Falling Boundaries

When Hermione woke the next morning it was to the quiet beckoning of the waves against the seashore.

Light had filled the room. Her mum had warned her room faced the east and would get the full blast of the Australian sun for a wake up call, but she didn't care. She curled over on her side and tucked herself into the blanket a little bit more, allowing herself to be enveloped in that simple security of knowing it was all done. That when the house woke up, it would be her, Harry and Ron wrapped around her parents table for breakfast. Her father would be coming in with the coffee he had taken a fancy to and warning them that Mrs. Granger's cooking skills had taken a turn for the worse now that she had taken to adding Vegemite in to everything.

They'd soon get ready and the three of them would spend the day on one of the beaches outside of Brisbane. And Hermione would allow herself to get swept away in the quiet waves of a peacetime life. She wondered what she would do, who she would grow up to be. All those years she had been focused on creating a Voldemort free world and now it was here and she didn't know if she wanted to spend it on a foreign beach or under fireworks with her friends. Maybe she'd entertain the thought of a Muggle education. Just to appease her parents. Or maybe she'd find her calling in life like the twins had.

But till then, her present responsibility was to linger in this soft, gentle cloud, basked in light and warmth, wrapped in a blanket that smelt of pine, listening to the waves that were calling out to her.

Her mum knocked against the door and strode in. Hermione kept her eyes closed but she could smell what must be a breakfast tray sans Vegemite. Perhaps her dad had got it wrong. Perhaps she had made up that memory, because something smelt wonderful.

"Morning," she said quietly from under the covers, slowly stretching out, her toes curling and fingers reaching for the headboard.

"Morning sleepy head," a deep, familiar voice responded, sitting down on the bed next to her, "I was starting to worry I'd have to eat all of this by myself."

Her eyes flew open and the surroundings suddenly changed. She wasn't in her parents guest room in Brisbane, and it wasn't her father who had brought in the morning tray. She wrapped the blanket around her ever more tightly as her eyes met Fred's, smiling as he set up the tray between the two of them.

"Did I startle you?" he asked, registering her confusion.

"Just a dream," Hermione lied, trying to summon back that peace she had had in thinking the war was over. "Nothing as good as this though," she lied with a smile as she sat up and looked at the spread.

He had brought in a blue tea set which sat between the two of them while the larger breakfast tray hovered above their legs, brimmed with a tray of fresh fruit and pastries. A small vase of flowers identical to the ones in the window box balanced precariously on the corner.

"Did they deliver breakfast for every day all at once?" she asked evaluating the spread.

"Hope not," Fred answered stacking up his plate high with what looked like a variation of a scone. "Don't get me wrong, I think we can both manage for this meal but we'd starve if we had to spread this out long."

"We'd hardly starve," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. She knew about starving. She doubted Fred had ever had to live off of toadstools and mountain berries.

Don't think about that, she told herself as she too started making up her plate. You're on vacation. With Fred, not Ron. Even if you did end up starving you'd still be better off.

But she started debating with herself whether or not she should transfer some of the food storage in the house to the ten. Not a lot, but just a little bit. Maybe to make it more comfortable for them-maybe if she did that Ron would stay.

She didn't see how fixing that would hurt any. After all, given their lack of romance, if he left and she said his name, would it really be enough to summon those ludicrous floating lights Ron had told her about before? No, if he left this time, she was afraid that would be it. They wouldn't be able to find him again—and if they didn't find each other then the reunion would be at the Battle of Hogwarts, where Percy wouldn't be the only prodigal son to return.

At least get some spices, you can get pretty creative with that rosemary and toadstools, she thought as she spread some marmalade on her toast.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Fred asked, reaching for her hand with an uncharacteristic sense of urgency.

She snapped her attention back that that moment. She was sitting up in bed, having breakfast with Fred who looked as though she had spilt something down her front.

"What is it?" she asked, looking to see if there was anything on her night shirt, but it was clean.

"Nothing-you just sorta spaced out," he responded, setting down his plate and reaching for the tea set. "Want me to fix you a cuppa?"

She shook her head, and gave him a smile, "I'm alright-promise. My mind was just wandering off again." He let go of her hand and reached out for a teacup and poured her one anyway, obviously not satisfied with that answer. He brought you on a vacation to chase the worries away. Don't worry him more Hermione, a voice chided her, don't ruin it for him.

"Really, My brain just doesn't know what to do with a vacation," she tried as he put the cup in her hands. She reached out and took his hand, "Fred— I'm alright. Usual morning mist is all," she squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing his fingers. "So what did I miss in my lack of paying attention?"

He nodded, but she had a feeling he wasn't believing her lie. "After I said we'd have to ration things out so we wouldn't starve, I asked if you wanted a quiet day or a busy day," Fred mused, still eying their hands."Quiet day, there's a village not far from here. Figured we could blend in with the crowd and just explore. Or, we could go hiking north at Torrent de Pareis—but I think we should do the first option if you have a morning brain."

"Don't be ridiculous, I can hike if I want to-"

"I'm sure you can," Fred started, sitting up a little more. He let go of her hand, straightening up. "But maybe we should take it easy, eh? No use tuckering out our first day—what will we do the next couple days if you get sick?"

"You're going to have to go to the apothecary or fix me a pepper up potion," Hermione responded with a matter of factness, her arms folded as she looked towards Fred.

"You'd have me be your healer?" Fred asked with a perched eyebrow.

She didn't realize she was leaning in to Fred now. She could make out the freckles that disappeared in the crows feet of his eyes. "Well, someone would have to make me feel better, " she said with a smile, "Figured that someone would be you."

"You figured right," he answered, snapping his fingers as the tea set disappeared between them. He too had turned on his side and rested his hand on her forehead. "Hmm," he mused, frowning and pressing down a little bit more. She rushed and rested her hand on top of his, "Hmm what?" she asked with concern. Perhaps she had picked up a bug on the plane "Am I hot?"

"Insanely so I'm afraid," Fred answered, this time a smirk sneaking from the corners of his mouth. His hand moved down to where it was hovering lightly on the side of her face, his thumb tracing the outline of her cheek, "I've always thought so anyway."

She gave a slight shove against his chest and rolled her eyes. "You're incredibly biased, you know that right?"

"Biased, in love," his hand encompassing her own, pressing it over his heart, "I've heard it both ways." They laid there for a moment. His hand brushing against hers. "We could just stay here all day. I suppose that's a safe third option."

She moved her other hand to where it was now at the back of his neck, playing with the curls at his nape. "We could stay, but if we don't come back with a tan, George will paint me a scarlet woman and duel you to restore my honor."

"Dueled by my own twin, I can't have that," he laughed before pressing his lips to her forehead.

She expected him to pull away, but he didn't. Not right away. He just lingered, as though he too was letting this thought get the best of him.

They could stay there, the two of them. Stay and play house, or whatever it was George said they did. She could stay here in this bed, with him, where there was no war. Where there was only the two of them, her head tucked under only place where she was truly and genuinely safe.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, tilting her head up to where she could see his face better, trying to make sense of what she was feeling in the blue of his eyes.

She couldn't quite read his face, but Hermione had a feeling she wasn't alone in her thoughts. "Nothing love, Nothing at all."

((*))

The hotel had called a cab that took them into the town. Unlike Fred had imagined, the town was perched across the hills, not hugging the coast. There was a little road that would take them to the Port of Sollier, but the village itself stood watchful guard above all. It didn't matter to him though, as Hermione soon took his hand and led him through bright, colorful markets littered with tourists and different guitar chords the moment their car had pulled away.

"This is beautiful," Hermione had said at least a half dozen times. About the houses that lined the streets, their bright colors mimicking the sunshine above them. The Plazas with the cafe tables and troubadours singing to those who sat there. The flutter of birds flying over head and up to the bell tower. He had made the mistake of waving her over when he found a stand dedicated to books, which again was declared "beautiful."

It didn't matter that she didn't know the language, seeing her pick up a book, her hands tracing over the spine and aged pages was beautiful-if Fred said so himself.

When she had first got up in the morning, Fred knew something was off. Before she opened her eyes she looked completely at ease. He had been assured in that moment that this was the right thing. That their test run on the wallets was just the excuse they needed to get to act their age for once.

But what more, it gave him hope that this could happen. This could someday be a common occurrence. Where Hermione wouldn't always be the battle weary soldier she was becoming. That she could someday be as happy and cheerful—at ease and safe—everyday of her life like she was in that moment.

It was those first few minutes though, being startled from the dream that made him wonder if she was going to be able to relax and enjoy herself. When he joked about taking up fishing so they wouldn't starve-completely joking, he had spared no expense on this trip and ensured the breakfast trays would keep coming, stacked to the brim each morning-when he joked about this, her eyes seemed distant, almost as if she were lost in more than a thought, perhaps a memory—an unpleasant one at that. The haunting look in her eyes he had noticed after the Department of Mysteries last year again returning before he turned them away with her cup of tea.

He tried not to think of it as they wandered through the shops and cross ways. Nor did he bring it up when they stopped at a cafe for a little lunch. He didn't bring it up when they went back to the cottage to change before dinner; he in a light blue button up and her in red sundress. It was going to be the last thing he brought up when he saw her in that dress. No reason to spoil a good evening. He knew how quick those eyes could turn, and he'd rather they not turn on him.

Instead he tries to dismiss the thought that something was going on with Hermione. He wasn't going to let it ruin their getaway. In his head, he was calling this their Patronus Building Weekend. Where they were to fill it with their happiest memories that would get them through the war.

Like the memory of her looking up at him with those rare, hopeful eyes, asking as they lay side by side what he was thinking.

Or when she had looked again at him while they sat outside the church, listening to an impromptu concert from two guitars and a fiddle. She didn't say anything then, but he had taken her hand and just smiled as they listened to the music echoing across the square. The laughter mixing in as though it was a part of the melody from people eating at the cafe nearby.

Or perhaps now when they finally sat on one of the piers in Port of Sollier, watching as the sun set in front of them. Little white boats bobbing in the distance as they made their way back to port. Lights starting to appear like tiny suns in the distance hills, another guitar playing in the far of distance.

"You know, that brochure said the most recent renovation was done to the church was by a student of Gaudi," Hermione started, still popping out the occasional tidbit about the town they had spent the day in, leaning into his shoulder. "It's not the Sagrada Familia-but I suppose if you really focused on the outside arches over the door and the rose window-"

"Is there anything you don't know?" Fred asked looking down with a smile, "I honestly tell the travel agent just a nice, warm Mediterranean Island and you can walk into some obscure village and you can start riddling off facts as though you'd now it be there-"

"Gaudi's big in Barcelona," she shrugged, the slight ruffle of her shoulder brushing against her ear. "I used to visit my Aunts there when I was little-Mum's aunts," Hermione corrected herself, swinging her legs as she did so as though she'd catch the waves in the process. "They were war widows, neither of their husbands survived the Second World War so once they retired they decided to travel and see the world, I thought they were gypsies when I was little,"she told him.

"And they ended up in Barcelona?"

"Did a stint in Italy and Marseilles-but they fell in love with Barcelona. Last time I visited Aunt Rose and Auntie Donna they were living in this lovely flat next door to Doctor Juan and they'd get together and take us on an adventures to the Sagrada Familia, tengo in the park-"

"You can Tengo?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"I can watch Tengo, but I'm not much of a dancer."

"Rubbish, you were a dancer at the Yule Ball-I remember, you were a natural."

" I was nervous as hell," she laughed, looking at the disappearing horizon and then back to him. "It's one thing for the champion of a school to ask you to dance, it's another thing to do it infront of the world."

"Well then here," he stood up and extended his hand, "Hermione Granger, may I have this dance?"

"You're mental," she scoffed.

"And last night you told me you loved me, so please Hermione Granger," he did a mock bow, hand still extended, "May I have the honor of this dance?"

She looked at his hand hesitantly but stood up and rested her other hand on his shoulder, "Now what?"

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his free hand wrapping itself around her waist.

Her eyes flickered down to his hand and them up to him again."Yes," she answered although he could hear some hesitation clinging to her word.

"Close your eyes," he said clearly.

Her hand seemed to grip his shoulder tighter, trying to anchor herself to him. "If you swirl me into the ocean you will be sleeping on the sofa until we get back-"

"Just close them and focus on my hand," he tried as he watched her eyes close.

He could tell she wasn't far from a sarcastic comment as the two disappeared in a sudden pop.

"Now open them."

She already had. They were back in Sollier, apparating into a small alley next to the church, not far from the Plaza. More musicians had come out and were performing in the plaza. The Plaza was fuller than it had been when they were their earlier in the morning. More couples were out dancing in the mosaic of lights and lamps overhead that seemed to glow with the wishes of those that danced below.

She had let go of her dance pose but clung to his hand."Remember what I said about dancing in front of the world?"

"I'm not dancing with the world," he said taking her hand and leading her to the Plaza, "I'm dancing with you; come on, let's go."

He noticed she opened her mouth, as though she had another thing she wanted to say but she stopped herself. She followed him as he tried to mimic the dancers around them. It was a faster dance, faster than what he, George and Lee used to do when they went to the London Tourist halls where they'd dance with a pretty muggle or two.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Hermione asked with a tease of a smile.

"Of course I do; I'm seducing you with my fancy footwork," he winked, throwing her out as he twirled her midstep.

He didn't have the faintest idea what he was doing other than making Hermione Granger laugh as the lights above sparkled in her eyes.

"Is that the best you can do?" she asked as he pulled her back. There was something else in her eyes. Something he couldn't quite figure out-something he'd like very much to solve.

The guitars around them continued a fast beat song. One that led to more twirls some away from him, others where he spread his hand across her back and tried to twirl the two of them on his heel. Her hair was falling out of the fancy knot she had done for dinner; but her laughter kept him going. Because no matter what, he knew she was happy. And in that moment, that was enough.

It was a mental picture he wanted to keep. Hermione Granger and him, navigting through the plaza dancing. It was obvious to anyone they weren't from around here. Probably young newlyweds or two kids who were in a rush to grow up. But it was still the perfect moment. He hadn't danced like this since he and Angelina had gone to the Yule Ball his sixth year-and as for Hermione he couldn't recall her and Krum doing the faster double step dances, but she was keeping up tonight, following his lead, a smile lingering as she did so.

They nearly tripped over the feet of a German couple next to them. Hermione squeezing his arm as though telling him to slow down. She stifled our an apology as they kept going their way grinning and spinning through the floor.

The music has slowed and he realized that he too had been laughing. When they both stopped he realized that there was someone singing a song that sounded both sad and hopeful. He lowered his one hand where it was at the small of her back. Her free hand, the one not holding his, was at the nape of his neck, her fingers playing with a curl.

"I told you," Fred said nonchalantly as they swayed.

"Told me what?" she asked, her eyes meeting his.

"You're a natural," he said, again twirling her in and back to him.

"Is that so?" she responded, "I think I may just have had the right teacher."

"Sounds brilliant he does," Fred grinned, "Had the best student of the age."

"Yes he did," Hermione answered, "Would you like me to give Neville your contact information?"

He laughed, bringing her closer to him now, leaning his head against hers as they still swayed, "You wound me, I don't know how I'll recover."

" I'm sure we'll manage somehow," she joked, "Maybe we can come up with some shoes for the shop."

"Hermione Granger, coming up with products for the store," he sighed as he spun her, "you sound so beautiful when you start dabbling in mayhem."

She rolled her eyes and mumbled something he didn't quite hear.

"What did you say love?" He asked, lowering his head closer to hers.

"I said, This has been the best day of my life—in all seriousness," Hermione continued, not looking up, her words soft and almost missed, "I wouldn't give it up for the world. I wish-"

" You wish-"

She stopped, letting go of his hand and resting it on his chest. "I wish this moment could last forever-that we could just stay here forever. In this square, on this island-I wish we got a forever."

"We'll come back then after the war," he promised tucking back a loose hair. "The moment Harry gets rid of old Voldywart, we'll load up our bags and come back here. Stay in the cottage and never leave. George will have to duel me"

"Think we could?" Hermione smiled, "that would be nice—never leave, just stay here—"

"We could spend forever in Moaning Myrtles toilets, I don't care where we go so long as I'm with you." Fred promises, taking a step to start dancing again.

"You mean it? You'd really say yes to Myrtle as our flatmate?" She asked. Fred noticed something was on her mind, she stayed stuck to the floor, not following his lead.

"Of course I do," He said, "I mean I'd rather we keep George before we invite Myrtle in, but I mean it when I say I love you—and come Death Eaters or ghouls, my future has you in it—You are my future."

She finished the thought as her lips came up to reach his own. He was aware they were stopped in the middle of the floor. That there were couples having to maneuver around the two of them. But he finally recognized the look Hermione had in her eyes as he responded to this kiss.

She pulled away first, a smile on her face. Her eyes flickered back to the alley had arrived.

"Oh!" He responded, clueing in, "Oh—"

She slipped her hand back into his as she guided them through the crowd, at first a walk, then a jog before they broke out into a full out run, disappearing with a pop into the Spanish night.

((*))

She had apparated them back to the Hotel. Lights and music were still going strong at the big house but at the little cottage down the way no one noticed the two guests snogging against the tree nearest their rooms.

"Here," Fred said, breaking away, " We've got a perfectly good room-no need to scare the squirrels-"

Hermione noticed as he eyed the door. "Carry me in?" she said, her voice almost a wispher as she kissed his temple.

He scooped her into his arms, not the bridal style he had said the night before, but where she was wrapped around his front, kissing him as he struggled to open the door.

"Door's jammed," Fred groaned against her shoulder, "Sorry love—let me put you down and I'll give it a budge-"

She pulled away and looked at him annoyed, "Are you a wizard or not Fred Weasley?" she retrieved her wand from her updo, "Alohomora!"

"Brightest witch of your age—"he started before she interrupted him again with a kiss that ended in a moan.

If he were to ask her what she was thinking, she wouldn't know what her answer would be. A part of her telling to slow down, another telling her to stop altogether. That this was too soon—that after the war there would be time for this—assuming they lived that long.

My future has you in it, my future is you—that's what she was fighting for. That's what she wanted to hold on to, to keep from flying away to her in the coming storm.

But you could die at anytime—a third voice interrupted; and in that moment, it was the loudest voice.

The door unlocked, they staggered into the mainroom, oblivious to everything around them.

But not quite everyone.

"Heh-Hem" a different voice started from the corner. Fred and Hermione pulled away as though in an instant they had a repelling charm on each other. Hermione had her wand out at the read where Fred had put her down and was standing as though he was physically going to take on the Umbridge-esque stranger for interrupting this moment.

"Oi-it's just me," the voice said again and Hermione could place it. George Weasley emerged from the dining area, hands up with a banana in his hand as a peace offering.

Hermione could hear Fred swear under his breath, turning from his brother while he scratched the back of his head.

George looked as uncomfortable as she had ever seen. He had blushed a shade of red she'd only seen Ron don before. He had obviously thought he'd just wait in the cottage for the two of them to come in. He had thought that much through, he just wasn't sure the manner of their entry…

"George, is everyone alright?" Hermione asked, sitting up and in the process buttoning up the top three buttons that had come loose while dancing.

"Yes—everyone's fine, but there's been an incident," he said eyeing one of the chairs in the front entry, "You mind?"

The look on Fred's face told Hermione that he minded. He minded very much. But that was neither here nor there. George took a seat in the chair. One of the carefree inviting ones. One that didn't bear any signs of the war or the danger that surrounded them. But in that moment it was becoming associated with the war. They were standing in her and Fred's perfect little cottage. Where they had been so happy—where they had almost—

But the war was claiming that too.

"It really started the day you left," George explained. " There was an article in the Prophet by the Muggle Studies Professor, Curbage—"

"Burbage," Hermione said horror struck.

It was as though George had sucked the warmth out of the room and replaced it with artic air. Hermione was frozen to the spot as she processed it all. Charity Burbage. Hermione knew that name. She could remember when Professor Burbage's article had come out. The responses had given her the final push she needed to wipe her parents memories, to start to disappear.

Hermione knew how George's tale would end. Professor Burbage died in the weeks leading up to the Ministry falling. Malfoy had testified of the murder when he and his family came before the Reconciliation Committee. Sometime in the end of July.

Hermione knew her face had fallen, that she was probably betraying herself but it was hot anger bubbling in her.

You forgot about her

Charity Burbage who came with her parents the first time she went to Diagon Alley, who patiently explained all about Galleons to Pounds and how you could find the exchange rate for them in the sports section on Thursdays in the Times. Who had won over her mum by telling her that she had graduated from Oxford after finishing from Hogwarts, studying Communications . Who had been there at Kings Cross to show Hermione and a few of the other Muggleborns that year how to get on to the Platform an hour beforehand so no one would be afraid or stumble into the wrong pillar.

And Hermione had forgotten about her.

"Right," George continued on, skipping Hermione's inner monologue and going into his report. "Well, she wrote an article. An editorial piece. In Defense of Muggles-you can guess how well that went over. There's usually a few opinion pieces calling for reform on old laws that discriminate against Muggleborns. Some of the older, traditional wizards scoff at them, you might get letters from the readers threatening family curses or telling their own Muggleborn horror story, but it usually isn't anything too outrageous."

"I'm guessing it was this time?" Fred asked. Hermione could feel him shift behind her, as though he needed to protect her from whatever it was George was telling them.

"They ran two sheets worth of responses-most of them anonymous. But our dear friend Dolores decided to write in and give her two knuts worth," George snarled, before shaking his head. "It was the usual at first, people saying she wasn't fit to be a teacher at Hogwarts, calling for her resignation so she didn't tell students such horrible lies about the debase Muggles and Mudbloods they were interacting with—but there were some that were darker. Some of them that threatened blood curses, hexes, said she didn't belong in Wizarding society—that someone ought to ensure she be unable to poison future generations of wizards into believing her dangerous lies."

Hermione could feel Fred's arm instinctively fitting around her waist. She wasn't sure if he was doing it to comfort her or to keep him from flying in a rage.

"Anyway, Burbage knew something was going to happen. With an onslaught of responses like that it wasn't a matter of if but when really. They published the responses Friday Morning and by Friday night she had arranged to meet first thing this morning with McGonagall in Hogsmeade -wanted to see if she was going to be called before the Governors or if she would, at the very least, be able to return to the Castle until everything calmed down. McGonagall agreed, saying it was best she came back," he paused, looking up from Hermione to his brother, "They wrote some pretty threatening things in there. It was— it was horrible."

"So she's back at Hogwarts?" Fred asked, hopeful for a happy ending while Hermione's knowing heart dropped.

"No," George answered, looking down at the ground and then up a them, "McGonagall had her set up a Portkey that would have taken her to The Hogsmeade Station House where she'd floo to The Headmaster's Office but when she didn't turn up, McGonagall went looking. She got to the station house and found the portkey had came without her. "

The room was still, the air stale. Hermione would venture to guess that no one could hear the waves of the sea. Only the deadly stillness of George's tale.

"McGonagall had Mad Eye, Remus and Tonks check out her flat to see if there was a sign of a struggle. From what Remus told me, there wasn't a thing that hadn't been touched. Furniture upheaved, pages ripped from books, apparently a bit of blood-he said he hadn't seen anything quite like it since Edgar Bones' place back in the first war. "

"Did they find her body?" Fred asked, Hermione knew the answer. They'd never find her body. She was killed at Malfoy Manor, Nagani had destroyed the evidence. Malfoy has revealed that much.

But when had she died? She couldn't remember. Was it on the first night? She tried to strain her memory, remembering what Malfoy had said. Was it possible that Professor Burbage was still alive though captive at Malfoy Manor? Could she tip them off that they should go look there? Was it still possible to save her?

How are you going to get into Malfoy Manor Hermione? She asked herself, Voldemort himself is using it as his Headquarters. How do you plan to get the Order to just waltz right in and demand the release of the Professor?

Snape's probably there right now, she remembered, If he can't save her, where do you think you can?

"No," George answer called her back. Fred had been asking about a body, Hermione reminded herself focusing on the present. George was telling them what was going on. She needed to focus on that. Forget the past. Bury it away. Focus on the now. " No. McGonagall went ballistic when she found out. I don't think we've really seen wartime McGonagall, but she's fierce. This morning she called for every Muggleborn enrolled in Hogwarts to have eyes on by the order or a member of staff. Eyes on, brief with parents and guardians over needed protection going forward. And you'd guess which Muggleborn she wanted to check on first…"

"Me," Hermione responded ruefully.

"What did you tell McGonagall?" Fred asked, " I'm assuming you told her something or she would have walked been the one to walk in on us."

George rolled his eyes, "I might have said the Grangers were out of the country—that you had set up for your parents to flee the country for the duration of the war—Minnie wasn't a fan of that to say the least-"

"Didn't expect her to be," Fred laughed ruefully.

"—told me to have them come back with you—"

"Not likely," Hermione sighed.

"And said to tell you that it was foolish to disappear and execute a plan like that with no supervision from the Order."

"Technically, to be fair I had Fred—"

"And she knows that," George said, cooly, "I said that Fred had agreed to be your point of contact in case something went wrong."

"And she said?"

"That it was beyond foolish to disappear and execute a plan like that with Fred Weasley," George said and Fred smirked.

Hermione could feel Fred's hand settle on her shoulder, steadying her.

"She wants you lot back in the country by sun up. And to meet with your parents Hermione."

"Well she can't," Hermione answered, and turned to Fred, "Could we fly out this late?"

"We might be able to with a little bit of a confounding charm," Fred's finger was tapping her shoulder as he thought. " I mean, honestly this might make it better. Your parents will be shown leaving the country. The Death Eaters will have known about McGonagall's search— we can make it look like you all found out and got the idea to disappear early. We'll—-"

"We'll take the cab into Palma, and fly to Paris as planned."

"With one slight adjustment," Fred said, letting go of her shoulder and heading to the desk to get another, " Mr and Mrs Granger will fly to their ten different locations. But we're going to use a wallet on you too."

"What?" both Hermione and George said at the same moment.

"You're buying a ticket to New York. We'll make you look like you're bound for Illvermony. It won't buy us loads of time, eventually they'll find out you're in Britain—we won't be able to keep you hidden forever—but it'll still give you a little bit of a window. Before you leave with the boys."

He had the pose she usually did. That this was the end of the discussion. That what they were about to do was necessary. That lives depended on it.

And this time, it was her life that was on the scale. And if it took everything he had to see she survive, he was going to make it so.

My future has you in it, she thought again, My Future is you. She knew he wasn't sending her away, rather just creating a bluff that could buy her a respite. This was his attempt, one of them at least, to keep her alive for such a future.

Just like she was wiling to do everything she could to keep him alive.

"Should we apparate to the airport?" Hermione asked, "That'll save us an hour—or we could apparate to Paris—or—"

"They need to have their passports stamped—-it'll make it more believable," Fred said evenly. "But if your parents were here Hermione, would you apparate them to the airport to buy them time?"

"Yes," she responded. "I'll pack our bag quick and you and George take care of the bed?"

He nodded and she slipped to their room first. The staff had made it up for them again. A bouquet of wildflowers sat on the table. The blue and white tea set he had come in with to chase away her morning brain sat next to it.

It had only been hours earlier they had woken up to that quiet, magical Mallorca morning. And now, she would give anything to be back in that bubble. One where Charity Burbage was still assumed safe. One where tomorrow they would find themselves waking up again with each other. One where after morning tea they'd find each other in a hammock on Sa Colobra beach or hiking the caves of Torrent de Pareis.

One where there was the opportunity for another night of dancing.

((*))

The pinks of the rising sun painted the windows of Fred and George's loft.

George knew today was going to be a long day. Not only he was he going to have to go follow up with McGonagall, he knew he would be dealing with the ongoing fall out and personal trauma of having walked on his brother and Hermione Granger.

Counting his blessings, he knew it was nothing short of miraculous Hermione didn't curse him on the spot.

Although given the option and knowledge it was his brother, he was sure Fred would have in that moment sanctioned such an action. He was honestly surprised Fred had yet to raise the wand on him.

He tiptoed down the hall. They leave the door open, they're asking for peeping Tom, he thought to himself, reaching for the door and glancing up.

Hermione was in bed alone. She was wearing an old Weasley jumper, curled on her side under Fred's patchwork quilt. Fred's side looked as though it hadn't been disturbed. George glanced again up and down the hall before he gently closed the door.

"Freddie" he whispered, "Fred—"

He turned to the kitchen and pulled out a special bottle he had brewed right before the two had left. He gave it three good shakes before he poured it in a tea cup. He looked at it, tapping his fingers as though trying to find what was missing. He pulled on his ear lobe, thinking and then in a swift motion he pulled out the Firewhiskey bottle before splashing a small bit into the tea cup. Finally amused with his concoction, he grabbed a saucer and bin of biscuits before he head down the stairs.

Sure enough, George saw a light coming from under the workroom door. He tapped on the door before walking in.

His brother had his back to him. He was busy, scribbling in a notebook while Wandering Wallet Passports were busy sewing papers into the leather.

"Couldn't sleep?" George asked, staying a faint distance away incase he startle Fred twice in a twelve hour span. "I didn't hear you two come in—"

"We got in from Paris around three," Fred said, rubbing his forehead and turning to his brother. "It took longer than we thought to get her parents on all those flights. Nearly forgot to get Hermione's ticket scanned for New York— I think we stumbled in here around four or so."

"And you decided sleep was overrated?" George asked, trying not to notice how unrested his brother looked following his vacation.

"I came down for a day dream fancy—thought it might help Hermione if she had a nightmare—but there was a brute of a falcon on my chair when I came in—-"

"Ah, yes, that's Henri. Fleur's grandparents gave her a falcon for a wedding gif. Apparently they're smarter than Owls and all the rage in France," George explained, rolling his eyes, "She just got him yesterday. Must have been the first letter." George pushed the teacup towards Fred, "This is for you by the way."

Fred looked at it warily, "Is it Firewhiskey with a splash of tea or just straight firewhiskey?"

"Does it matter?" He replied, scooting it closer,"it's a new concoction," George answered, "Thought it might be a good idea to run a bootleg operation over our actual bootleg operation. Two parts pepper up potion, one part firewhiskey. If you've been up all night, you'll need it."

He watched his brother take a sip, steam faintly coming out his ears. He puckered his lips and turned up to face George, "Don't try taking Tom's job at the Leaky Cauldron anytime soon."

George picked up the teacup and sniffed before discarding the contents in the rubbish bin. "Probably for the best. You should go up and catch some sleep. I have Lee covering for you and he'll be livid if he finds out your actually in."

"Can't George—I need to get these papers together," Fred said brushing him off.

George looked at the empty cup of tea and then back at his brother. They had often thought themselves two sides of the same coin; he knew Fred was just tiered. Stressed from the news he had broken earlier. But George was not having this brush off business. "Freddie, Your vacation was cut early. You spent hours at the Paris airport and haven't slept yet. Your girlfriend is sleeping alone in your bed—go get some sleep," he sighed, his hand clapped on his shoulder "Or at the very least keep her company."

"I can't," his brother answered, still working on his project. He lifted the letter in his left hand. "Fleur's letter, it was from Bill," Fred explained, "Do you want to read it?"

"No—" George said waving it off, "Don't read bad news till after 9 otherwise it messes with breakfast."

When his joke didn't crack a smile, George's dropped and he took the letter out of Fred's hand, his brother continuing with his work. It was short. And it wasn't much a letter. Just a form from Gringotts. One he recognized; it was an application for an account. The applicant's name, their occupation, their blood status—

That's new, he thought, his eyes tracing the word over and over again. When he and Fred had broken off from the Weasley Vault last year, that wasn't an option.

There was also a Ministry memo with Bill's scribbled handwriting at the bottom.

"Gringotts Wizarding Bank will be conducting a study in cooperation with the Department of Mysteries over Muggleborns in the Magical community. Effective August 1st, Witches and Wizards will be asked to declare their blood status when doing transactions at the Ancient Bank."

Bills message was short, just three sentences written in his sloppy, hastily put together slant. It's starting. Have Hermione come to close account or sign over to member of family. They'll be going through existing accounts after the 1st.

'"Go through existing accounts?' Can they do that?" He asked, reviewing the letter a second time.

His brother turned his chair around and George could see the added lines around his eyes. They hadn't been there two days ago when he sent them on their way to Mallorca. There were hints of them last night, but they had deepened. His brother looked more like Percy than himself. His hair starting to curl in patches. A shadow of a beard outlining his face.

"It's starting," Fred said emptily, looking at the letter as though it was a death sentence. "Hermione doesn't have much in Gringotts, and what she did have she already withdrew at the start of the summer holidays. But if the Death Eaters feel brave enough to start messing with Gringotts, we have to make a list of every muggleborn we know. Start with the school age kids and then the older ones. We need to get them to France, now."

"I'll go get the photo of the DA," George responded, "The one from Christmas, remember? We can go through and pick out those muggleborns for the first wave." George stopped mid-step out the door and turned to face Fred again."Hermione's still sure she's going to go with the boys? There's no chance she'll take the wallets?"

"She's convinced that she needs to go with them or they'll end up messing up or killing each other," Fred sighed, turning around and facing his brother, "And to be honest, she's probably right. Besides, she would consider it the ultimate betrayal. She'll never abandon Harry," he said evenly, looking at the ground without really focusing on anything.

"Right," George responded, "I'll go grab the photo," he said and turned out the door, careful to be quiet on the loft steps as to not wake up Hermione.

But George wondered, in that moment, if Fred felt the same thing George was thinking. He knew Fred was right, that Hermione would never, not in a million years, abandon Harry. The consequences, he knew, would change the outcome of the war. But George wanted to know what the other consequences would be, those that would come to surface when by following Harry, Hermione would inadvertently abandon Fred.

AN:

This chapter y'all...

I feel like there was a lot of self monologues, and I swear, I tried my best to give them a wee bit of fluff-but again, its something I struggle with. Writing a romantic get away for two of your favorite characters is wonderful in theory, but then in execution, you feel as though your intruding. Seriously, I wrote their breakfast scene so many times, there were moments where I felt like I was getting the dirty look from Hermione while Fred was shouting "Get out, and put the do not disturb sign up as you leave."

Again, it's been a struggle. But I kind of liked how it all rolled out. Especially George's piece in the end.

So another twist and turn for our two favorites. Charity Burbage has been kidnapped. Fred is diving in to his work. And Hermione is soon going to have to make her way to the Burrow with a breakup story Ginny will believe. We're also drawing closer to the Battle of the Seven Potters, the consequences of that, and a discovery will have lasting repercussions.

I hate doing Sunday night/Monday morning updates, but I'm getting ready to travel and wanted to make sure its up before i go abroad. As always, thank you thank you thank you for all the support and love from reviewers, followers and those of you I know in real life who have stumbled upon this story. I hope to have CH 36 (I can't believe we're this far in!) up within a few weeks.

Till next time, Keep your head up!

~Kait Hobbit