Author's Note: Thank you so much for your patience. I have spent the last week and half wrapped up in visits from friends, which is a wonderful thing after moving to a whole new city. I started this part as being from Hermione's perspective. But it just wasn't going to happen. I will spare you the horror of those first drafts...But as I have it right now, the next part will be from Hermione's perspective. Thank you to everyone who has messaged me with ideas about Hermione's parts and to those who have commented. You make my heart happy.

Part 10:

Fred did not want to go to dinner. The letter had come on Monday, and since then his heart had been weighty and twisting in his chest. George had been sleeping when the owl tapped anxiously at the kitchen window. After a few minutes, he relented. Standing slowly, he walked into the kitchen and past Fred, who was absentmindedly stirring a cup of long cold tea, and retrieved the small envelope from the creature before it broke in. After scanning it, he dropped it on Fred's lap, who looked up with a start.

"Arse." George had said, only half joking. He yawned and flopped back onto the couch. Fred looked at the small note, shocked. He hadn't heard the owl at all. Shaking his head as if to clear the last of his thoughts, he peeled back the already broken seal. It was written in his mother's long and swooping script. A dinner invitation. Well, invitation was slightly too kind of a word, summons perhaps? It had been over a month since their last visit. At the thought of that night, Hermione's face flashed before his eyes and he quickly shoved the thought away. No. It had only been the past few days that he had felt anything like himself, and whenever he thought of her, the looming darkness got a little closer. He let out an audible sigh, and George, who he had assumed had gone right back to sleep yelled to him

"We have to go." Fred didn't bother going into the living room. Instead, he tossed the letter into the nearby bin and went back to stirring his tea.

"Maybe you do." Was all he responded.

"It's Mum and Dad's anniversary. We can't skip it." George yelled back, sounding slightly more alert. Fred didn't respond, and after a moment he heard the couch let out an aged sigh as George stood up. He appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"We have to go." He repeated. Fred shook his head,

"It's not a birthday. Besides, anniversaries are only for the people married. Can't they just go out for dinner and have sex like everyone else." George laughed and made a fake gagging sound.

"That's disgusting, Fred." Fred cracked a smile, which was progress. George frowned again. "Listen. I know you don't want to go, but you have to." This time, his voice held none of the compassion and worry it did in those first days after the incident with Hermione. That had worn off around the one week mark.

"What if," Fred didn't finish the sentence, not quite sure what he was more afraid of. Her being at dinner, or her not showing up. George shrugged,

"Then you do what you've done since we were kids and you first got all moon eyed over her, you suck it up. It's one night, and then you can go back to blowing off work and moping." He smiled, and there was a touch of softness in his tone when he said "I'll be there. It'll be fine." Fred had only groaned, and swallowed the room temperature tea in two gulps.

Since then, Fred had dreaded the night. He hadn't slept well, not that he had been getting a nice nine hours before his mother's letter, but it had gotten even worse. When the day finally arrived, Fred's palms were sweaty. As he stood near the fireplace, waiting for George to finish combing his hair, he could hear the swarms of children down in the shop below.

"You know," He called, in vain. "There were a lot of people down there. Maybe we shouldn't leave Verity. I know Mum would understand if–" He did not get to finish. George came out of his bedroom, a half hearted grin on his face.

"As much as I'd love to let you get out of this. You can't." He reached over and brushed a tiny piece of dust from Fred's sweater. "Besides, you can't shut yourself away. It isn't healthy. I'm worried." George tried to keep his voice light, but Fred could hear all the unsaid things behind it. He had been trying, for the past four or five days he had worked and ate multiple meals. But it had been different, whenever he had a moment to think, especially when he was in the shop, he would watch the scene play over and over and over again. Rolling his shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension in his body, it felt like a tightly coiled rubber band ready to snap, he sighed.

"Do you think she'll be there?" It was the first time he had asked. George shrugged, throwing a handful of floo powder into the fire.

"I don't know." He said, "Ron'll probably be there. You go first." He said, gesturing towards the green flames. Fred sighed again, knowing it was useless to argue.

"If she's there…" He began, George nodded,

"I won't leave your side. I promise." Fred's breath shuddered, he wasn't sure if he could handle this.

"The Burrow!" He called as he stepped into the fire. For the briefest second, as he saw George's face swirl away, engulfed by green and smoke, he hated him. Just for a moment, he hated that George couldn't save him from this. That he was forcing him towards the potential of more heartbreak. And as the Burrow began to come into view, he felt the darkness that had nearly swallowed him that first night, brush against his neck. No, he wasn't sure if he could handle this at all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter