He said his favorite color was black and you would have thought he'd told her the sky was falling.
"Black isn't a color. It is the absence of color. You see, in physics, every color has its own wavelength, and neither black nor white has a specific wavelength."
He stared at her for a moment, completely dumbfounded by the words coming out of her mouth. If he had been confused before, he felt even more confused now. Hermione was quizzing him as she had taken to doing sometimes, hoping to jog his memory, but now she was just spouting nonsense.
"I don't care about fizzics, or whatever you call it," he said. "I like black." He folded his arms and he knew he sounded a bit like a wee child, but he was getting tired of all the questions.
Hermione jumped up and looked closely at his eyes. What she was looking for he had no idea, but he moved away, her close proximity making him uncomfortable.
"Why can't I like black?"
"Well, you can, I suppose," she said carefully, taking the moment to stand back up and straighten her skirt properly, "but ...well, that is, before...
"Spit it out, Hermione." He was tired of the games. He needed real, meaty stuff.
"Well, you were kind of eccentric back then. Loved really bright, crazy colors. Your work robes were...are, I mean, magenta."
The shop again. He had been working with Hermione the past few days trying to trigger any memories that he could. They had at least realized that he seemed to know most things he would have learned from school or just life experience. It was the personal stuff that was gone, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes included. That is why she really wanted him to visit the shop that he had apparently opened with George without even finishing their seventh year at Hogwarts. He couldn't decide how he felt about that. Evidently it was quite the successful business endeavor. He wasn't ready to see it yet though, despite her urging. Even without his memories he knew that there was something special about that shop and his relationship with his twin, but he wasn't ready to face them when he still couldn't remember. Hermione said it was hurting George, and he hated that, but something told him he couldn't afford to mess that one up. His Mum was already a certified basket case, he couldn't feel responsible for sending his twin over the edge, too.
"Is it really that big of a deal?"
"Well, no, I suppose not," she said. "I just thought that maybe that would help you remember. The place is quite over the top with color," she added with a smile. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, but then shook her head, saying nothing more.
"Well, it clearly didn't, did it?" he snapped, immediately regretting it. Hermione had been so patient with him, even though he didn't seem to be retaining much of what she told or showed him at all. He was just so frustrated and well, she was a little on the bossy side. She was nice though. He could sense that much. He wondered what their relationship had been like before all of this happened, except right now he wasn't really sure he wanted to know. He had gotten the impression that his personality had been more than a little different from hers. That ought to have been interesting.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "This is just really hard is all."
"I know it is," she said, "but we'll get there. Is there anything at all you have remembered since you got back? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant."
His immediate reaction was to say no, but then he paused. "Mum's breakfast," he said. I recognized the taste and smell of that. I guess that could have come from anywhere though, it was just a typical English breakfast."
Hermione shook her head. "There is nothing typical about any of Mrs. Weasley's cooking," she said. "That's a great start, Fred!"
He frowned. "That seems pretty minor compared to, you know, my whole life." He sighed, throwing his head back against the couch. This was exhausting.
"Well, I'll tell you one thing," she said with a smirk, "your real personality is certainly starting to come back."
"What?" he asked. "What does that mean?"
It means that I have seen small signs of your real personality start to come through today," she said.
"Grumpy and sarcastic?"
"Eh, you're not typically all that grumpy, but sarcasm, yes, that is practically your love language."
"Love language?" he asked sharply. "What does that mean? Do I have a girlfriend?" It had never occurred to him to ask that before. Was there some poor lass out pining away for him? Crying herself to sleep because he couldn't remember her?
"I don't think so. You were dating Angelina for a while, but she is with George now."
"My own twin stole my girlfriend?" He was absolutely furious at the very thought of it and he didn't even remember this Angelina. What kind of brother does that? He knew it wasn't a good idea to go to that shop.
"I don't believe that is quite how it went. In fact, you seemed to have given George your blessing. At least that is what everyone seemed to think. I wasn't around much before the war. I wouldn't be a lot of help on the subject."
"Where were you? Didn't you still have school? Did you dropout, too? What is with this family?"
She waved her hand dismissively. "That's a question for another day. Believe me, it's rather complicated." He could see her blinking back the tears. Why were there tears?
"Well, one day I would really like to hear it," he said softly. "If you'll tell me."
"Let's work on getting those memories back first, Frederick. Then we can talk about my crazy life."
"I look forward to it," he said with a wink. His first one since the war.