A/N:
So. It's been a while. About two years or so. SORRY. But! Here's a new chapter. So, it makes up for it, right? Right.
Fred walked through the front door of a bland building on a no-name street and strode down the hallway. He came upon a door he knew well and threw it open, not bothering to signal his arrival with a knock.
Hermione's head snapped up, and the look of surprise on her face quickly melted into a tired smile. "Afternoon, Fred." Her hair was pulled back off her neck in a messy ponytail, and her shirt was rumpled. Files and papers littered her desk, a cup of coffee sat on bare spot of wood, sure to leave a ring.
"My dear lady, you look deliciously frowzy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a gentleman friend hiding under all these folders." He grinned at her and sitting on the corner of the desk, picked up a piece of looseleaf paper and started folding it.
She rolled her eyes. "'Gentleman friend'. I'd sooner find my sanity under this mess." She waved her arm at the piles.
"Let's go get something to eat," Fred said, carefully licking a crimp and then tearing it.
"Fred, I have so much work to do. I don't have time. Can't we do it some other day?"
"Hermione..."
"Hmm?" She stuffed a small pile of papers into a manila folder and opened the drawer of a green filing cabinet.
"What did you do last night?"
"Slept. Why?" Slam. She turned back to her mess, head down.
"Well, Happy New Year." He pinched the final crease and set down the lump of paper down next to him, getting off the desk.
"Huh?" She didn't look up.
He sighed and reached into his back pocket. "Hermione. There's this thing. It's called life."
"What's that?" An automatic response to his usual nonsense.
Fred shook his head and tapped his wand once on the folded paper. "It's what's passing you by." And with that, he left.
Startled by the sound of the door closing, Hermione looked up from her work. Fluttering around her head was a perfectly made origami butterfly.
***
The next few weeks went pretty smoothly for the new trio. As smoothly as they could amidst the chaos of every day life.
Harry no longer spent the majority of his life alone and drunk. He'd opted for an active role in the Order, something that Hermione and Fred had been reluctant to do. Now, most of his time was spent at Grimmauld Place, learning new spells and dueling techniques from Lupin. About once a week he made an effort to come to Fred's place and eat dinner with the two of them.
Hermione quit her job at the law firm. No, she didn't know exactly what she was going to do. She'd told Fred about a dozen times as she sat in the living room of his flat sipping some form of drink that he'd offer. Any sort, these days. She thought about going back to school, but unsure about what exactly she'd study. Some days, Fred would walk into his apartment and find her there already, scouring the classified sections of The Daily Profit and a few different muggle papers.
Fred was, well, Fred. He spent his days at the shop. Taking inventory of his tricks and sweets. Sending out owls with new orders. Whipping up batches of new experimental treats and giving them out as free samples to unsuspecting customers. He'd refused to hire a new person to work for him, something Hermione had tried talking him into over and over again. But each time she mentioned it Fred would shake his head, say it was founded by two people and that would continue to be run by just two, and change the subject.
By all appearances, Fred was adjusting as well as either her or Harry.
But at night, he would relapse. Most nights, the exception being the nights he had dinner with Harry and Hermione, he'd come back to his flat and throw a couple cups of coffee down his throat before heading right back out. Sometimes he would drink, sometimes he wouldn't. Getting drunk wasn't the point of his nightly excursions. Those nights, he went searching.
Sometimes, he went to Hogsmeade, but more often than not he went to muggle bars and clubs. Looking. Finding a different girl each time, hoping that this one was the one who could fix him. A few drinks, a couple of songs on the dance floor, a short exchange of whispers from lips to ear. And she would grab him by the hand and pull him out to the street, back to her place. Always her place.
And for a couple hours – before he fell asleep, spent and exhausted, next to a stranger in a strange place – Fred would forget about the half of him that was hollow. Every morning after, before she woke up, he would lie there, searching his mind. Seeing if this woman was the one who would finally take up the empty space that used to be filled by his twin. It never was. And he would slip out of bed as quietly as he could, toss on last nights clothes, and head to the shop.
So far, he hadn't slipped up, hadn't let on to Hermione or Harry what he was doing whenever the called him, asking if he wanted to go with either of them to dinner or a movie. He pawned off excuses of working late or catching up on sleep. In the back of his mind, he knew that sooner or later it would all wear him down. But he pushed those thoughts as far back as he could and went on with his life.
***
Harry went away in the middle of February..
Hermione sat sideways in one of Fred's armchairs. In one hand she held a glass of juice, resting it lightly on her thigh while the other helped her describe her day to Fred, who was busy cooking in the kitchen. She had on a loose black skirt and a short sleeved button up shirt, her hair tied into a bun at the nape of her neck; her usual outfit.
She had recently gotten a job as a waitress at a small restaurant in town. Muggle owned and frequented, to Fred's dismay. He still felt like she was shying away from the wizarding world. But he still made a point to get lunch there during her shift.
But of course, as was usually the case with him, there were ulterior motives. Suddenly, or maybe gradually, he couldn't be certain, Fred had fallen for Hermione.
It was hard to pin point the exact moment he'd realized it. One day Hermione was attempting, poorly, to recite a joke she'd heard at work. Half way through she started laughing, forgetting the ending but remembering it was hilarious. And Fred had to stop himself from leaning in to kiss her. It took a moment for it to register with him, and Hermione kept giggling. She took a look at the disbelief on his face and laughed again, saying he was right, she could really be ditsy sometimes and asked if he wanted help closing down the store.
For the first few days, he tried to ignore it. Pretending that those feelings weren't right there, waiting to boiling over. But spending so much time with her, it was impossible.
Her laugh sent pin pricks through his veins. Each time her skin touched his – grabbing a plate so their fingers touched, when she reached past him for something and the arms would brush, when she laughed and ruffled his hair – goose flesh broke out all over his body and his heart would race.
He wanted to grab a fist full of her hair and pull her close and bury his face in her locks. To hold her, and let her hold him. He wanted, needed to love and be loved.
But instead he stood at his stove, listening to Hermione's story, and gently flipping pieces of fish in a sauce pan. He lowered the flame and turned toward the living room, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the counter.
Hermione had finished, and was chuckling into her glass. She scratched the back of her leg with the opposite foot, causing her skirt to ride up her hip. Fred sighed shakily and picked up is own drink.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, tilting her head to the side.
"Oh nothing." He drained the glass and set it next to the sink. "Dinner's almost done, and Harry's late. I don't want him eating cold fish. It's kind of gross."
"Oh, I'm sure he'll be here soon," she assured him. "Moody and Lupin are probably just working him overtime. I think they're close to tracking down Voldemort." She gently set her drink on the floor next to the chair and stretched. Her back straitened, lifting her up. Her arms reached over her head, pulling her shirt untucked. Her skirt was dangerously close to bunching at her waist, and Fred could see the creamy flesh of her stomach.
Suppressing a moan, he knelt down, rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink for a bottle of wine. He was a terrible older brother, he told himself, for lusting after Ron's girlfriend.
The thought stopped him, his fingers just inches from the neck of the bottle. Ron's former girlfriend. Ron was gone, and as terrible as that was, Hermione didn't belong to him anymore. She didn't belong to any one; she wasn't a book or a pair of shoes. But, he thought, she could belong with me.
There was an emptiness in both of them, he knew. But maybe, they could fill each others' void.
He stood up and shook his head, closing the cabinet with a soft kick. Just because he was looking to be bandaged back together didn't mean she was too. She could be doing just fine. She probably didn't even want anyone else than Ron. He unplugged the cork and pored himself a generous serving.
"Hermione, do you mind grabbing some plates? Everything is pretty much done." He pushed his train of thought away. "I'll just put Harry's plate in the oven."
While Fred turned things off and removed other things from the heat, Hermione came into the kitchen, pulling out plates and silverware and rearranging them on the table. She stood next to him, holding out a dish. "Fred, this looks amazing," she said as he slid a fillet onto it.
"Oh yes. Fish, rice and green beans." He grinned at her, watching as she spooned the sides into neat piles next to the fish. She bent down and opened the oven. Fred cocked an eyebrow. "I've really outdone myself this time."
Straitening and closing the door, she rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. You've turned into a fantastic cook." She passed behind him. She reached out and stroked the back of his neck, letting her fingers glide down his chin when he turned his head to follow her. "It's one of the many things I love about you."
Fred's stomach tightened. He banged his plate down on the table, making Hermione stop and turn around on her way back into living room. A hand flew to her chest.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes concerned.
"Hermione, I need – "
He was interrupted by a loud crash coming from the front hall. Both he and Hermione rushed towards the door. It was open, and Harry was struggling his way through. In his hands were Hedwig's cage, his trunk, and large duffel bag.
Fred let out a relieved whistle. "Harry, mate, you almost gave me a heart attack. Do you need a hand?"
Harry looked up, startled. "Fred. Yes. Hello. Yes, I wouldn't mind some help. Here." He shoved Hedwig into Fred's outstretched hands.
He looked more disheveled than usual. His green eyes were rimmed red, as though he'd either been crying or not sleeping. Possibly both. His hair, which was usually a wreck, looked as though it hadn't been tended to in days. His shirt was misbuttoned.
Hermione struggled to keep her voice even. "Do you want me to grab your bag for you?"
"No thanks. I'll just leave it here." He let his suitcase fall from his fist. "I can't stay long anyway." He followed Hermione back into the kitchen.
Fred put Hedwig next to his fridge. "But I just finished making supper. Surely you can stay for an hour or so."
"No!" Harry snapped. Hermione and Fred shared a look. "Sorry, sorry," Harry muttered, sifting a hand through his hair. "I mean, I can't. Really, I just stopped in to say good bye."
"Goodbye?! Where are you going?"
"America. North America. Canada, actually. The Order's heard from a very reliable source that Voldemort's up in the wilderness there. So I'm heading there with a few other members. I just wanted to make sure you could take care of Hedwig for me. I don't know how long I'll be gone."
Ignoring the shocked looks on his friends' faces, he walked to her cage and knelt, pulling a handful of pellets from his pockets. He opened the wire door and fed his owl a couple. Whispering softly, he gently pet her feathers.
Hermione stared wildly at Fred, who arched both his eyebrows and shrugged. He picked up his wine and took a large swallow.
Harry walked over to Fred and shoved the leftover pellets into his free hand. "Well, that's that. I've got to go. No knowing when Voldemort may start moving again." He pulled Fred into a hug, almost sloshing wine over both of them. "Take care of yourself. Take care of Hermione for me," he murmured into Fred's ear.
Hermione was in his arms as soon as he let go of Fred. He wrapped an arm around her waist, stroking her hair. "Keep an eye on Fred. Make sure he stays out of trouble." He pulled back and kissed her cheek. Tears brimmed her eyes. "You were the best sister I could have wished for. I love you."
"I love you, too," she said, her voice trembling. She pressed a fist into her lips.
With that, Harry hurried to his bags and out the door, slamming it behind him.
They stood in silence. Hermione sagged against Fred, her shoulders limp. She stared at one of the kitchen chairs, her eyes glossy. "I don't think he's coming back," he said softly. She burst into tears.
Fred pressed his face into her hair and held her, letting her hold him.