Hello! So, I have wanted to write a hanahaki fic for the longest time, and finally the time came! I would love to expand this story further, so there could be a companion fic sometime in the future!

House: Slytherin, Class: Charms, Category: Drabble, Prompt: [Pairing - Romantic] Fred and Hermione, WC: 988

Warnings: hanahaki, choking

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"Hey honey, I'm home!" Fred calls into the flat. The front door squeaks as he pushes it closed behind him.

Hermione pops her head out of the kitchen and smiles warmly, her bushy hair full of humidity - a result of time in the kitchen. "Dinner's on the go," she says, disappearing again. A feeling of lightness fills him completely.

Life has been bliss since the war. The joke shop is flourishing under his and George's humour. Harry and Ginny are married now and settled in Grimmauld Place. Ron is trying to find himself somewhere in the countryside. George is the same – flirting with every girl but loving only Angelina.

As for him and Hermione… Things kicked off around fifth year, when Umbridge was King, and rebellion was rife. One night, she'd grabbed him in what had seemed like a fit of desperation, and they'd kissed for an oppressive amount of time. He could hardly breathe, stunned into utter silence. Hermione walked away and said nothing for weeks. But then the kiss blossomed into something more: late nights staying in the same bed, slumbering, hand-holding, and gentle touch. A pair of murmured I love yous.

Four months after the war ended – a period of no contact and illegal radio – Hermione moved in with the twins. For the last two months, Fred has been planning to ask her for her hand in marriage.

"What's for dinner?" Fred asks as he moves towards the kitchen, still in his joke-shop garb. His girlfriend throws a few more spices into the bubbling dish in front of her.

Hermione grins. "I just bundled some things together."

"Perfect," he replies. "I'll get changed. I love you."

Before he can disappear, she jumps up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I love you."

Dinner is a delightful affair. The food is good, and Hermione laughs at his stupid jokes, admonishes his recklessness, and offers him seconds. Everything is normal. And when they turn in for the night, there is a sweet kiss before lights out.

Usually, he is quick to fall asleep, and Hermione lays awake with her insomnia. Tonight, everything is different. She passes out fast, tired from a long day of work at the Ministry, whilst he lays awake for what feels like hours. There's something uncomfortable threading its way through his chest, a vine tightening against his ribcage.

"Hermione?" he whispers, hoping for some comfort. She is fast asleep.

The next morning, she is curled into his side, planting kisses on his shoulder, and the world feels right again.

"I have a long day today," she groans. "Can we just stay right here instead?"

"I wish." He rolls her over and peppers her with kisses too, feeling light with joy and blessed with this stupidly happy life.

She almost misses the scheduled apparition time.

Fred hears nothing from her all day. There is a taste of bitterness in his mouth, but he does as he planned; he buys flowers from Bloomin' Lovely in Diagon Alley, fresh ingredients from the market, and goes home to cook dinner. Maybe tonight should be the night to pop the question?

Yes, that sounds right. Tonight.

He scrambles around the apartment, throws on a suit, puts the flowers in a vase, and lights a candle. Then he waits. The anxiety in his chest is painful and tight. He waits some more until finally the front door opens at around ten in the evening, and Hermione stumbles through it, drunk and giggling about something. She stares at the dinner and the set-up, wide-eyed.

"Oh… Fred, I'm sorry. You look… Wow." He thinks for a moment that she might approach the table, that they will finally get their moment. "I'm sorry - I already ate, and I really need to sleep. Can I take some for lunch tomorrow?"

The vine takes hold, and he can't breathe. It's not a rejection, not really. "Yeah, of course," he says. "I'll make you some chamomile."

"Thank you," she replies, turning away towards the bedroom. As she moves out of sight, he slumps down into the seat and picks at his food, uncertain if he is either extremely hungry or if his appetite has disappeared completely.

It's as he's brushing his teeth the next morning that it happens.

Something like bile rising out of his mouth, pulling between his teeth, his lips and – a rose petal in his mouth. He's choking, coughing. Is that blood? No, it's a rosebud too, falling from his lips, and into the sink.

Maybe it's a prank, he hopes.

The image of the rosebud plagues him and, after that, life starts unravelling. Hermione comes home to him and presses loving kisses to his forehead, but there is a distance there that he doesn't understand. She doesn't smile at his jokes; she doesn't grin sheepishly at the dinners he cooks. Whatever he does, he seems to be fucking up.

He even buys her flowers she's allergic to.

The pain in his chest is spreading and worsening. At night, he chokes on his feelings.

He can't sleep. Even if he dozes for five minutes, he wakes and runs to the bathroom, choking up leaves and rose petals and a long line of ivy that sticks in his throat. Once, a perfect daisy. Then, heart sinking, sunflower petals, and seeds, like he is spilling out a garden from his lungs.

Is he dying? Probably.

He should ask Bill for help. He should ask anyone about this.

"Hermione?" he whispers, hardly able to speak. "Hermione!"

She doesn't come.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Vines spill out from his hands and weeds sprout through the floor of the bathroom, gripping at him. The coughing starts, and the vines tighten around his chest. He feels something coming up through his throat, and a breathlessness seizes him. It painfully reminds him of their first kiss, bereft of air.

This is the end.

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I hope you enjoyed reading!