Chapter 11

"Err-mi-ohhh-neeee," Fred said, stumbling into the flat. He stopped for a second, wobbled slightly, and then stood straight. He smiled at the frizzy-haired witch in front of him. "Nice flat you have here, mate." He hiccupped.

"Fred Weasley, you are absolutely pissed right now."

"You know wha-? I think… I think you may be righ', love." Fred tapped Hermione lightly on the nose as he said this. He walked forward a few steps and fell face first into the couch cushions.

"Fred, what are you doing here?" Hermione heard a muffled reply but couldn't make out what he'd said. "Excuse me?" Fred slowly sat up on the couch and turned so that he was facing her where she still stood next to the door.

"I 'ave a secret to tell you, Mi-neeey," Fred patted the couch next to him, indicating for her to sit down. Hermione sat next to him cautiously, perching herself on the edge of the couch. She nodded for him to continue. "I think you 'ave a dirty li'l secret, my love," he said, waggling his finger in her face and leaning closer to her as he spoke. Hermione leaned back a bit.

"You smell like a bloody pub. It's disgraceful, Fred. It's Sunday afternoon." Fred snorted mirthlessly.

"Funny. Ang… Angelina said the same thing, y'know, coupl'a weeks ago. 'Spose that's why we aren't shagging anymore…" Fred stared at the carpet for a few minutes before shrugging his shoulders. Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Fred, I think you should go home…" she began, standing up and walking towards the door of the flat. Fred chuckled but didn't move from the couch. He started shaking his head back and forth.

"Bloody 'ell, 'Ermineey."

"Fred, really, I'd rather you come back when you sober up."

Fred stood from the couch, wobbling a bit before he turned toward her. Hermione couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. He walked to the door where she stood and stopped in front of her. She finally dared herself to look at him. For a moment the inebriated glaze over Fred's eyes vanished and was replaced by something smoldering. Anger. Anger in Fred Weasley's eyes was one of the most unsettling things Hermione had ever seen.

"You know," he started, still slurring slightly. "You know she's mine. I know she's mine." Hermione opened the door silently, averting her eyes from Fred's face again. "Just like you were mine…" he trailed off quietly. He looked at her, pleading. Hermione's heart clenched. She was his. She always would be, but it could never be.

"You can't apparate like this," she began to say as Fred stumbled through the door. He waved her off with a hand in the air.

"Nice nigh' for a stroll anyway." Hermione watched as he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to the end of the hallway. She kept her eyes trained on the steel door there long after he'd made his way down the stairwell behind it.

The Burrow was bustling with Christmas Eve activity. Hermione and Ron had just apparated into the chaos of the kitchen with Olivia wrapped tightly in Ron's arms.

"Happy Christmas, everyone!" Ron yelled over the chatter. Mrs. Weasley shuffled over to them, batting George on the back of the head with a dish towel when she spotted his hand on Katie's backside.

"Hello, hello, hello!" she smiled and held her hands out to Ron. He passed Olivia to her with a smile and threw an arm around Hermione's shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Another chaotic family gathering at the Burrow," he laughed.

Hermione forced a smile but noticed Fred at the end of the kitchen table with Ginny, consciously avoiding Hermione's gaze. She realized how much she missed the comfort the Burrow used to bring her and, more importantly, how much she truly missed Fred and his laughter. Ron noticed the expression on her face as she looked at his brother.

"Yeah, I know," he said. This startled Hermione back to reality.

"What?"

"How you feel. We all feel the same. Fred's been so sad lately. It's eerie not hearing him laugh. Must have been the breakup with Angelina. I think he's been moping ever since."

"Oh, yeah. Must be. I'm going to run to the loo," she said quietly.

Hermione hurried up the stairs, hoping that she hadn't sounded as strange as she felt. Ever since Fred's drunken appearance in her flat last month, Hermione had become very distant from Ron. She was sure he must have noticed, but he hadn't said anything to her. Somehow she could no longer bring herself to act as though she loved him the way she was supposed to.

Christmas Eve dinner passed uneventfully, save for George's pranks which actually brought out a few treasured smiles from Fred. It was late now. Everyone had gone to bed, but Hermione found herself pacing the living room around the couch and in front of the tree. She had lost count of how many times she'd passed the big evergreen. It was full of presents beneath, waiting to be ripped open in a few hours by young children and adults who wished they were young children again. She heard a creak in the wooden floor and spun around to see a tall, shadowed man leaning against the wall.

"You're going to wear a hole in that floor, you know," Fred chuckled. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat at the sound of his laughter.

"Fred," she said quietly, watching as he came closer.

In seconds he was only inches away from her. In the darkness, Hermione could just barely make out the features of his face, but she didn't need to see him to know him. She brought a hand up to touch his face but quickly withdrew it, taking a step back and shaking her head. She could feel the moisture welling up in her eyes.

"Fred," she whispered again, "what have I done?" Before she could prevent it a sob escaped her lips, and Fred enveloped her tightly in his arms.

"You are hardly the only one to blame, love." He held her until her sobs quieted.

"Next week," she mumbled into his shoulder. He pulled away, looking at her with a question in his eyes. Hermione wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

"Next week, we can perform the charm to see if… you know. Ron will be away with Harry and a few of the other Aurors for three days after the New Year. We can do it then."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm more certain of this than anything. I've screwed up. A lot. But I can't keep lying to everyone. I can't keep lying to us."

Fred nodded his head. On impulse he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in what was meant to be a chaste kiss. As soon as his lips brushed against hers, he felt the all-too-familiar spark and tasted the saltiness of tears that lingered there. He brought his hands up to the sides of her face, pressing harder against her lips until she opened them to him. Fred's tongue darted inside. Hermione sighed and fisted her hands into his t-shirt. She felt herself melting away into bliss but pulled away suddenly, backing up a few steps. Fred opened his mouth to apologize, but Hermione waved off anything he was about to say.

"If the results are what you think and what I think… Fred, we're going to tear your family apart."

They stared at each other for a few moments before Fred watched as Hermione walked away.

Never in Hermione Granger's life had a week gone by so quickly. Christmas morning had come and gone without incident, and she had returned to the flat with Ron for the week before his departure. Somehow she had done her best to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened or would be happening while he was away.

The New Year rang in quietly as neither Ron nor Hermione had had the energy to leave their flat. They hadn't even been able to stay awake until midnight. When Ron left the Sunday night following Hermione sat in the living room for several hours staring blankly at the wall across from her, unable to comprehend what might happen the following day.

The next evening Hermione picked up Olivia from the Burrow after work and apparated to her flat. She put Olivia in her playpen in the family room and watched as she rolled around, grabbing at toys and giggling. With the baby occupied, Hermione retreated to the kitchen and poured a glass of Butterbeer for herself and Fred, who would be arriving shortly. Just an ounce of liquid courage was needed.

Everything felt fuzzy, as though she were gliding through some sort of nightmare she couldn't wake herself from. She took a sip of the warm Butterbeer when she heard a pop in the kitchen directly behind her. She turned around, and despite every feeling of foreboding she had, her heart skipped several beats when she saw Fred standing in her kitchen looking slightly disheveled and as weary as she felt.

"Hermione…" Fred started, looking more out of place than she had ever seen him.

Before he could say another word Hermione set down her glass and rushed forward, embracing him. The combination of his being the man she was painfully in love with and of simply being another human who understood the circumstances was too overwhelming for her to hold back the tears.

"I'm sorry. I feel like all I do around you is cry," she whimpered. She nuzzled her face in his chest and inhaled. Fred chuckled and held her closer.

"Considering the situation you and I have gotten ourselves in, I can't blame you, love. Although I must say I much prefer making a beautiful woman laugh."

"Always the joker," Hermione pulled away and looked into his eyes. "Butterbeer? Are you hungry?" Fred reached for the glass Hermione was handing him but shook his head.

"Couldn't eat if my life depended on it now."

Hermione nodded in agreement. The two stood shoulder to shoulder in silence, sipping the Butterbeer, and listening to only the sound of Olivia's giggles as they carried from the living room.

"I suppose it's now or never," Fred said quietly after several minutes had gone by.

They made their way across the kitchen and into the living room where Olivia was sitting in her playpen and looking at them as though she had been waiting for this moment. Fred lifted her in his arms and nuzzled her as though she were already his.

Hermione wanted so badly to tell Fred everything she felt. Her love for him, her desire deep inside for Olivia to be his, her regret over everything that had transpired between them recently, and mostly her sorrow in having let Fred go when she should have fought to hold on to him. When she should have never accepted Ron as second best. Over the months Hermione had come to realize that no matter how many times Fred had insisted she be with Ron, she was just as much at fault for pretending to believe he were right.

She took a deep breath and looked again at Fred holding Olivia. He sat down on the couch and placed the sleepy infant on his lap. Hermione reached out her left hand to grasp his right and slowly extracted her wand from an inner pocket of her robes. She focused her attention on the two people next to her, reciting the charm she had now learned by heart.

"Paterna meus," she whispered. Hermione touched her wand to Fred's chest then to Olivia's and then to her own, watching as a pink light swirled around the three of them. If the charm worked correctly and Olivia were Fred's daughter, the light would form a chain connected to all three of their chests. If he were not the father the chain would break from him.

Hermione held her breath as the pink light swirled around them, faster and faster, for what felt like hours. Just as she was beginning to lose hope that she had performed the charm correctly the light slowed and moved itself to the center of their small circle. Suddenly one chain shot out from the swirling pink light and connected itself to Olivia. Another chain shot forward just as quickly, connecting itself to Hermione. Finally a third chain shot out towards Fred, quivering, seemingly as unsure as the rest of them. Then quite suddenly it attached itself to him, no longer quivering or shaking at all but resolute, firm.

Olivia was gazing at the pink chain attached to her chest which was quickly dissolving into vapor. She reach out a chubby hand and swatted, watching as her fingers moved through the vapor. She giggled quite abruptly and clapped her hands together.

Hermione and Fred both let out the breath they had been holding and looked at each other, both aware of their fingers still intertwined. The chain between the three of them, now fading, had been taut and sturdy.

There was no doubt that Olivia was Fred Weasley's daughter.