," she told him. "Sorry, I…got a little…consumed by it."

He chuckled. "I noticed. It's alright," he said, and he meant it. She was an adorable reader. Literally. There was something about watching her expression as her eyes roamed the pages, the little changes and quirks, the way her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes widened, her watery smiles, small frowns. The way she licked her lips. Her quiet, just above a breath laughter and occasional gasps. How her mouth fell open and she momentarily closed her book, looking around at the real word as though she couldn't believe whatever words were printed before her. The way she described it was perfect. She looked utterly consumed by the text. She was rather entertaining to watch actually.

"Hey, um, thanks for coming with me today," Hermione said. "I'm really not a fan of hospitals. It was nice to have some company."

"No problem," Fred said. "So does this mean I'm invited to the next one?"

"You're more than welcome to come along," she told him.

"Good."

She settled under the covers, fixing her pillow beneath her head and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Her legs curled comfortably and she let out a happy sigh. She knew she wouldn't sleep quite yet, but she was very content to simply get comfy for the moment.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Mhm?"

"Will you tell me something about yourself?" Fred asked.

She looked up at him, propped up on his elbow as he leaned towards her. "Something like what?" she questioned.

"I don't know," he said. "Anything."

She thought the question came a little out of nowhere and she was unsure how to reply, but she wasn't about to say no. He'd told her plenty of stories and tidbits about himself, she supposed it was only fair. Considering it carefully, she searched for something worth telling.

"Tell me what your favourite thing in the world is," Fred instructed.

She blinked. "My favourite…that's rather broad," she said. What could possibly suffice a suitable answer to that?

"One thing that you could live without, but you'd never want to," he elaborated.

"My wand?" Hermione said uncertainly.

"Beyond that."

"Books?"

"More specific."

She sighed. "I…I don't know," she said helplessly.

"Okay," he said. "Forget that. What do you love?" he amended.

"My friends," she replied instantly. "My family."

"Lovely," he said. "But I asked for what, not whom."

She took a deep breath and looked thoughtful, if a little exasperated as well. "Okay," she began decidedly. "Just remember that you asked the question, here's getting your answer."

He nodded.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. "I love laughing so hard that my body aches," she started. "I love eating home cooked meals in good company. I love the way the fire looks when its just about to die. I love learning and reading and writing. I love the sound of my father's voice in the hall when he comes home from work. The smell of my mother's perfume when we go out to dinner. The smell of old books." She paused to take in a lungful of air before going on. "The feeling when you open a new book for the first time. The texture of really old paper and parchment. The smell of freshly mown grass. The way my teeth feel when I leave the dentist. I love the taste of hot chocolate on a cold day and the feeling it gives you as it warms you from the inside out. I love pyjamas. I love…I'm sorry. I'll just stop there. Does that suffice?"

He shook his head. "Go on. Please."

She smiled. "Okay, she said. Her voice became softer, less hurried, as she continued. "I love lemonade on hot summer days. Hugging the people you've missed. I love the beach and the sand between my toes. Sandcastles. Warm sun on my back. I love singing along to the stereo and dancing barefoot. I love ice cream." She met his eyes. "I think it's your turn now," she told him.

He was shaken back to just how this long list had begun and he quickly got to thinking. "Alright," he agreed. "I love ice cream, too."

"And?" she prodded.

"And in jokes. And things that take you by pleasant surprise."

"I love the beginning of spring," she said.

"I love when Charlie visits from Romania."

"I love traveling."

"Coming home after being away for too long."

She nodded with an agreeing smile. "This bed."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked in surprise.

She blushed. "Yeah. I can't remember a time in the last couple of years when I've slept as well as I have in this bed." She patted the space between them to emphasize this.

"Hm. That's good to hear," he told her, feeling his heart swell just a bit in his chest.

"Well, you might have something to do with that," she admitted.

He smiled widely at her. His heart was going to burst. "I like sharing a bed with you, too," he said. "Much better than sharing with George."

She laughed. "Tell me a secret."

"Tell me a story."

"Okay, but I warn you, I haven't many secrets. I'm an open book for the most part."

She waited, listening intently. "Then tell me about the other part?"

"My first bit of accidental magic was making my vegetables fly out the window," he confessed, "but I didn't tell anyone because I was afraid they'd make me eat more vegetables."

She laughed. "That's endearing."

He shrugged with a brief half-smile. "Alright. Story-time."

"What kind of story?"

"Whatever you've got. Preferably a true one."

She offered a grin. "I can do that. Let's see…okay, when I was four, I was enrolled in preschool. My parents had a meeting with my teacher because I came home complaining that all I did all day was play and I wasn't learning anything."

"You're kidding," he deadpanned.

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry to say that I'm not."

He chuckled. "You're really something."

She turned to look at him and his teasing expression. She rolled her eyes. "Okay. What's your earliest memory?"

He leaned over and looked at the clock. "It's getting late," he noted. "Do—"

"Oh," she said. "Sorry. I don't mean to keep you—" They both had to be up early for work the next morning.

He looked at her with a strange expression. "I was going to ask if you wanted tea or something," he said. "But if you'd like to get to sleep then I don't—"

She shook her head quickly. Sleep was far from her mind. "Tea would be wonderful."

Earliest memories. Favourite just about every things. That was how the night passed. He told her about how hard it was to open the shop and all of the mistakes he and George had made along the way. He talked about his family and his siblings and his fear of chandeliers because they just looked like they could come down at any moment. She talked about what it was like to find out she was witch and to leave for Hogwarts, such an unfamiliar world, for the first time. She told him about the recurring nightmare she had as a little kid where she was chased by the craziest cartoon characters and how much it terrified her. And then somehow she was talking about how she missed her parents and often thought of going to find them, to try and restore their memories, but that she also knew she never would.

"Why?" he asked.

She looked up at him then and he saw how her brown eyes shone with the tears that pooled there. He was about to say that they didn't have to talk about it when she began to speak. "Because I know they're happy," she whispered. "And safe. And while I know that what I already did to them was wrong, I have to wonder if it would only be more unfair to take these lives away from them, too." He took in her sad expression, seeing something else there as well. It took a moment for him to place it and, when he finally did, his heart all but broke in his chest. Guilt.

"You did it to keep them safe," he reminded. "You did what was best."

"I know," she said. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she turned to lie on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "I just never really thought of what would happen after the war. My mind never got that far."

"I know what you mean." He reached for her, on instinct toward her wet cheeks, but something about the way she was turned from him had his hand changing course and instead it went to his bedside table for his mug. He finished the last bit of his tea. Her cup was emptied just moments before and was left still slightly warm on the nightstand.

"I'm sure they're doing well," he said softly. "And I'm sure if you ever did find them they'd be more than happy to have you back."

She pressed her lips together and blinked quickly. "Thanks," she whispered. He got the feeling she no longer wanted to talk about it. As they fell to a quiet lull he screwed his eyes shut and ran a hand through his hair, wondering what he could have said to make it better and whether or not it was too late to make an attempt.

"Guess what?" he said suddenly.

"What?" she obliged.

He placed his mug down with a clunk. "I don't like tea," he announced. "I really don't."

She let out a short laugh, wiping her cheeks and eyes. "I…I don't know what to say to that," she admitted. "Why do you drink it, then?"

Fred raised his hands, seemingly answerless. "Everyone else seems to like it. George likes it," he replied finally. "I thought it was an acquired taste. Like wine." He paused. "I don't like wine much either," he told her.

Hermione smiled. "Neither do I, actually. Wine. I like tea. But I think wine is just an acquired taste I simply haven't acquired yet."

"I don't think it's within my reach," he stated.

"Okay. Well what do you like then?" she asked.

He looked hesitant. "Alright," he said. "Honestly?"

She nodded. "I like juice," he confessed, "and milk."

"Anything likely served in a cup with a lid and bendy straw?" she teased.

He scowled playfully. "No. If you must know, I also like cocktails." For good measure he added, "And the occasional whiskey."

"Umbrella drinks and hard liquor," she mused. "Interesting. Now, tell me, you can drink whiskey but you can't drink wine?"

He'd never thought about that. "I like the burn," he explained. "Hate the taste."

She gave him a funny look. "Sounds like a good enough reason." It seemed two parts joke and one part sincere.

"Hey," he said, "can I ask you something?"

"No," she said. Taken aback, he looked at her in surprise, catching the very smallest of smiles playing on her lips.

"Was that a joke Miss Granger?" he asked, poking her side as she laughed.

"Maybe," she returned. "And it's Granger Weasley, actually."

He laughed, hard and with his entire body so that she could feel his laughter too as she lay beside him in confusion. Then he caught his breath and laughed some more. "It…it wasn't that funny," she said.

He shook his head. "That must be the most unpredictable thing I've ever heard you say," he told her. "Just…no."

"You had a question to ask," she reminded, turning on her side to face him and poking his arm.

"Yes," he agreed. "Your job, what is it you do? I mean, I know you work for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures but, day to day, what kind of work do you do?" he inquired.

Hermione tucked her curls behind her ear and hummed. "Boring work," she said. "Day to day it's filing paperwork, researching laws, attending meetings to talk about the current issues and the potential action plans. Those are kind of interesting but I don't know that everyone sees the issues for what they are." She sighed. "Occasionally I get sent out to do evaluations on properties and owners of magical creatures, making sure they meet regulations, that the creatures are well cared for, that sort of thing."

"You like it?" he asked.

She nodded. "I do. Even on the boring days I feel as though I'm really doing something, you know? Making a difference. Helping some sort of life. That's what I've always hoped to do."

Fred was amazed at how good she was. Just genuinely good. She was so incredibly refreshing. "Very noble," he said. "And you're doing a good job at it then."

"I don't know about nobility, but I like to think it's doing good." She paused, and he watched as the pink tip of her tongue parted her lips and swept over them slowly. "You know, I think what you and George do is amazing," she said.

His eyes snapped up from her lips. "Yeah?" he asked. "I thought you didn't agree with all the jokes and pranks."

"I never said that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me back in school."

Hermione shook her head with a slight frown. "I didn't approve of you two using unsuspecting kids as test subjects," she corrected. "I thought the jokes and pranks were creative. Extraordinary."

"Extraordinary?"

"Yes." She nodded. "You and George are extraordinary."

He felt like he already knew what was coming. "If only we put it to good use, right?" he asked.

"What?" He was surprised at the bewildered tone her voice took and even more taken aback by what she said next. "You are putting it to good use. You two bring smiles and…and laughter to the world. That's one of the best contributions I can imagine. Walking into the shop is like walking into…a sort of childhood happiness. It's magical. And not because there's always stuff whizzing around."

He laughed. "Thank you," he said. "That's…Merlin, that's nice to hear." And it was.

"It's true."

"It makes me feel accomplished," he said.

"You are accomplished."

Her hand slipped under his, folding gently around his fingers, and she thought of how he'd held her hand at the hospital earlier, how well they fit in every way and how nice it was to have his touch. She wondered if he felt it, too. If having their hands entwined and their bodies pressed together felt just as natural to him as it did to her. Oh, how she hoped it did.

"Hey," Fred whispered, "it's three thirty."

She studied his features, trying to determine whether or not he was trying to hint at being tired himself. Unable to read him, what that hopeful look was for, she thought she'd take her chances, refusing to let this time slip through her fingers. "I'm not tired yet," she whispered back.

"Alright." He stretched and let his arm fall behind her and just as he'd intended, she scooted over to rest her head on her shoulder, tucking into his side. Her hand came to rest on his chest, tracing light, purposeless patterns there as she listened to his heartbeat.

He heard her soft sigh. "What are your happiest dreams?" she asked.

He kissed the top of her head and hugged her closer. He could practically feel her drifting off, her drowsiness as he held her, despite her claims otherwise. He twined one of her soft curls around his finger.

"Fred?" she murmured, awaiting her answer.

He smiled down at her. "The ones with happy endings."

A/N: Oh goodness. I was hoping by posting closer together it would make up for the long wait from the last one. I don't know how soon the next chapter will be though so I apologize in advance just in case. Also, I worry that I'll read this tomorrow and hate it entirely but I'm taking my chances posting tonight. I love the readers of this story. I feel like you're one of the best groups yet, you lovely reviewers. You're all so incredibly nice. And if you're new here, I really hope I get to hear from you as well!

Please review and tell me what you thought. Thanks for reading!

Anyways,

Scarlett