** This is a series of drabbles, ficlets and one shots following our dear Fred and Hermione from June of 1995 (shortly before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament) to an as-of-yet undetermined point post-war.**

oOoOoOo

18 September 1995

Thus far, Fred Weasley's seventh and final year at Hogwarts was truly, emphatically, not going to plan.

Ever since Hermione had dressed him down about the prefect badges while they were still at Grimmauld Place, the two of them had done absolutely nothing but bicker. Admittedly, they seemed to connect best when they were alone, and there hadn't been much opportunity for that since arriving back at school.

"Is it fixed yet?" Fred asked George. His brother had just attempted yet another charm to restore his hair, which was still a brilliant hue of hot pink, to its former state.

George simply shook his head, regarding his counterpart with pursed lips. "I told you she'd find out we were still advertising the product testing program."

"How in the bloody hell did she – gah!" Fred yelped as whatever spell his twin had just endeavored caused an unpleasant stabbing sensation all over his scalp. He clutched his head and swore under his breath.

"You can just apologise and ask her how to undo it," George sighed, lowering his wand.

"I will not apologise," Fred snapped, eyes a little wild as he marched into the bathroom and regarded his reflection with dismay. "Did it get brighter? It looks like it's glowing."

George sighed again and layed back on the bed, anticipating a long night.

"Are you still going to give her the thing?"

"No," Fred snapped adamantly. "She can take her sodding birthday and shove it –"

Just then Lee walked in, who'd been present at lunch that afternoon but hadn't shared any classes after that with the twins. He took one look at Fred, who strongly resembled a very angry exotic bird, and burst out laughing.

"Still haven't fixed it yet, mate?" he finally managed to wheeze, dabbing at his eyes with the cuff of his robes.

Fred shook his head irritably.

"I tried to warn him," George lamented dismally from his position between them on the bed. "It's not a good idea to piss off Hermione."

oOoOoOo

Fred hadn't been planning to give Hermione the birthday gift he'd made for her the next day; truly, he hadn't. At least, he hadn't until he observed that absolutely nobody on the bleeding planet seemed to acknowledge the event at all.

He watched as Harry and Ron sat at the table across from her, eating breakfast and discussing a charms essay that they were struggling with, not paying any attention whatsoever.

He watched as Ginny idly asked her to pass the plate of bacon, for which she received a smile but no more.

He watched as the post came in and deposited absolutely nothing in front of her besides the morning paper.

And he watched as she acted like it was normal.

It occurred to him that he'd had to ask six different people, including his younger brother who hadn't known, when Hermione's birthday even was before Neville had finally said he was fairly certain that it was 19 September.

He was still too upset with her over the hair incident the day prior, as well as nearly two weeks of squabbling over his and George's merchandise development efforts, to give her the gift directly. So instead, he marched to the owlery with the small package in hand after dinner, fastened it to a plain brown barn owl's leg, and told the thing to wait and deliver it to Gryffindor tower in about two hours, when she'd likely be back from the library. He incentivised the bird with treats and left when he was fairly certain it understood its mission.

Muttering under his breath, he made his way back to the common room, set up in the corner with the numerous product formulas and budget projections that they were still slaving over, and waited.

oOoOoOo

Hermione had just returned from the library and took a seat at her favorite study table near the window, spreading the enormous book she'd retrieved on arithmantic principles of the 17th century in front of her. The room was fairly empty by that point in the evening; Harry had already gone off to bed, sullen as ever, and Ron was leafing through a back issue of Seeker Weekly on the couch in front of the fire, utterly oblivious to the world.

She had wondered if they might do something for her birthday that year, sixteen was a fairly important one after all, but she really should have known better. They never had before, and to be fair there was a lot going on. Though it seemed there was always a lot going on.

That said, Ginny had wished her a happy birthday that morning when they'd passed on the stairs to the girl's dormitory, and Neville did the same on the way to herbology, but that had been the extent of it. Other than those two brief interactions and the letter she'd received from her parents the evening prior, the event had passed utterly unnoticed. Just as well, she'd told herself.

A flicker of pink in the corner caught her eye and she saw Fred bent over another worktable across the room, deeply concentrated on whatever was on the parchment in front of him. She felt a flash of guilt that he still resembled a flamingo but stuffed it down.

Hermione didn't like being mad at Fred. In fact, it made her feel vaguely ill, but the man had the ability to aggravate her like no other. Furthermore, she found that in addition to her usual annoyance at his schemes, every time she caught him doing something that warranted reprimanding lately, particularly those involving the dubious consent of younger students to become test subjects, she also felt a flicker of disappointment.

She tried to tell herself it was just because she was a prefect now, but the fact of the matter was that she simply wanted him not to take part in things that she was obliged by both moral compass and positional responsibilities to admonish.

Her reverie was broken by a sharp tapping on the window beside her where a plain looking barn owl was perched on the sill. He had a small brown paper package fastened to his leg, which he obediently extended for her upon being admitted.

Bewildered, she collected the item and watched as he promptly departed after, disappearing back into the night. She flipped the box over to see her name written in enigmatic block letters on the other side. After the incident with the bubotuber puss the year prior, Hermione had become a bit more discerning in how she opened her mail, but after casting a couple of detection charms and them coming up clear, she set her wand on the table and went about unwrapping the parcel.

Inside the slim box that lay beneath the paper sat a bookmark. A truly, beautiful, leather bookmark. It was dark tan, perhaps six inches long, and had a brass eyelet fastened near the top with a small, knotted tassel looped through it. She let out a little huff of wonder and ran her fingertips lightly over the initials HJG, which were set vertically along the center of it in beautiful calligraphic lettering.

She flipped it over to find that the back had a design as well; a sprig of lavender, delicately and painstakingly etched into the leather. It was one of the most stunning and thoughtful gifts she had ever received, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who it had come from. And she suddenly felt enormously guilty.

Hermione looked across the room just in time to see Fred look away, dropping his gaze back to the table in front of him while the tips of his ears turned nearly as pink as his hair. She reached over the book she'd been reading and grabbed the scrap of parchment that had been holding her place, replaced it with the new bookmark, and then began writing on it, stopping twice to clear the ink and start over.

Finally satisfied, she set it aside, finished her notes, and then packed up to go to her dorm. Bag on her shoulder and paper in hand, she took a circuitous route around the common room, slowing by Fred's table just long enough to deposit the scrap in front of him and then quickly heading upstairs.

oOoOoOo

Pristinum Revertatur

Thank you, I love it.