A constellation of freckles descended from behind his right ear and down his neck and shoulders that she connected with reverent fingertips. He was a sound sleeper, but still she was cautious to do anything to shatter her newly discovered serenity. His face was tranquil in sleep, and horribly vulnerable. She traced the scar bisecting his eyebrow, his lip. He looked too young to have scars; twenty-one was too young to have fought in a war, to have died. She forgot sometimes that she was young too, only nineteen, but she didn't feel it. She still felt impossibly old some days, world weary.
His eyes opened slowly, drifting to her face, their brilliant blue blurred by sleep. He contemplated her for a moment, face serious.
"So, it's time then." She nodded, lump in her throat that swallowing didn't fix. They rose, somber, and dressed in silence, the sounds of raucous laughter and carousing drifting in from the street below. When she bent to slip on her shoes, she nearly fell, icy numbness erupting across her left side leaving her off balance. She lowered herself to sit on the bed, feeling shaky. Fred knelt next to her knees, taking her feet in gentle hands and pulling her boots on over warm socks, one foot at a time. When his task was complete, he gazed at her with such tenderness that she couldn't help but kiss him, a simple brush of her lips over his that still sent her heart hammering in her chest.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, the closed circuit of their connection thrumming between them. "Ready, love?" She managed a weak nod, and he pulled her to her unsteady feet, keeping a firm hold of her arm. They apparated away with an audible pop.
Not a moment later they arrived well outside the wards that surrounded the garden of the Burrow, close enough to see figures conjuring a long table in the sunshine and setting it for a Sunday meal. Fred squeezed her arm reassuringly, gave her a wink and then pulled her off towards the garden gate, only the slightest undercurrent of turmoil leaking through their bond betraying him.
They pushed through the kitchen door into a controlled chaos, Molly bustling between two different pots which were stirring themselves over a low flame. Ginny was balancing table settings for nine in a rather precarious stack to be summoned out to the table, and Harry was doing his level best to simultaneously explain a stapler to Arthur, watch Teddy who was rolling around on the floor, and help his wife. When Molly caught sight of Fred and Hermione standing awkwardly in the landing, she abandoned her cooking with a snap of her fingers at Arthur, and hurried over to mother them both. She smoothed at Fred's hair which was sticking up at the back of his neck, and pulled at his collar to straighten it. To his credit, Fred didn't even bat an eye until she tried to lick her thumb and wipe at a smudge on his neck.
"Alright mum! I think I'm presentable enough for family dinner. How about a hug then?" With a self-effacing laugh, Molly did so, before enveloping Hermione as well, smelling strongly of soap and sunshine. She pulled away and gently brushed one of Hermione's errant curls behind her ear, holding her face in soft hands.
"How are you dear? Eating better I see." Hermione managed a watery smile, something deep within her chest aching to see her own mother again. Fred's fingers wound their way through hers, a small reassurance that made the smile feel more natural on her face. The movement did not escape Molly, whose eyebrows shot toward her hairline, and her eyes flicked between their faces, questioning.
Fred simply nodded, shooting a sharp glance at Ron who had just entered from the back garden with George, laughing at some private conversation they had been having. Molly said nothing, but placed one hand on each of their faces, her smile gentle and terribly glad.
"Mum, the potatoes!" Ginny cried, and Molly rushed over to bat away an autonomous wooden spoon that was stirring valiantly, if ineffectually, at a pot about to boil over. Hermione detached herself from Fred with a grateful look, leaving him to catch up with his brothers while she helped levitate the massive stack of plates out to the garden. She could hear Molly barking orders at her gaggle of children to get all the food out of the kitchen and onto the table, and she moved further away from the kitchen to see if she could manage to skive off without attracting too much notice. Surely nine people weren't required to assist?
The pond was as she recalled, and she trailed her fingers through the cool water, letting the drops fall off her fingertips like rain, sending ripples across the still surface. The summer sun was pleasantly warm on her face, a gentle breeze keeping it from being too stifling. It had been overcast a year ago, dreary.
"Hermione dear! Come eat!" Arthur called, and when she turned around the table was indeed set, the occupants vying for their favored seats in a familiar clamor. Fred smiled at her from a seat he seemed to have claimed by jinxing Ron with the jelly legs jinx, closest to the chicken, and an empty seat at his right. She dropped into the chair, her stomach growling in anticipation.
"I don't think you needed to jinx your brother just to get at the food a little sooner, I'm sure there's enough for everyone," she whispered, in mock censure.
"You shame me! It was the last pair of seats left open together. Besides, I could filch food from any seat at this table." Fred's hand shot out to steal a dinner roll, only to be slapped away by Molly, who wasn't even remotely looking in their direction. "Damn that woman," he stage-whispered, clutching at his admonished hand, "she's only gotten craftier with age." Molly shot them both a wink before turning her attention back to Teddy, who was trying an assortment of tiny bites selected for him, hair changing color with each new morsel.
A gentle clearing of the throat sounded from the other end of the table, Harry rising awkwardly from his seat, a small tumbler of firewhiskey gripped in his right hand. The assembled Weasleys (and Hermione) fell to almost instant silence.
"As I am sure you all know today is the anniversary of..." his voice faltered a little, and Ginny took his hand. He smiled back at her, and began again, a little surer. "You all know what today is. I propose a toast, to the darkness we have left behind, the light before us that we fought so long for, and to those who weren't given the chance to enjoy this bright future with us. Cheers."
Hermione found her own tumbler next to her plate, raised her glass, but couldn't manage to make her voice work to echo the calls of cheers coming from all around her. The firewhiskey burned all the way to the pit of her stomach, but her fingers were cold where they fell into her lap. She loaded up her plate, nodding along to the conversations around her and ate what she was sure was a delicious meal, all of it tasting like ash in her mouth.
They dispparated from the Burrow following much hugging and kissing of cheeks and promises to get together again, and reappeared in her bedroom with a pop. As if by prior agreement, they crashed into one another, his mouth slotting over hers with a fearsome possessiveness, his strong hands trembling where they held her crushed against him. She pushed up his shirt, tore at it until buttons strained and popped, scattering across the hardwood floor, desperate to feel skin on skin. They tumbled into her unmade bed together.
He set her skin on fire, consumed her, worshipped her with lips and teeth and tongue until she flew apart under his ministrations, Fred's name on her lips and fresh tears on her face. They came together then, like two hands clasped in reverent prayer, their connection an open wound between them.
Only when they were both spent, sweat drying sticky on their skin, his head pillowed on her breast, ear to her heart, did Fred finally cry. He wept like a child, his heart beating a tattoo inside his chest that she could feel against her abdomen. When the tears subsided, his voice was shaky.
"I nearly died. Nearly never got to see that bright future that Harry was talking about. Nearly never got to spend it with you." His fingers clenched tight on her hips, the ache of it a reassurance. She ran her fingers through his bright red hair, thinking about what kind of world that would be, what kind of Hermione would live in it. "I love you," he whispered, faintly, ardently. Her fingers stilled in his hair, and he lifted from her chest to consider her face.
"I love you too," she found herself whispering back, watching the words change something in Fred's face. He surged forward to kiss her, until she was drowning in him, the taste of his thoughts heavy on her tongue, echoing in her own chest. Thank you.