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Just Don't Get It

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Is it really necessary to say that I didn't sleep any that night?

I tried. But every time I closed my eyes I saw Hermione crying and screaming at me. Not something I ever wanted to see. The closet thing I had ever come to it before was when she was in labor. Then I knew she didn't really mean the things she was saying.

But she had meant them the night before.

I still couldn't believe it. Hermione seriously doubted that I loved her. That I had ever loved her. How could I have been any more clear about it?

I've always thought I was pretty affectionate towards my wife. I kiss her goodbye whenever one of us leaves the house. I kiss her goodnight. Well, if she's still awake when I come in. I've never forgotten her birthday, Valentine's Day, or, until this year, our anniversary.

I've never lied to her, never kept anything form her (apart from surprises), never cheated on her.

I remember coming home with flowers or little gifts for no reason. Planning nights out to give us some time to ourselves. I even cleaned the whole house top to bottom and did all the laundry once.

Then it hit me.

I don't do things like that anymore.

I couldn't say when was the last time I snuck a note into her briefcase or brought her a picnic to work. I couldn't even tell you when I last woke her up in the middle of the night to show her a new product I had just finished.

I hadn't the foggiest what she was doing at work. It had been so long since I asked. For all I knew, she could have quit.

She was right.

I wasn't acting like a husband anymore. A husband usually makes an effort to have dinner with his wife at least once in a three week period. A husband lets his wife know if he's going to be working late. And a husband definitely lets his wife know if he's going to sleep at his shop because he's too exhausted to come home.

I'm a git. A huge, slimy git.

It was a little before dawn, and there was no hope for sleep, so I got up and dressed. If I was ever going to convince Hermione that I really did love her-I had to start right away.

I know what you're thinking. And yes, it was obvious I couldn't do it all in one day. But the sooner I started, the sooner it would work. Because it had to work. It just had to. I refuse to live in a world where my wife was so sad and hurt. I just wouldn't do it.

The easiest way to say your sorry is often the simplest. I've heard Hermione tell the kids that more times than I can count. And she's right. Which she usually is.

And right now the simple thing is breakfast. Hermione is a morning person. Always has been. She loves when the sun's not quite up and the air is still light. More importantly, she's always loved breakfast. When she was pregnant with Noah she went through a two week period where she wouldn't eat anything but pancakes. He went through one when he was four.

I began cooking. The fact that there were only two of us in the house didn't really register, and I made enough for even my family. Even Ron. Three dozen chocolate chip pancakes. Sausage. Fresh strawberries. Bacon. Biscuits. Scrambled eggs. I could have feed the whole of the Chudley Cannons.

I was just loading everything onto a tray to take up to her when she came padding into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Fred Weasley, it's not even six o'clock. What in heaven's name are you doing?" she demanded.

"Making breakfast. I couldn't sleep."

Her eyes softened and a brief flicker of pain crossed over her features as she obviously recalled what had transpired the night before. With a deep sigh, she sat down at the kitchen table.

"I'm sorry." she said.

"For what?" I asked. I was mystified. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. You haven't done anything to apologize for."

"Yes, I did. I shouldn't have blown up at you like that." she said, fiddling with the bottom of her pajama top.

Okay, I was the idiot here and she was apologizing? That is so not right.

"Baby, I can't tell you how sorry I am that I forgot our anniversary. And for the way I've acted. It's inexcusable." I got down on my knees on the floor in front of her and took her hands in mine. I looked down at them. They were so small. Funny how such a strong, powerful woman could have such tiny hands. It made me realize that she's more fragile than I ever gave her credit for.

She put her hand to my forehead. "Are you sick?"

That was unexpected. "No."

"But you just apologized. You are Fred, right? Fred Weasley. The guy I married in the temple in town?" she said.

I frowned. Probably not the brightest move, but I did it. "Yes." I said huffily.

Then she frowned. "I'm just checking. I've never known you to actually say you were sorry about anything. You usually just try and charm your way out of whatever mess you get into. And that doesn't work, you make excuses."

Now that hurt. A lot.

"I'm not sixteen anymore Hermione."

"Could have fooled me." she muttered.

"Look, I know I was wrong, but I'm trying to make up for it." I tell her, my voice close to shouting.

"You think one apology is going to make it all better?" she demanded.

I stood and glared, yes glared, down at her. "No. I know it won't. But at least I'm making an effort."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Breakfast? That's how you intend to fix this?"

"No." I hated how small my voice sounded. "I was going to bring you breakfast in bed and see if maybe we could spend the day together. We haven't done that in a while."

Her arms dropped from their place across her chest. She no longer looked ready to throttle me. Good sign.

"I want to talk about this. Really talk about it. I want to know what I did, and how I can make it up to you." I said.

Hermione looked on the edge of tears. "We do need to talk. But I'm taking the kids to see my parents today. They're expecting us at ten."

I felt myself deflate at her words. "Oh."

"Want to have breakfast together?" she asked with a small smile.

I smiled back. "Sure."

Then, being the gentleman I am, I held her seat out for her. Her mouth dropped open in shock, but she closed it quickly.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It was tense and uncomfortable and not what you'd expect from two people that had been married for fifteen years.

I've never been one for uncomfortable silences. Or any silence. So naturally, I was the first to speak. "Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you please tell me what I did to make you think I don't love you?"

Again, she looked shocked. But she recovered, and taking a deep breath, began to speak.

"You were the best husband anyone could have ever asked for. You were attentive, affectionate (told you), funny, handsome, thoughtful." She smiled dreamily, as if she were thinking of someone else. "You were always there when I needed you. Like when I lost the baby. And when I almost lost Roxie."

God. Those were the worst times in my life. Both our lives. A year after Noah was born Hermione got pregnant again, but she had a miscarriage in her third month. She was devastated. Didn't get out of bed for weeks, hardly ate. The only thing that got her through was my telling her repeatedly that we could have more children, and never forget the one we lost.

Five months into her pregnancy with Roxie, she went into premature labor. We were both terrified about the baby. I was even more terrified about losing her. But the healers stopped it and put her on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. I stayed home with her and the kids every day.

That was when we decided not to have more kids. The risk was just too high. Fortunately, Roxie and Hermione were both fine.

I put my hand over hers on the table. "I miss that Fred." she said softly.

I nearly got whiplash, my had jerked up so fast at her comment.

"The one who used to do silly thing to make me laugh." I recalled tickling her bellybutton while she was pregnant to get her out of her bad moods. It still works at times.

"The one who used to let me steal his clothes." The image of her, seventeen and adorable, wearing my Cannons shirt wafted through my mind.

"The one who used to give up nights out with his friends just so we could be alone." I thought of my now weekly nights out with my brother and friends that she always claimed not to mind.

Hermione looked back up at me with tears in her eyes. "When did I stop being a priority for you and become an obligation?"

I actually fell out of my chair. That's how shocked I was. "I do not think of you as an obligation."

"You'd never know it from my end." she snapped bitterly. "I've often thought of putting a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes sticker on my forehead so I could get a little attention."

"It's not that bad." I grumbled.

"Fred, you haven't touched me in over two months." she stated simply.

Ouch. Had it really been that long?

A small, somewhat naughty smile played over her lips. "There was a time when you were pretty insatiable."

"There was a time when you were, too." I said defensively.

Hermione laughed a bit at that. "There used to be some romance in our lives. Before all the monotony set in."

She glanced over at the clock. "I've gotta go get ready and pick up the kids. See you tonight?" she sounded sort of fearful that she wouldn't.

I nodded. She went to leave, but in a flash I grabbed her wrist and spun her around, kissing her with everything in me. "See you tonight." I whispered.

She continued upstairs, looking slightly dazed. I was rather proud.

So Hermione wants romance. That's why she thinks I don't love her anymore.

I love my wife. I'd like to think I know her pretty well. But I will never for the life of me understand her.

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