3 August 1996

"What time is it?" Fred asked, handing a bag full of products to the pack of prepubescent boys in front of him. George had just levitated a crate of Skiving Snackboxes out of the storeroom door behind him.

"Well," his twin replied, setting down the merchandise, "seeing as it was 1:40 when you asked me two minutes ago, I would wager it's probably in the neighborhood of 1:42."

"And what time are they meant to be coming?"

"Mum's owl said around 2 o'clock, but they had other stops to make. Why don't you go walk around the floor, yeah? Lee should be back from lunch any minute, he can help me up here. And you're making me nervous."

Fred nodded absently and stepped out from behind the till, into the fray. He hadn't seen Hermione since that morning at The Burrow. Granted it had only been five or so days, and he'd been so busy with the opening that he wasn't sure which direction was up anymore.

In that time, he'd held that smile in the back of his mind, the feeling of hearing her laugh again. He clung to it in part because he didn't know exactly where they stood now. And frankly, he was afraid to guess one way or the other.

Being held at a distance by her before, by hollow smiles and shrugs was one thing, but if she did it now, when he'd finally seen that fire in her eyes again… he wasn't sure if he could bear that.

So, he busied himself with setting the rubber wand display to rights and pretended he wasn't a hairsbreadth away from a full-blown panic attack.

oOoOoOo

When Hermione walked through the doors of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, she couldn't recall a time in her life that she had ever been prouder. Not when she'd received her prefect badge, or her OWL scores. Not the first time she'd ridden a bike or made the dean's list or even when she got her Hogwarts letter.

The unmitigated joy of seeing Fred's dream become a reality, of walking in and standing in the middle of his and George's accomplishment, was unlike anything she'd experienced before. She ogled for a moment, in between a wide-eyed Ron and Harry, and then quickly broke off.

Everything was bright and colorful and full of life. The twins were trading in levity and laughter in a time when such things were difficult to come by. It was what Fred was to her, simply multiplied and blown up to a massive scale.

It only took a minute of walking among the shelves and looking over heads before she saw him, facing away from her in front of a barrel labeled "Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

She swallowed dryly and then half-shouted over the din, "This is quite a place you've got here."

Fred spun around so quickly, it was borderline comical. He didn't say anything at first, and she figured that was fair if he was even half as on-edge as she was.

"The shop, it's… I can't put into words how amazing it is, Fred."

When he still didn't say anything, she started to get the urge to squirm. Hermione knew she'd been wrong to treat him the way she had, even if it had been born out of a sort of twisted attempt at emotional self-preservation, but the least he could do was throw her a line.

"What did you —?"

"What happened to your eye?" he cut in, seeming to shake himself before finally speaking.

"My eye?" she asked, confused. She raised a hand and, upon making contact with the skin on the right side of her face, flinched. In her eagerness to see him she'd entirely forgotten about the bruise.

He nodded, expression wracked with concern, and stepped closer to her as a procession of customers made their way behind his back. He placed a knuckle beneath Hermione's chin and tipped her face up to better examine the discoloration. If she'd had any doubts about feeling the same way for him, about their connection being intact, they rapidly disappeared. The instant he made contact with her, it felt like her skin was humming.

Luna passed by in her periphery, but if she thought anything peculiar about their intimate posing, she didn't voice it. Just blithely smiled and waved before floating behind another shelf and out of sight again.

"Someone left a box of defunct punching telescopes in their bedroom," she explained, arching a brow and wincing a little. "This person also didn't see fit to label said box."

"You're kidding," Fred said, expression turning to one of disbelieving dismay. "This was my doing?" His thumb slid up and along her jaw and she shivered. He seemed to realise, rather suddenly, that they weren't alone and stepped away, clearing his throat. "Um, I have some bruise balm upstairs if you want."

She nodded, knowing this was both a genuine offer and an invitation to talk privately.

Following him through the throng, they passed George and Lee behind the counter, both of whom were preoccupied with a collection of customers in front of the till. He opened one of several doors and she followed him into a small alcove that led to a flight of stairs.

When they reached the top, he opened another door and then she was standing in the living room of his and George's flat. It was modest, and a little sparse in furnishing, but homey. A pair of burgundy sofas flanked a fireplace that had been enlarged to allow for floo travel, the warm tones reminding her of the common room without being too on the nose. Behind that was a small, dark wood dining table with four chairs, one end laden with paperwork.

There were other things too; mismatched lamps and rugs, a half-full bookcase, a desk piled with more paperwork. She felt a flash of guilt, knowing that she should have seen it sooner. Should have written and come over right after term ended like she'd planned months ago, but she hadn't.

"It's not much," Fred said self-consciously, hastening to the dining table and shuffling the paperwork atop into neater stacks. She realised abruptly that he was waiting for her reaction, and nervously at that.

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "It's brilliant," she assured him.

He took her through the other rooms, pointing things out along the way; a decent sized kitchen, George's bedroom, a small office being used for storage, and a bathroom with a large, copper clawfoot tub. She raised an eyebrow at this, and he shrugged, retrieving the bruise balm from a cabinet and handing it to her. "Dunno, it was there when we moved in."

But it was when they stepped into his bedroom that the air changed. The questions in her head about the state of their relationship tripled and buzzed, petitioning for attention. It smelled like him.

She looked at the large bed in the center of the far wall and she had a rather obstinate urge to crawl under the blankets and bury herself in it. Keeping up the appearance of a sane person, at least for the time being, she refrained.

"Can I show you my favorite part?" he asked, grinning at her. He seemed particularly excited, and her stomach fluttered as she nodded.

Fred stepped around the bed to the wall with the windows, tugging the drapes to the side to reveal that one wasn't a window at all, but rather a door. He then moved back and tipped his head at it, intimating that she should open it. Curiously she gripped the handle, turned it, and breathed out in surprise.

The flat had a balcony.

It wasn't as big as theirs had been, nor as private, but still, it was there. There were two garden chairs with comfortable looking pillows on them and a small table in between, holding a forgotten teacup and a small stack of books and parchment.

"I spend a lot of time out here," he explained, waving his wand and sending the dishware floating back inside, presumably to the kitchen. "Had to fight George for the room."

She took a few steps out and leaned over the iron railing, looking down at the street perhaps thirty feet below. He followed her, placing a hand beside hers just close enough to brush their pinkies together.

Hermione took a deep breath, let it out, and then said what she'd planned for days to say.

"I'm not the same as I was when you left, Fred. The ministry — it changed things. I hate it, but it did. And I know that we have to talk about that. About what happened and how it affected me and how it affects us and what comes next and… and everything. There are things to work through, and healing to be done, and it's a long, important process."

It looked like a weight settled on his shoulders, and a small crease formed between his eyebrows, but he nodded, staring out at the stone building across the way. The wind ruffled his hair ever so slightly, and sunlight flickered through the pale grey clouds, painting his freckles in stark relief.

The air was heavy with the clean, fresh scent that preceded a summer rain storm and a silent moment passed before she spoke again.

"And can we please skip it? Can you just kiss me?"

His head snapped toward her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. She barely had time to take a breath before he lunged forward and molded his lips firmly to hers, connecting and then gently parting in a familiar rhythm. It felt like coming home after a long holiday; reaching out and blindly flipping a light switch in the dark because you know exactly where it is.

One of his hands coiled in her curls while the other came rest on her waist, holding her to him while she looped her arms up and around her neck. They stayed like that for a long while, though still not long enough, before he finally broke away and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard and keeping her tightly against his chest.

"I missed you," she whispered, lowering a hand from around his shoulders to rest lightly on his cheek. Her voice was thick with emotion. "And I'm so sorry."

"I love you," he replied simply, sparkling azure eyes searching hers. A soft smile lit his face, and she returned it. Those three words said everything else that there was to say, and she rolled onto her toes to kiss him again.

"Oh, thank Merlin!" They didn't step apart, but both turned to look at the door of the balcony. George was sticking his head out, countenance one of outright relief. "Sorry to interrupt. Hermione, Harry and Ron are looking for you, something about Malfoy acting dodgy. And Fred, we need more Wild-fire Whizbangs from storage. Finish up and get a move on!"