She woke up with a start, her heart beating a wild cadence. Her eyes were blown wide with a terror she couldn't immediately place, her breathing was erratic, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she felt a pressure on her shoulders. It took her a second longer to realize the pressure was from someone's hands. At the thought, she struggled trying to get out of the person's grasp only to get further tangled in her bed sheets.
"Granger! It's just me! You're okay!"
She paused at the familiar voice. Long enough to remember why she woke up in the first place. Bits and pieces of her nightmare flashed in front of her. Faces, curses, blood, everything all over again. She closed her eyes. A year can't erase all that had happened, nothing would. A tear traced its way down her cheek, glistening in the faint light of the first rays of sunlight.
A slightly calloused thumb brushed it away tenderly, his voice placating her with various, soothing nothings. A wave of calm rushed over her, but she was still shaken.
She opened her eyes and looked into familiar mocha ones. "George." Her voice was barely above a whisper, her throat painfully raw.
More tears poured from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face into his chest, soaking his shirt as she sobbed. His hands left her shoulders, and his strong arms encompassed her small form as he rubbed her back soothingly.
"It's Fred, Granger." He whispered hesitantly, daring to break the air. He felt her tense and he felt guilty.
She pulled away and studied his face, for what he couldn't be sure, but he did notice her check both of his ears.
"Fred?" She croaked. Her voice was broken and the look on her face told of her hesitancy to believe it to be true.
And then Fred understood. There were many casualties.
"I died." He watched her expression. "Didn't I, Granger?"
"Fred." The guilty hitch in her raw tone sent a cold feeling through him. As quick as it came it was gone. He didn't fear death, just what his would do to those he left. He drew Hermione back into his arms, comforting her. Of what it's done to her. Her arms wrapped around him like a vice, as if he would disappear if she let go. He felt the front of his shirt stick to his skin from where her tears soaked through.
"Looks like I've got a year of mischief to make up for." He murmured into her hair.
He felt her shoulders shake as she giggled. He let the right side of his mouth curl up in a lopsided smile.
"You will not, Fred Weasley." Her voice was slightly muffled against his chest, but her felt her smile.
He couldn't tell if it was her warm breath seeping through his shirt as she spoke, warming his skin, or the fact that he made this broken witch smile, but something was giving him a warm flutter in his stomach. Then again, he also would feel pain in his stomach and it had something to do with the girl in his arms. He was very confused.
She felt safe, something she hadn't felt in years, and something was telling her it had to do with the auburn haired prankster whose chest her face was currently hiding in. She panicked slightly as she realized it probably had something to do with the pain that connects her to Fred and the blue scar on her stomach.
Said pain was also the reason she and Fred had to sleep in the same room. The night before, with little hope, they tried to go to their separate rooms, only to give up after nearly crippling under the intense ache. Since Fred's room was bigger than the tiny bedroom/storage room, they slept there. Ever the gentleman, Fred slept on a transfigured cot against the wall of his room, but not before she put up a fight. He eventually won by claiming she need to recover from her injuries with George backing him up. So she was stuck sleeping in Fred's bed, not that she was complaining, it was dead comfortable and smelled wonderful, but she'd only ever admit it under veritaserum.
"Morning." A very amused George spoke from the doorway. His arms were crossed as he leaned against one side, a taunting smile gracing his lips. "What's all this then?"
Hermione and Fred hastily let go of their embrace. Hermione busied herself by studying the pattern on the comforter while Fred glared at his brother.
"She had a nightmare." He explained. "I'm surprised you didn't come running actually." He mentioned with a thoughtful expression.
"Why? I didn't hear anything." George said, a frown knitting his eyebrows.
If it were possible, Hermione would have burned a hole through the comforter with her stare. Her form was tense and her idle fingers played with the sheets in her lap.
"How could you not? I know you only have one ear, but you aren't completely deaf." Fred said with a nervous laugh.
At George's confused expression and a quick glance at Hermione he explained further. "She was screaming, George."
"Are you sure? I'm sure I would have heard if she was." George's eyes were wide, he ran his fingers through his hair.
"Maybe you are going deaf. I thi-"
"Silencing charms." Hermione mumbled. Both twins snapped their heads in her direction.
"What was that, Granger?" George asked.
"Silencing charms." She spoke a little louder but didn't look up. "Ever since the end of the war, I've had nightmares. Dreamless sleep stopped working within months." She ran her hands up her arms feigning a chill.
Fred took one of her hands in his and she looked up to meet his gaze. She was surprised to see no pity swirling in his irises.
"I'm sorry I woke you up." She whispered. "I normally put the charms on my room. I'll put them over the bed so you-"
"No." Surprising everyone, it was George who spoke. "You don't need to put up silencing charms, Granger."
She immediately began shaking her head. "No, you both need to sleep. I shouldn't wake you up with my silly troubles." She gave a self-depreciating laugh that broke the twins' hearts.
"Who told you that nonsense? It's not 'silly troubles', you can't help the trauma you went through." Fred spoke.
Hermione began shaking her head again, but George stopped her.
"Let us help you."
She was going to protest again, but the look on both boys' faces were so tender and genuine and painted with a worry that warmed her heart. After the war, she relied on herself to face her inner struggles. The Weasley's were already to kind and had their own problems to worry about, and Harry could finally live freely. She couldn't burden any of them with her troubles. Her parents, after getting their memories back, were too spiteful and betrayed to truly listen and they couldn't hope to understand what she'd been through. Anyone else looked down on her with pity. The public portrayed her as the strong female heroine so that was what she was.
Reluctantly, she nodded her head. Maybe she needed to be taken care of too.
The boys kindly allowed her use of the bathroom first. She turned the knobs on the shower, letting the water heat up and undressed. She looked down and studied the blue scar tissue. She knew she'd seen the symbol somewhere but couldn't remember. She looked up to study it in the mirror only to find the glass had fogged over. She sighed and stepped under the stream letting the hot water release the tension in her muscles and wash away excess sand, glass and grime. She hissed as water found its way into open cuts that had skipped healing.
As she washed her hair, she thought up a list of tasks that must be completed to ensure the desirable outcome of the war. The remaining horcruxes were a given. They would have to all be destroyed around the same time, much like last time. Unfortunately, that meant facing the final battle over again. She didn't want the responsibility of deciding who to save. She'd save that for closer to the battle.
She stepped out and grabbed a fluffy towel, magenta of course, and dried herself off. She'd focus on breaking into Gringotts again. There was no way with the Thief's Downfall in place that their break in will be kept quiet. That move will be the beginning of the end. She'd have to see if Bellatrix's wand and a strand of hair was still at Shell Cottage. It would be the best to do things as similarly as possible to ensure she can account for every eventuality.
She looked over at her dragon hide pants and Fred's shirt. She sighed as she put them on. First thing on the list is retrieving her beaded bag which would have a clean outfit for her. She dried her hair magically and stepped out of the bathroom nearly tripping over Fred who was seated right outside the door.
"Walk much, Granger?" Fred asked with a cheeky grin. He stood up, dusting himself off.
She gave him a pointed look.
"I'll be quick." He said walking through the door purposefully leaving it open. "Unless, of course, you want to keep me company?" She could hear the infuriating grin in his voice.
She turned around and slammed the door shut, but not before he took his shirt off. As he chuckled, she told herself that seeing Fred shirtless was nothing to swoon over, she'd shared a tent with Ron and Harry after all. But she couldn't deny that beater's bodies held more muscle. Even if it had been a few years since he played.
She leaned up against the wall and slide down to a sitting position. She groaned. She felt a slight twinge under her navel and assumed Fred was at the far end of the bathroom. She sighed. She'd read about magic connecting two people, but nothing like this. Usually it was more of a mind connection, like sharing thoughts or emotions, telepathic and empathic, something that could be controlled with occlumency, something like Harry and Voldemort. She'd never heard of a physical connection that manifested itself with pain upon separation. Or nudges and warmth when within proximity. The closest she could think of were old pureblood marriage spells that encouraged the desire to spend time with each other by conditioning through pain. It was horribly outdated and mostly used in arranged marriages. She sincerely hoped her tumble through time hadn't married her to Fred.
George was walking down the hallway going to the living room when he noticed Hermione sitting with her back to the bathroom door and her head in her hands. He couldn't imagine what all of this must be like for her. Just when you thought it was over, you get pulled back into the fray. Not that it was ever truly over for her. He thought she could use a bit of a distraction, and he could use a bit of help. He stopped walking when he was next to her and had to bite back a teasing comment when she looked up through her curtain of curls.
"Do you think you could give me a hand with this?" He gestured with the stack of papers he was carrying.
"What is it?" She questioned, suspicion written across her features as she eyed the stack as if it would bite. He couldn't blame her, they would do something like that.
"Order forms." He supplied while thumbing through them to show her there was nothing malicious about them.
"I thought the death eaters destroyed your store." She said as a question.
"They did, but that won't stop the business. We still get owl orders all the time. It's mainly our defense line. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Shield Hats, Extendable Ears. I suppose we won't sell many Whiz-bangs until we win." He smiled.
She smiled back. She was glad that the war did little to hinder their sales. "What can I do to help?" She needed the distraction.
"I just need you to make a list of how many of each product has been ordered. Then when your Ball and Chain finishes up in there, you both can take inventory and make sure we've got enough of them." He said handing her the stack not noticing the way she tensed at his marriage euphemism.
He looked at the little witch before him who, for all intents and purposes, was his little sister. He watched her nostrils flare ever so slightly at the smell of the parchment and a portion of his worry eased. She would be okay, he would make sure of it. He continued on his previous path intent on counting the payments to be made and purchases that have been made.
Hermione immediately took to the mindless activity of these order forms. It required just enough attention to keep her from panicking over the rest of her life, but not too much attention as to stress her even more. It was perfectly mind-numbing, allowing her to tune out her world. So much so that she didn't even notice the bathroom door opening and Fred sitting down beside her until he reached over and took half of the remaining stack. She jumped nearly spilling the inkwell.
"Haven't even been here a day and George already has you working." He tutted.
She turned to look at him and caught a waft of spearmint and something utterly Fred. She shook her head slightly getting back on track.
"I do believe he was giving me a distraction."
"Be that as it may, he still got out of taking inventory, which I know he hates."
"Then it's an equally beneficial exchange." She smiled and went back to her parchment.
Fred smiled as well but said nothing as he wandlessly and wordlessly conjured his own quill and parchment. She tried not to openly show how impressed she was, but her dropped jaw gave her away.
"Honestly, Granger, when will you realize that we are brilliant?" He jested.
"I always knew you were." She murmured as she wrote another tally down for Shield Hats, not noticing Fred's cheeks dust pink at the compliment.
Eventually, they finished sorting through the order forms and took stock of the inventory they had in the bedroom/ storage room. After spending hours counting everything and recounting to make sure, they concluded that this wave of orders would clean them out of most of their inventory and they'd have to restock. While Hermione figured making all of the products again would be exhausting, she couldn't help but admire the excitement that lit up Fred's face at the prospect. She found that she liked the twins' ambition and their determination that made their dream happen.
She felt melancholy when she asked herself what her dream would be. She truly didn't want to be an auror, but it was the only thing that made her feel like she was living anymore. Something about putting your life on the line makes you realize you actually have one. And she didn't think she wanted to sit behind a desk drafting new laws for magical creatures, constantly fighting everyone else's battles. Then it occurred to her that she might not even make it through the war a second time. The thought effectively sobered her and she snapped out of the bliss she'd been in.
George popped in and announced that he'd made tea and invited them to take a break. When Fred informed him that they'd finished he was delighted and eagerly led the way to the living room. Hermione tuned out their boisterous banter ahead of her as she lagged behind.
They had less than a month to plan out the rest of the war. Harry and Ron would be worried if she was away from them for a longer period of time. There was no time for distractions. No time to worry about this strange side effect she shared with Fred. No time for anything but planning, and that was exactly what they were going to do.
With renewed determination, she faced the twins as they all sat down, tea in hand.
"I've been doing some thinking." She began, cutting through their laughter at whatever joke they'd said.
"That's nothing new for you." Fred quipped. George snorted. Her brows furrowed and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Are you both willing to help me end this war?" She glanced between the two of them.
"Sure, Granger."
"It's not like we have anything better to do." George finished, taking a sip of his tea.
They seemed to realize that this was not going to be a light hearted chat between friends, and gave her their complete attention. Once again, Hermione could have laughed at their serious expressions.
She nodded. "Good. First order of business, I need to retrieve some things from Shell Cottage. Preferably, without anyone's knowledge." She said tipping her teacup and burning her tongue on the hot liquid.
"What sort of things?" Fred asked.
"My beaded bag, a crooked wand that belonged to Bellatrix, and any clothing I was wearing when I arrived there that might have one of Bellatrix's hairs on it." She said in a rush, dreading the questions that they were sure to ask.
Their eyes widened, but they otherwise showed no reaction to her list. They didn't move and they didn't speak.
"Getting in there unnoticed would prove to be troublesome." George said finally, turning stiffly to his brother, setting his tea down.
"Bill is tuned to the wards and would feel if anyone crossed them friendly or not." Fred copied his twin's actions.
"But family members cause the least disturbance,"
"So it would have to be one of us to go in,"
"And if we crossed at the same time ickle Ronikins did,"
"Then Bill would be non-the-wiser."
"Which is his normal state anyway." George finished causing both of them to break down into laughter, effectively releasing their tensed posture.
Hermione was amused at their back and forth thinking and was again struck with understanding at how well they work as a team. It was no wonder their shop and products were so brilliant when these two heads were put together. Her heart tugged at the thought of what Fred's death did to their bond, but she shoved that feeling into a box and pushed it to the back of her mindscape.
"So I won't be able to go to get my things." She concluded. She half expected this.
"Sorry, Granger, the wards don't count you as family, even if we do."
"Unless you secretly married one of us." Fred Laughed. She flinched, but only George noticed, his brows furrowed in thought trying to connect together these dots. He didn't like what he was concluding.
"Well, unfortunately for you, I didn't." She claimed with a strained but convincing smile. She was not willing to test her marriage theory so soon.
"No, it's unfortunate for you, because it seems only George and I are going on this retrieval excursion."
"No, it's just me." George said, amused. "Did you forget, Freddie, that if you separate from our little bookworm you both have ickle stomach aches."
Fred looked stricken. "It's not a little pain, George. It feels like-"
"Fire." Hermione finished. They shared a look of understanding. It was a terrible burden, but at least they weren't alone.
George cleared his throat. "Now what of this list, Granger?" He asked, pulling the focus back on the task at hand.
"Yes," Hermione began, mentally cursing herself. "My beaded bag, you've seen it." He nodded. He vaguely remembered a bag she always carried with her all those months ago, before they ran.
"Also, a curved, dark brown wand that belonged to Bellatrix. It would probably be near my bag or with Harry's things." At their curious glances, she rushed on. "And any clothes I might have been wearing when I arrived. Probably a sweater and jeans, it's quite cold." She rambled, nervous.
"The important thing is that it would have one of Bellatrix's long, curly, black hairs on it. They'd be dirty and tattered and ...bloody." She finished, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, but she was prepared for their questions. She knew the added details would give a bigger reaction than the previous list. She rung her hands in her lap and looked up meeting their gazes.
She really shouldn't have been so shocked at the concern that they showed so blatantly showed.
"Granger," Fred started in a strained voice.
"Why were you supposed to be in a recovery bed at Shell Cottage?" George put a hand on his twin's shoulder.
"And why would Bellatrix's hair be on your clothes." Fred added.
She took a deep breath and balled her hands into fists, ending their nervous fiddling. She stared at her teacup, unable to watch their reactions and feel their pity when she explained how weak she'd been. She watched as a tiny droplet of tea made its way down the side of the cup.
"We were captured. It was the taboo, snatchers appeared and we were taken to Malfoy Manor." She ignored their sharp intake of breath and pushed on.
"I'd disguised Harry as best I could, but they saw through it. But they wanted to be sure. Then she saw that we had the Sword of Gryffindor, which was supposed to be in her vault. She panicked, thinking we'd been in her vault. She sent Harry and Ron to the cellar, but kept me for ques-questioning." She cursed herself for stuttering. It had been a year since it happened for Merlin's sake.
"Dobby helped us escape. He broke the prisoners out and disarmed her. He was able to apperate us to Shell Cottage, but Bellatrix threw her dagger. She killed Dobby." She swiped at the tear that fell.
She didn't like the silence that followed. When the rest of the Weasley's were told, there were tears, angry exclamations, empty promises of vengeance, and pity. She hated pity. She felt strong arms surround her and pull her into a hard chest. Instantly, she felt terrifyingly calm. Her trauma, replaced with comfort. And a tug in her stomach.
"What?" She asked looking up into his deep brown irises and noticed for the first time that his have flecks of gold that splinter through the coffee colouring like cracked glass. They sparkle and crackle like lightning. It was magical. Like watching a firework show with her parents. Like seeing Hogwarts for the first time with the soft lamplight illuminating the windows. Like the glow from her first patronus. Like home. She was scared. She wanted to run.
"You were hurting." He said simply. Fred had barely acknowledged the sharp tug under his navel before he was sitting next to her, folding his arms around her. He knew the connection expected something of them, he just didn't know what. But she was hurting, and all he wanted was to take it away. And for now, that was enough.
"Granger, what did you mean by 'questioning'?" George asked softly, keeping his anger in check. He sat on her other side and placed a hand on her shoulder. He filed his twin's actions away; he'd connect those dots at a later time.
Hermione stiffened and retreated from Fred's hold. "Torture." She said in a monotonous voice. She started rolling up her left sleeve. "The cruciatus." She took out her wand. "A bit of a beating." She removed the glamour. "And this."
Mudblood
The wound had not healed prettily. A cursed scar for a cursed blade. It was jagged, purple, and slightly faded, but not faded enough. The letters pulled the skin tight, leaving wrinkles in her otherwise youthful skin. The final 'O' and 'D' were cut too deep in Bellatrix's anger; Hermione still had trouble bending her hand back.
She traced each of the letters like she'd done countless times before. She flinched at the sensitivity, like always. It gave her comfort in a sadistic way, the consistency of the phantom pains allow her to feel.
Coming out of their horrified stupor, Fred and George shared a glance. They knew their apologies would be empty and have a negative effect on her. They'd have to tiptoe.
"Why do you hide it?" Fred asked her.
"Why would I show it?" Hermione countered, appalled at his suggestion.
"To show how strong you are." George answered. Her head whipped around, her eyes studying his for any trace of a lie.
"Not many people could survive that deranged old snake without losing their minds." Fred stated when she didn't have any unwelcoming reaction.
"But the Brightest Witch of Our Age can."
"I think she's the strongest witch I know, George." She turned back to Fred. To see if he truly meant it. He did.
"Stronger than our mother, I'd say." George concluded.
She didn't know what to say. When they saw the scars, Ron and Harry couldn't look at her without feeling guilty. Molly and Ginny gave her books on glamour charms and make-up to cover it. She took to wearing long sleeves. In a way, she knew that scars made you stronger, but she never felt like putting them on display. All she saw was her own failure, that she fit the connotation of the word carved on her arm, that she was nothing.
No one had told her different. Until now.
She wrapped her arms around both boys in a death grip, silently showing her gratitude.
They boys shared a look that said she'd be okay. They'd make sure of it.
"I'll make dinner tonight." She said as she pulled away, standing.
When she walked away toward the kitchen, George watched his brother watching her walk away. He watched his twin's gaze flick lower, then he shook his head slightly and met George's knowing stare.
"She's not a little sister to you anymore." He stated quietly.
Fred ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Something is telling me she never was. I'm confused, George, this connection…" He trailed off.
George waited. If he remained quiet, he would expand on his explanation. It was something he figured out long ago in talking to people and gauging reactions. It comes in handy knowing what to expect of people and what makes them tick. Especially as a prankster.
"Pain when we're apart. Little nudges when we're together. Feelings that are mine, but at the same time not mine."
"But you can differentiate them from what your conscious feelings and decisions are?"
At Fred's nod, he continued. "Then maybe they're just suggestions. Options you can take."
"Maybe. Or maybe the connection wants something from us."
"Magic works in strange ways."
Fred wondered if magic was responsible for making someone feel like coming home.
Alright guys, that's all I've got for now. Just a heads up: I'm a college student trying to graduate on time so that means 18+ credit hours a semester. Which means that updates won't be often, but don't worry, my stories are never abandoned. I'll write when I can, I promise.
You guys like it so far? Let me know what you think, yeah?
As always, thanks for reading my garbage.