AN: Another chapter born from a layover at the airport...

Falling Trios

The hilt of Gryffindor's sword flashed again under her wand light.

It was there, and the daydream Fred wasn't. There was no other logical explanation than this was real and the thing they needed, the thing that would destroy the horcruxes was just below her feet.

Ron had brought it back last time, or at least he had when Harry had found it. Parading it around and giving it to her as if it was a bouquet of roses. Did this mean Ron wouldn't be coming back? Or was this just a fluke in time, the cumulation of her and Fred's little edits?

She supposed she could leave it there for Harry and Ron to get, but there was something ominous about leaving Goblin made swords tucked under a lake and hoping it would be there when they needed it in the morning.

"Right then," she said to herself, clapping her hands together and looking down at the sword, "Right-"

If memory served, last time Harry had broken the ice and dove right in to retrieve it. As she could still see her breath she thought that maybe there was another option she could explore that wouldn't lead to her getting pneumonia or the onset of hypothermia.

Hermione walked onto the shore line and looked over the pond. If she was guessing, it wasn't too deep. She was a fair swimmer, it wouldn't be the end of the world if she had to dive in. But you can do better than that-

Raising her wand a series of blue flames puffed out, spreading an outline around the pond and then filling itself in until she could see the ice begin to diminish and the reflection of the flames bounced against the water. She was always surprised Seamus Finnigan got flagged as the Gryffindor Pyromaniac, if anyone was really paying attention they'd had realized he had some competition for the title in the form of Hermione's blue flames.

While the flames went to work unthawing the pond, Hermione raised her wand again and began putting up the same series of charms she put on their camp site. She doubt there was anyone in the woods, but she didn't want to emerge from the Pond to find she had some unexpected company waiting for her on its banks. Some poor muggle who would think they were Arthur being greeted by a weary lady of the lake.

The wards wouldn't need to last for long, just an hour at most, but that's all the time she needed.

She took off her scarf and gloves, flinging them against the snow. Carefully, she took of Fred's sweater to where she was left in a t-shirt and her thermals. "Impervius" she said, waving her wand first over her shoes, and then up her thermal pants and shirt. There-regardless of if she had to swim or not, at least she wouldn't catch her death of cold water.

Hermione walked closer to the pond and tried putting her hand in. It was cold, but it wasn't solid ice. She took her wand and turned it a quarter to the right, and watched as the flames grew higher and felt the warmth spread towards her.

The wards will make sure no one sees this, she thought to herself, watching her wand work. She looked down and saw the glow of flames against the horcrux around her neck. Gingerly, she took it off and tucked it in the sweater, wrapping the scarf around it like a bundle. She didn't want to get any new scars as Harry had.

She approached the pond again and placed her hand in it. Fewer ice chunks. She stood and with a flair of her wand watched the flames disappear into the night. She took a step into the water and felt her foot sink to the silt below before she took it out again.

"Accio Sword!" she cried, hoping that perhaps, when defrosted, it would work. Nothing emerged from the pond, not even the sunken remains of a child's sword. She paused for a minute, trying to think what her other option could be. There was a spell Flitwick had mentioned briefly in class her fifth year, she had remembered reading up on. Doubted it would ever have any practical application but if ever there was a time to use it-

Hermione drew her wand out and raised it, a trio of blue lights appearing around her head. Then, as if she was a conductor summoning the symphony she cried "Partius aqua!" and then bringing the wand down directly in front of her like a staff, she watched the pond to see if it had worked.

The water parted at her feet. Walls of water forming at her side as she journeyed deeper into the pond, trying not to trip on the rocks and mud that had remained. Keeping a firm grip on her wand she wandered further in, eyes wide looking for-

The hilt was there, poking out as the rest of the sword hid in the dark waters. Hermione gave it a good tug and pulled it out, tucking it under her arm as she began backtracking to the shoreline.

She was glad she had used the impervius spell, but noted the mud was starting to suck her feet down with each step. She also hadn't realized just how heavy the sword would be, it had been a while since she had last carried it. With a heave, she fell to the shoreline, the water collapsing behind her and Gryffindor's sword in her hand beside her as a little blue ball of light bobbed over head.

"Sword," she said to herself, looking up at the sky, " check," she sighed, before closing her eyes for a moment more.

Her eyes still closed, Hermione felt the texture of the hilt. The grooves, the imprints of the rubies. She had the sword. She had the horcrux. She could end it in that moment and return to Harry with a much better Christmas gift than a measly stew.

She stood up and put on her layer of clothes again, retrieving the locket from the sweater and placing it on the stone before her.

When she has destroyed Hufflepuff's cup, she had head voices in her head, she could hear invisible people telling her not to strike the cup. They encouraged her to strike Ron instead, reminding her he had left her, that he couldn't be trusted. She had been so pumped on adrenaline and drive to destroy the cup and return to Harry she had just shook her head and stabbed the cup with the basilisk's fang and watched in amazement as an oil black substance leaked from the spot she had stabbed, the voices crying out and dying out as she did.

She was prepared for voices she thought, as she stood her ground and took the sword, tapping it against the lockets face. She could deal with voices just fine.

But it wasn't a voice that sounded as the sword grazed the lockets latch.

It would appear that Harry and Ron had left out certain details regarding how they had destroyed the locket. Significant ones at that.

The frames of the locket exploded and with them released a whirlwind all about her, her hair whipping against her face, her loose clothes bellowing about her. The frames appeared like red eyes before her and from them sprung a form, one that was familiar, one that has just been there with her.

Fred Weasley stood in front of her, his red hair like red flames licking the night sky. Those blue eyes that always seemed to whisper her peace where a rage of red and mischief was carved into the smile on his face. He looked terrifying and beautiful all at once, the black sweater hugging him was pushed up above his elbows revealing strong, alabaster forearms. His jawline straight and defined as though he had been cut from Michelangelo's marble.

This isn't Fred, she told herself, This isn't Fred—

"I have seen your heart Hermione Granger," Fred whispered amidst a cruel laugh, "and it is mine."

That's not his voice, she told herself, clenching her eyes close, he doesn't sound like that. His voice is kinder, softer—like the Spanish sun—

This was captivating. This was calling her in.

"Always ridiculed by those you call friends," the phantom crooned, "always the brunt of everyone's joke."

An image of Ron doing an impersonation of her in their sixth year appeared in a shadow form, the cruel words "She's a nightmare, honestly, no wonder she doesn't have friends" echoing as he did.

"But it's a good thing you don't have real friends, isn't it Hermione?" Fred whispered, "you wouldn't know how to love them if you did."

Another shadow appeared, this time Harry, looking just as she had left him in the tent, a bandage around his head. "If we were friends you'd have trusted me enough to tell me about your time travel. You would have let me fix things and end this early. You're meddling nearly let Malfoy kill me in the bathroom. You're a coward, I'd be better off without you. "

No—she wanted to call out. He didn't see, he didn't realize—he wasn't real. Harry would never say this.

Her parents stood before her now, with red eyes and twisted smiles, "The best thing she ever did was erase us from her memories," her mother said with a laugh, "She's slowly been erasing herself from our lives since she was eleven. Running off to that school, staying for Christmases, cancelling family holidays to study, ha!"

"We knew she didn't go back to study the year she cut our ski holiday short," her father cut in, "she didn't think we were good enough for her, but she's never been good enough for us. She's a freak and we're better off without you Hermione."

This isn't real, she chanted in her head, gripping the sword. "This isn't real," she said aloud, hoping hearing the words would help her believe them "This isn't real."

Her parents disappeared and Fred returned, standing right in front of her. "Full of secrets, not trusting anyone but yourself, it's no wonder we never worked out," he smirked, tilting his head as he looked at her. "How could you possibly think I loved you? What are you thinking?"

What are you thinking...

Something seemed to spark in her like a wildfire. Clarity chasing away any doubts or worries that Riddle-Fred and his compatriots and planted in her.

"What am I thinking?"she yelled back, wind whipping around her, her hair beating against her head, "I'm thinking it doesn't matter what you think. Your not Fred and your not real."

With that, she gave a guttural cry and took up the sword and wield it above her head before bringing it crashing down on the frames of the locket. The phantom Fred cried out, red light shining from his fingertips as the flames engulfed him. He was suddenly ablaze, and then just suddenly gone. Smoke and steam rising in little plumes like the snow fairies in her daydream from the broken locket windows.

Hermione clung to the sword, steadying herself as she breathed heavily, watching the frames. That had been the locket's horcrux? She wondered who had come out for Harry and Ron when they had destroyed it. Had it been as terrifying, as mentally real for them as it had been for her?

She was upset she'd never know, but she was also relieved in a way that it had been her. What she had done this last year, the edits, the meddling, the effects those actions had on those she loved had been on her mind, and she supposed in her heart. That everything she had done, both last time and this time had damaged her in a way she wasn't capable of being loved. Or perhaps that she couldn't love—that it was some luxury that shouldn't be extended to her—

But you do care, she told herself. You are loved. Whatever stood between her and Fred now, she wasn't sure. But she knew what had been there. That it had been real. And no mirage could tell her otherwise.

She carefully stood up, still putting a good amount of weight on Gryffindor's sword. She walked over to the locket, picked it up and put it in her coat pocket before turning around and heading back to camp.

Pinks were starting to appear on the horizon with flecks of Orange too brushing into the vision. It was going to be a good day. Perhaps rather than moving to a new site, she and Harry could stay put and instead go for a walk beyond the borders of the enchantments. Ron could find them there. It'd be a regular Christmas miracle.

"Hermione?" A voice called from in front of her, a loft in the distance, "Hermione is that you?"

She smiled and quickened her step, "What would you say if I said I was Father Christmas?" She answered still out of sight.

"So long as Father Christmas is bringing back my friend I'm happy," Harry said, emerging from where he stood at the mouth of the tent. He took an unsteady step, his hand rising to his head as though he was trying to regain focus. He looked at her and looked bewildered at the scene before him. "Hermione—"

She stopped in front of him, handing him Gryffindor's sword and the broken Horcruxes without any comment. Headed straight into the tent she turned her head and smiled, "Happy Christmas Harry," she beamed, "fancy some pancakes?"

((*))

Ron was an ass.

He knew that. He had known that when he first left Hermione and Harry. He had been reminded of it when he first came to Bill for help, and he had been reminded, most forcefully, by Fred the night before.

Bill had returned from work moments after Fred had departed. Fleur was still upstairs, going through her closet for a Christmas gift they could send Penny on the next Muggleborn transport. Bill took one look at Ron's face and simply asked, "Was it George or Fred?" Before he walked into the kitchen and grabbed the medic kit.

"Fred," Ron mumbled against his busted lip.

Bill nodded and reached for the bruise and cuts salve their mother had always used. Bill looked Ron over and stared at his mouth for a moment. "Smile?" He ordered and peaked a look before he looked away with a smirk.

"What?" He asked, taking his finger and running it against his teeth.

"Nothing," Bill responded, "I just thought you'd be missing a tooth after Fred got a hold of you."

"It wasn't from lack of trying," Ron said, flinching when Bill started rubbing the slave under his eye and around his jaw.

"So you told him what happened?" Bill asked.

Ron grunted, "Yeah, he figured out a good part of it."

Bill nodded, and then paused, taking out a cream for his lip. "Did he tell you about them?"

"What about them?" He said, the word still having a vile taste in his mouth, "That they were a couple?"

"Well that but—forget it," Bill said as he put the cream on Ron's cut and raised his wand "Hold still, this helps speed it up; learned this trick in Egypt."

A quick wave of hot rushed to Ron's lip and he gave an involuntary filch. "Wait what—what did Fred tell me about?"

"Not our business," Bill said, snapping the kit closed, "Now go wipe that blood off your face before Fleur comes down. I'll see if you and Fred burnt dinner."

"Bill—"

"I just was curious if he said why they ended it," Bill answered in annoyance. "He never told George, George put Charlie and I in a gag order during the reception—I was just curious if he said what happened. They were a good match, we were all scratching our heads when George said it was over." He looked at Ron again and waved his arm, "Now go wash up, I'll call Fleur."

Ron did as he was told and cleaned up, meeting Bill and Fleur at the kitchen table. Fleur was all a flutter for missing Fred. But the conversation quickly turned to the envelope that Fred had left behind.

"What is it Mon Cher?" She asked, her eyes wide but her smile unmoved, same as it would have been if she had asked about his day. Bill tucked it in his coat and waved his arm, "I'll look at it later. I'm sure it's fine."

"If it's from Remus it's as far away as fine as can be," Fleur rebutted, "Two Portkeys and a Floo away from Fine to be exact."

The rest of their evening passed as their evenings typically did. Fleur sat in the living room reading while Bill poured over the letter at his desk. Ron excused himself up to the spare room, but told Bill he was going to go for a walk in the morning. Once he got to his room he wrote a quick note to be left behind; telling Bill what he'd really done, where he was really going.

He didn't have the same curiosity as Bill over what had happened between Fred and Hermione. He honestly didn't want to think of anything regarding to the two of them together. As much as he didn't want to, he knew Fred was right and he probably behaved just as bad, if not worse, than Hermione had ever imagined.

That wasn't his intention. He had lost his temper. That wasn't an excuse, he knew that much. But perhaps, he thought, he rushed back to liking Hermione so quickly after Lavender because he didn't want to be alone? Perhaps he had rushed so quickly to the possibilities of Ron and Hermione because he subconsciously need there to be a "Ron and Somebody"?

Lavender used to say he was the type of boy who needed to feel loved. When she said it, it was always said softly, with a gentle touch on the arm or a kiss in his hair. He missed that, he missed Lavender's soft touches.

"You're a mess Weasley," he said to himself, crashing into the pillows "an absolute sodding mess."

He tried to fall asleep but it wouldn't come. He kept thinking of what Fred had said, or what he had promised. How was he going to find them? What could he possibly do different now that he hadn't before?

He got out of bed around four, dressed and repacked his rucksack again. He took out Dumbledore's Lighter thing and kept it in his hand, at the very least as something to fiddle with. He took the letter and tucked it near his pillow. That way, if he failed, he could come claim the letter before Bill could find it and recognize his failure. Bill was decent, Ron knew he knew he regretted his actions. Ron just didn't want him to realize the level or failure he was starting to feel.

Carefully he crept out of the room and down the hall. He could Henri's wing flutter from his perch in the living room, but otherwise no one acknowledged his departure. Outside, the stars of heaven lay strewn over the Cornish coast like a litter of diamonds paying his ransom home.

There was the thinnest light on the horizon. Sunrise, he knew was hours off yet. He kept to the trail on the coast, walking, and flipping the deluminator in his hand.

Supposing he found them, what was he supposed to say? Would they even take him back? Fred had said Hermione gave second chances and not third. He'd burn a hundred or so chances over the years, maybe he had finally hit his max and she was going to curse him on sight.

Which would you rather have, Hermione's Hex or Fred's right hook? He pondered, kicking a stone down the path. Harry, he'd have to make amends with Harry first. If he could get in Harry's good books Hermione would have to tolerate him. At least till the war was over. After that, he puffed his cheeks and released the air slowly, he was on her good humor.

He could think of a handful of times over their friendship where they could have had their shot. He could have glued himself to her side when he and Harry has their fall out their fourth year. He could have asked her to the Yule Ball. He could have been less of a prat over Krum. He could have not dated Lavender and instead kept to the previous plan of pursuing her.

But would have it been an advantage just for you or for her too? The thought had been planted there when Fred said it was ultimately Hermione's choice and only there's if she asked them to come along for the ride. Perhaps friendship was their best road. Perhaps he had just been an arrogant ass because he was lonely and on the rebound.

"I'll just tell her I've been an ass. That I am an ass," he muttered in the dark. Stopping mid step and looking at the deluminator in his hand. That is, if I find her—them. If I find them.

And then he heard a voice. A clear, crisp, familiar voice. Harry's Voice. Saying his name.

He suddenly dropped the deluminator. It had burned as though it was red hot. He went to pick it up and that's when he heard Harry's voice again, more distant. And then Hermione's voice. Again just one word, Ron.

He flickered the deluminator and a little blue light, like the ones Hermione conjured escaped out. Hovering for a minute and then moving towards him.

"Bloody hell," he cried stumbling backwards and falling to the ground. When he looked up, he saw the light had moved downwards where it was level with his heaving chest. He shuffled back again but stopped as the light continued to follow him. Hey

"What are you?" He asked, perplexed. And then he watched as the light flickered larger and Harry's voice sounded.

This is barmy, he thought as he stayed put the light coming closer and closer. Suddenly it seeped through his sweater. A warmth filling his chest and a sudden wave of clarity dawning.

Ron rose to his feet and closing his eyes apparated into the morning dawn to a place that might be home.

((*))

Hermione stood next to the millpond with Harry. The sun was up now; after a round of pancakes, he had demanded to go and explore where Hermione had seen the doe and found the sword. There wasn't anything special about the site in the day, but Hermione found it interesting she could see scorch marks on the rock where she had destroyed the Horcrux.

"So it was in the pond?" Harry said, again, looking at the water, "it was in the pond and you—"

"Parted the waters and picked it up," she sighed; leaning against the tree, "I'm a witch it's really not that surprising."

Harry nodded and looked back at her, "Sorry, I'm just trying to figure it out. Gryffindor's sword typically appears to those in their greatest need. You were just walking through the woods—"

"Maybe it was showing up late, meant to pop in back when we were facing the snake in Godric's Hollow?" Hermione offered.

"It's pretty prompt for a sword, I think it'd have shown up there if that's when it meant to arrive."

"The sword's pretty prompt?" Hermione asked raising an eyebrow, "do you hear how ridiculous you sound?"

Harry shrugged his hands and looked apologetic, "Sorry, you can forget it. I'm not an expert—"

"Once we got a way I threw open my bag for the medical kit and tried to talk to you to see if you could hear me. Told you we were back in the Forest of Dean, you had a head injury—unless the sword has some extendable ears in my bag—"

"Like I said, I'm no expert; maybe the sword figured we needed a moral booster and decided to help us along?" Harry offered.

"Maybe," Hermione agreed, "Maybe this sword could hurry up and bring Ron back and we could actually have a proper Christmas."

"You have some quality stew cooking for us at home, not a bad Christmas the way I see it," Harry winked, sitting down on a rock by the pond. "But your right, if Ron was here it'd be better. He would have loved those pancakes this morning."

"So you said," she answered and looked at the trail headed back to camp. They still had the enchantments on the campsite, Ron wouldn't find them there. She could only hope that he'd find them out here, beyond the perimeter.

She conjured a pile of pebbles at Harry's feet. "Here, should we skip some rocks before I have to go check on the food?"

Harry smiled, bending down to get a rock. As he grabbed one, he looked up and dropped it almost instantly.

There, at the mouth of the clearing, stood Ron. He was standing lopsided, his rucksack pulling down on his arm and Dumbledore's deluminator in hand.

Harry broke out and ran to him, clasping him on the back. Hermione dropped her rock as well and looked at the scene with a smile.

In another timeline, it would take her weeks to speak with him.

But in this one, she found herself running after Harry, and wrapping her arms around both of them.

"How did you find us?" Harry asked, looking up at Ron and Hermione, "we have wards up—"

"Figure you don't out here," Ron said almost sheepishly. " I apparated to a valley about two miles south or here, I've been hiking around ever since."

"That sounds like where the camp is," Hermione answered, "But how?"

"It's this deluminator," he said hesitantly, "It'll sound barmy, but I heard your voice this morning Harry, it was saying my name but it was coming from the deluminator."

Harry looked at the small object in Ron's hand suspiciously. "And then it told you were to go?"

"Nah it—it turned out a blue ball of light, you know like the flames Hermione does," he looked up at her, "and it came down and went into my chest and I just knew where to go."

She looked at Harry. He had the look of someone who had just been reunited with a long lost friend and was willing to dismiss any nonsense story given to him because he was so excited that Friend was back. She knew Ron's story was true, she didn't need to press it any.

Ron was back. The horcrux was gone. They had the sword.

That was all that mattered.

"Floating light or not you're still doing dishes tonight," Hermione sighed, "come on, let's have a spot of lunch and I can check on dinner."

"I can come back?" Ron asked looking at the two of them hesitantly.

Harry looked at Hermione nervously.

"You're aware you were awful, irrational and abrasive?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Yes," he answered nervously, "I was an absolute ass."

Hermione looked at Harry and nodded, "I'm alright with it, you good?"

Harry smiled widely, nodding. "Come on Ron, let's go home."

Ron grinned and lengthened his stride to follow them. "If we hurry, we can listen to Potterwatch, they're planning a Christmas Special this afternoon."

"Potterwatch?" Harry asked as they journeyed through the trees. "What—"

"It's a broadcast Lee, Fred and George have been working on. They pass along bulletins from the order and passes them along. I think they've been working closely with Xeno Lovegood getting reports out. Anyway, they're usually pretty good, they'll do little stories about you, you know to boost morale," Ron explained. "You have to give the password, but I have the one from their last show. All you have to do is whisper it to the wireless before 'You are my sunshine' finishes playing and you're good to go."

Hermione nearly tripped on the rock in front of her. "What song?"

"You are my sunshine," Ron said again, before turning to talk to Harry again, rambling now about the Friends of Potter segment of the show.

Hermione smiled to herself, steadied and kept walking. It was real to him too, she told herself, catching up with Harry and Ron, and it sounds like it's real to him still.

((*))

It had not been a Happy New Year for Fred. Not Yet.

Two weeks into the New Year both Justin and Ernie had been snagged by Snatchers in South London on their way to a rendezvous. George had been at Cafe Nero waiting for them, only to have Lee come in and tell him he had seen the tail end of it. Ernie had thrown the passports down the gutter as Justin fell to a hex. He was too late to help them, but they had got the information to Ernie's family well before the Ministry ever would.

There had been an uptick in snatchers. They had just talked about putting a warning in the next Potterwatch. That was the reason George had called for the rendezvous. To tell them to be careful. It was as if something had happened during the holidays. As though someone had been seen and they were trying to find them. Bill had told Fred that Ron had disappeared shortly after their visit. Was it a Ron sighting that had spurred the snatchers? Or was it one of the trio? Had it been Hermione?

Ernie and Justin's arrest hadn't popped up in the Percy Pod yet. Fred met with Hannah Abbot who relayed that Mr Macmillan was fighting the ministry for his son. The Macmillan's were sacred twenty eight. Doubly so as his mother was a Fawley. They were holding him as a blood traitor apparently but Mr Macmillan has once been a barrister for the Ministry, he was convinced he'd find his son a loophole.

"That's well and good for Ernie, but what about Justin?" Fred had asked.

Aside from fake documentation that would make Justin a Fawley cousin, they weren't sure what could be done for the passport ringleader aside from orchestrating a jailbreak, which given the dwindling numbers in the Order, wasn't likely.

A third of their guides now incarcerated, the work of gleaning and more over, transporting the Muggleborns to freedom in France had fallen to Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and now Lee. They had got most of the student aged kids out in those first three months, now it was trying to get the Muggleborn adults who were more reluctant to leave, despite Penny's promise of finding them work in France.

Susan and Hannah were comfortable doing the channel run, while their two Gryffindor counterparts did a decent job finding those in hiding and escorting them to Essex. Lee though, he liked to do both. He tended to do the channel runs whenever the girls couldn't and would meet late night transfers to Granger House to help answer any questions they might have before their departure.

"You know you do have a job Lee," George would like to remind him when he volunteered to do the late shift, often leaving early to disappear with the crowds.

"Ah Georgie, are you really going to fire a freedom fighter?" He would chuckle before he grabbed his bad and made for the door.

"No," George would answer, "But you're not getting paid extra for freedom fighter overtime."

It was a bleak February afternoon when the Galleon burned in their pockets. A Muggleborn couple would be transferred to Granger house that evening, to go on transport to France tomorrow. It was a young couple. Percy's ex-girlfriend Penelope and her fiancé.

"Won't that be nice, we can spin it as two lovebirds running away to Paris for Valentines," George had smirked as he put away the coin.

"Ah, young love," Fred said rolling his eyes, " I got this one."

"You sure? I could do it—you've got the broadcast tonight—" George trailed.

"If you don't at the very least invite Angelina over for Chinese and product experimentation I'm disowning you," Fred said sternly, winking at his brother before walking out the door.

"There's nothing going on," George called from the other room.

"Then I suggest getting something started," Fred called back. He left the back room and headed into the main shop, Lee standing at the till while a pygmy puff waddled across the counter.

"Oi Fred!" Lee called, startling the little Puff so much that it rolled away under the till, "Fred!"

"Heard you the first time mate," Fred said walking over, "what is it?"

"Can I do the pick up tonight?" Lee asked,

"But what about the Broadcast?" Fred asked with his eyebrow raised.

"You and Romulus can take care of it," Lee tried with a smile. When Fred didn't return it right away Lee frowned, "Oh come on, I haven't done a late night run in a few weeks, Hannah and Sue have been on top of it—besides, you could get George and Angie to join in. Make her code name Regina or Ratatouille—I don't care. Get the two of them together."

"Potterwatch Isn't the same without River's song," Fred countered folding his arms. Truth be told he liked the idea, and it would force Georgie and Angelina to be together on Valentines. He and Remus could ditch out after the show, George and Angelina could go out for dinner—

"Just leave the light on for us after the show and it'll be fine," Lee said, seemingly finishing Fred's thought for him.

"You don't have some valentine somewhere in this city you could be wooing instead?" Fred asked.

"That's the beauty of it, I've got two," Lee said with a smile, "Nothing serious with either, but there's a Muggle girl who works a chippy off the Thames who I need to meet in an hour for an early dinner and then a late night drink with a witch in Soho—"

Fred broke into a laugh, "Fine, Fine. Go get your chippy dinner and I'll go tell George," he walked to the landing to the second floor, "Verts—take over the register will you?"

Her reply tickled down and Fred clasped his friend on the shoulder still beaming before returning to the back workroom.

"That was the quickest rescue we've ever had," George said not looking up from his desk. "Penelope ditch her fiancé like Percy ditched her?"

"Nah, Lee said he'd take it and we could run the broadcast tonight," Fred answered, "suggested you and Angie make a date night out of it."

"Because nothing says young love like dinner over an illegal broadcast," George sighed looking up from his table. "Couldn't take her out for a simple dinner or midnight broom ride—"

"She'd be expecting that. This is sporadic—this is—"

"For someone who swore off love your dripping in it Casanova," George laughed. "Fine, I'll see if I can get a hold of her."

"Excellent," Fred beamed, watching his brother go.

Oh Fred knew this was no way to run a business, sending employees out to go on dates and rescue missions, but it was Valentines Day, he told himself. If his valentine was there—

He knew quite well what they'd do. It'd be her and him sitting across from George and Angelina, the two of them sneaking looks at each other as another love story took root. She's always liked the pair.

Who knows, maybe in her future it had happened and she was just helping it along.

((*))

The swells of "You are my sunshine" filled the room as they signed off from Potterwatch. In what had been a gallant attempt to impress his wife, Remus had missed this one, the two having a quiet night at home. How quiet this was Fred wasn't sure. Remus was still trying to get Tonks to go abroad to France but she refused to leave till the baby was born and something told him she'd refuse to leave then.

So it ended up just being he, George and Angelina, who had been lovingly christened Rapunzel by George. They had attempted to make it a more light hearted broadcast, coming up with their best "Chosen One" pick up lines. It was a weak attempt to soften the two dementor attacks in Leeds.

"You know we could stay here, wait and meet Lee," Angelina said, "I stashed some fire whiskey here over Christmas—"

George made eye contact with Fred, "Nah, make my brother buy you a drink," Fred interrupted, watching George relax at his words and then smirk at Angelina. "Quiet right to," he shrugged, "we could go get a drink and—"

"Fly over Cornwall?" Angelina finished her eyes fluttering with a smile.

"Well I was going to say Devon but—"

"Both of you, out," Fred waved, pushing them out the door.

As they always did, Fred returned to the radio and placed a disillusionment charm on it. They did that every night muggleborns came to the house, least they get tempted to try and see how it works. Now the desk appeared empty and he locked Hermione's bedroom door. He stood on the other side of the door for a moment, wishing she was about to fly out so they could go get dinner too. He waited for the slightest minute and whispered "Happy Valentines Sunny" before he patted the door and disappeared down the hall.

He'd go back to the shop and pull out her magic mirror, check in on her. Worse case scenario he'd find her celebrating valentines with his brother. But something told him it'd be more of the same, her curled up in a chair, looking through Beedle the Bard for the umpteenth time. He'd wait at the flat till Lee checked in and then would go to bed, leaving a light on for George.

And with a soft pop he disappeared.

((*))

Fred awoke from sleep as George shook his shoulder. "Oy, you didn't have to wait up," he said, a silly grin on his face, "go to bed and I'll catch you up in the morning."

"What—" Fred said groggily, trying to make out the furniture in the dark flat. "No, I was waiting up for Lee—" he said straightening up and clearing his eyes, "did he already leave?"

George's expression changed, "Fred it's two in the morning—are you telling me Lee never rendezvoused?"

The sleep was shaken out of him and Fred's blood ran cold. They had always checked in. That was the rule. Complete the mission, check in. Physically check in.

"No—" Fred was up, wand in hand. " He should have been here hours ago. He was picking them up from Coventry at ten—"

"Come on," George said, reaching for his coat, "Let's go."

Fred tried to stay calm as they apparated to Essex. How many retrieval missions had Lee done? Dozens. And before that, how many rendezvous had he done with the other gleaners? Lee knew what to do. He was seasoned at this. He was fine. They'd end up walking into the house to find Penelope and her fiancé asleep in a guest room and Lee passed out in the living room.

But they knew there was trouble the moment they apparated to the street corner. Down the street they could see red and blue lights of the Muggle policeman and what Fred thought was a medical Lowry someone had mentioned in Muggle studies. A few of the neighbors were out on the street trying to get a view of what exactly had gone on.

George took Fred by his arm and squeezed it tight, making him gasp. "What the hell—"

His brother motioned his head above the street and that's when he saw it. That damning green mark marring the night sky, the snake protruding from the skulls mouth.

No, he wanted to cry. No this wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

Fred raced down the street to get a better view. He could see two bodies with a sheet over them, a lock of pretty blonde curls escaping the cover. And not too far away from her lay a familiar wand, one that had so often conjured mischief, covered in scarlet blood.

No, he wanted to cry. Damnit damnit damnit no. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to slip into the shop twenty minutes late tomorrow and tell the brothers of his valentine adventures.

George's hand clapped his shoulder and he whispered "we need to get out of here, the Ministry won't be far behind this lot, I'm surprised they're not here already."

Fred retreated before pausing and muttering "Accio Wand", low to the ground, the wand rolling like a small twig in the wind to his hand, absent of the policemen.

"Come on, we need to tell the Order," he said and the brothers again disappeared into the night.

((*))

It was nearly four in the morning when they made it back to the Shop.

They had first roused Remus from his bed who had asked for every detail they could remember. Who had sent the message for the pick up? Could it have been a set up? Had the gleaners been betrayed? Where were the others? Did it look like they had made it to Granger house or was the house safe?

Fred and George were the secret keepers. Well, George was if they were getting particular about it. And he hadn't told a soul. Only the gleaners had been told the location, they couldn't share the secret.

The only thing they could assume was Lee, Penelope and her Fiancé has been followed and killed before they got to the house. Remus has performed priori Incantatem on the wand and it revealed protego was Lee's last spell.

It had been quick, the brothers knew. But that didn't soften the blow by any stretch of the imagination.

The house was safe, but they knew the street would be under Ministry Watch. Fred expected there would be a few articles about it tomorrow—triple murder on Undesirable Number's street. Hell, they'd probably peg this on her.

They had sent messages to the surviving Gleaners to lay low and wait for further instruction. Penelope had been the only rescue they had scheduled. They wouldn't schedule anymore until they knew what had gone wrong.

George had gone straight to bed. Fred supposed that's what he should do too. But sleep was alluding him. He reached into his closet and pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey he had placed there not long after the break up. He poured himself a generous measure and lay on his bed, his hands on both sides of his head, staring at the ceiling.

Lee Jordan wasn't supposed to die. Fred knew this. Hermione liked Lee. She always had. He, most definitely, would have been a name she had written down in that little damned book of hers. If Lee's death wasn't in that book it meant one thing and one thing only—

Fred had killed Lee Jordan.

Fred's meddling, his damn persistence for messing with time, saving people no matter the cost, had led to his best friends death.

Lee Jordan was dead.

Who would be next? Who else from Fred's circle would die because of his meddling?

And if I die, who will be left for George?

The ceiling was losing its focus. He could hear the creaking of a sign in the wind out in the alley. Fred felt heavy as he rolled over on his side, stopping as he took a second glance at the foot of his bed.

She was sitting there, on the side of the bed. Her hair was longer now, a curly little bob grazing her cheek. She was wearing a soft blue sweater, one of his old ones Mum had made for Christmas. It swallowed her, even with them pushed up to her elbows. Her expression was worn, similar to the one he had seen so much his seventh year as she juggled the DA and her OWL classes. But her eyes were still big and brown, and soft as though she knew exactly what had just happened. Her eyes met his and her mouth turned up in a smile.

"Have you come to tell me I told you so?" he asked, lifting his head up to get a better look of her. She shook her head and turned to look at him, "I'm a figment of your imagination Fred. You're grieving and drinking and your mind is projecting someone you love and who cares about you to help you process your grief," she said as a matter of fact. "If you'd like, I can leave and you can see who your brain has on stand by?"

"No," he answered too quickly. Only she would riddle on about being a mirage while offering a logical solution to her situation. "No," he said again, the warmth of the whiskey fading and the pain clutching his insides again. "It's all my fault," he said, his voice croaking as tears stung his eyes, "Hermione I killed Lee, it's my fault—"

She got up and moved to his side, taking his hand and stroking it in hers. "Shhh, it's not, you know it's not."

'No, it is though," Fred sniffed, sitting up to where they were level. "If I hadn't meddled, if I had just listened to you—"

She squeezed his hand, "You wouldn't be my Fred if you didn't give something your best shot," she said softly, looking up and brushing a tear from his cheek. "Lee was the same way. You were more likely to tame a Chimera than you were to convince Lee Jordan to take the safe route when lives were at risk."

"But George," he started, the words tumbling out of his mouth with tears, "What about George? Lee's gone, I'm supposed to go to—he's going to be alone now. He's not going to have anyone."

He fell into her drawing him in, her one arm snaking up his neck, her fingers smoothing out his hair as she rocked him back and forth, "Shhh," she whispered quietly as they rocked, "The game isn't over," she whispered, her lips kissing his head, "No one really knows how it will all end. We've changed too many moving parts."

"But if George is the only one—"

She pulled apart and gave him a warning look. Both of her hands now looped around his neck, "George will never be alone Freddie," she whispered, "We're going to survive this. Trust me. And if we don't—if George really becomes alone like you fear—your family will still be right there to help him out like they did before. We never for a minute left him alone."

He pulled her close again, losing his face in her curls. He felt awful. He couldn't shake the grief that kept the tears coming. He could feel her grip fading, softer and softer as he struggled to hang on.

"Hermione, don't leave me," he said pulling away, his eyes focused on her face. He had to be quite the site, his eyes red, his cheeks blotchy. But he should have said this a long time ago, when she was really here. Before he let everything go wrong, "I'm sorry, I'm so—"

She tilted her head and he could see little tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "Hush now," she said, brushing his hair back, her hand falling from his neck to right above his heart, "Hush."

"Will you stay?" he asked, covering her hand with his, anchoring her home.

She picked up his hand, her lips brushing against his fingers as she said "Always," leaning back into the pillows, bringing him with her.

"Hush" she whispered again as she stroked his hair, his tears melting into the pillowcase as he laid alone in his bed, "Hush."

AN:

When I say I spent the day at the airport I mean it!

I thought about splitting this chapter and cutting off Fred's but for last time but I thought it would work better in this chapter. Lee's Death is going to have a couple ramifications in the next few chapters and it's going to have quite the effect on Fred but more to come there. I honestly loved writing that last little section at the end; I hope you enjoyed reading our Whiskey Induced Hermione.

Let me know what you think! Trips are dying down this month, should have the next one ready by Labor Day weekend.

If your headed back to Uni this Month, take luck! If your back to the grind of work Monday, you got this.

Until next time,

Kait Hobbit