31 December 1996

Hermione sidled up beside the makeshift bar in the corner, tipping just a touch more firewhiskey into her glass and then turning to survey the room. Fred's promise that the party would remain small turned out to be more or less true.

There were all the members of their makeshift dueling club as well as Charlie, Tonks, Verity's muggle sister Samantha, who was visiting from university in The States, and Katie, newly released from the hospital and propped in one of the cushy armchairs with a glass of fizzy water.

The snow was drifting lazily outside the large window overlooking the street and there was music playing softly beneath the buzz of chatter and laughter. She missed Ron and Harry, who were safely tucked away at The Burrow, but she also felt somehow vindicated that she had made a life for herself outside of them. A world beyond being the brains of the famed trio.

And it helped knowing that Harry didn't resent that of her. Ron… well, this wasn't the time to think about it.

Lee stepped into her periphery, topping off his own glass and giving her a friendly, if slightly intoxicated, nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

"Keeping up alright, ducks?"

"Just fine, thanks," she smiled, glancing at the clock that the twins had enlarged and set on the mantle; it was just a little over two minutes to midnight. She then traced Lee's stare and smirked. "Verity is looking rather fetching tonight, isn't she?"

"Thinking of changing teams? Poor Freddie is going to be crushed."

"Hardly. You, on the other hand, just about drool any time she glances in your direction."

"Yeah – well – I – mind your business, nosy witch." Lee all but stuck his tongue out and Hermione put her hands up, taking a sip from her glass. "What's your plan for midnight anyway?"

"Oh," Hermione said stupidly, brows drawing together. "I just — I mean, Fred said we could just sneak away after the countdown if I wanted."

"In the name of Merlin's wrinkly balls, haven't you two had more than enough sneaking about? Bleeding hell, I'm not even the one doing it and I'm positively exhausted by the whole affair."

"Mind your business," Hermione retorted curtly, narrowing her eyes at Lee before turning her gaze back to Fred.

He was standing near the fireplace with George, getting everyone ready for the countdown. Taking note of her watching, he shot her an easy wink, and it warmed something in her chest that firewhiskey couldn't ever come close to.

This man.

This funny, brilliant, protective, dreamer of a man that she called hers was there, literally standing right in front of her. Smiling and laughing, in a rare moment that the two of them weren't burdened with worry or doubt. That they didn't have to fret after the other's wellbeing or plot out when they might be able to see each other again.

He was right bloody there. She realised that Lee, while most decidedly drunk, had a point; what on earth were they still doing hiding?

"Okay, okay, shut it, all of you!" George called out, a bright purple hat propped haphazardly on his head as he pulled Angelina against his side, who tottered tipsily and giggled. And then the whole room began to count.

"Ten!"

Hermione sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"Nine!"

She glanced sideways at Lee, who arched a challenging brow.

"Eight!"

She rolled her eyes, threw back the rest of her drink and then shoved the empty glass in his direction. He took it, grinning and shaking his head.

"Seven!"

She pushed away from the bar.

"Six!"

She slipped between Charlie and Tonks.

"Five!"

She navigated around the edge of the sofa.

"Four!"

She caught Fred's eye a couple feet across from her, surprise and curiosity playing behind his gaze, but still so full of affection for her that it almost hurt to look at. Like looking into the sun.

"Three!"

She stepped up onto the coffee table between them with socked feet, feeling every eye in the room fix on her. A few surprised laughs intermingled as they continued.

"Two!"

She grabbed Fred by the collar and tugged him to her, a few inches taller for once. He smiled and gamely stepped forward, eyes sparkling with a question that asked, 'Are we really doing this?'

"One!"

And, as the clock struck midnight, she threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him with complete abandon.

Everyone went wild, whooping and whistling, but the room might as well have been empty. Her curls formed a sort of veil around them and Fred looped his arms around her, one across the tops of her thighs and the other around her waist. He pulled her off the coffee table, tight against him, and spun them around, her feet miles from the ground. She felt a little like she'd float away, even if he wasn't holding her.

They only kissed for a moment, the taste of alcohol and warm spices still heavy on his tongue, and hers for that matter, before she drew back, beaming at him through the shadows.

"Happy New Year," she whispered.

"Happy New Year," he breathed, shaking his head at her and smiling back.

"Alright, alright, get a room you two!" She thought it might have been Oliver from the brogue, and Fred carefully set her down, both of them laughing and Hermione blushing furiously.

Angelina and George, accustomed to their antics, were oblivious and snogging sloppily beside the fireplace; Alicia was curled around Katie on the chair, head tucked into her shoulder while her girlfriend lightly stroked her hair; Tonks and Charlie were snickering, the later scrubbing her purple lipstick off of his face; Bill and Fleur were looking at one another tenderly, her hand resting on his chest; and Lee was receiving a chaste kiss on the cheek from Verity and acting as though he'd just won the lottery.

There was quiet music playing on a turntable in the corner, the sound of laughter in the air, and Hermione felt Fred's arms wrap around her waist from behind. She leaned into him, taking a mental photograph and hoping against hope that 1997 might not be as bleak as she feared.

oOoOoOo

The next morning Hermione and Fred were awake before anyone else. While George and Angelina had stayed up well into the night, entertaining until everyone flooed home, the two of them had opted for a more private celebration shortly after their very public kiss.

"Coffee?" Fred asked, in response to which Hermione simply shot him a look and then continued to set the bread to toast. He was in just a pair of low-slung pyjama pants, copper hair deliciously ruffled and eyes a little bleary. She crossed her arms across her chest, leaning a hip on the counter and watching as he went about making her morning brew as though he'd done it a thousand times.

"What's that look?" Fred asked when he noticed her staring, glancing up and smiling back inquiringly as he poured water into the French press.

"I just love you a lot," Hermione replied nonchalantly, shrugging and turning to collect supplies so she could start to scramble eggs.

"Oh, is that right?"

"Yep."

"I mean, I am extremely lovable, so I suppose it makes sense…"

"Alright Weasley, don't push your luck – ahh!"

All at once, she was being picked up and carried away from the bowl she'd retrieved, slung over Fred'shoulder.

"Fred!" Hermione quietly shrieked, laughing and desperately clinging to his upper back. All she was wearing were her knickers and his pyjama shirt, the former on full display as he transported her across the room. "What on earth are you doing? Put me down!"

"I'm pushing my luck," Fred replied, a grin splitting his face as he set her on the edge of the dining table. "Lay back."

"Have you gone completely mad?!" She hissed, even as he reached under the shirt and expertly removed her underwear. She didn't stop him, but she stayed propped on her elbows, staring at him incredulously. "Someone could walk in!"

"That's a very good point. You'd best be quiet, then," he chastised mischievously, a split-second before he dropped to his knees and dragged his tongue slowly over her sex. His lips closed gently around her clit and her fingers flexed against the cool wood of the table, seeking purchase.

Then it didn't matter one bit who might walk in, let a bloody parade come marching through. Fred worked her body the same way that he made her morning coffee: with effortlessness and familiarity. He'd become fluent in Hermione Granger; the way she liked to be touched, the way she liked to be kissed.

He eased one finger into her, then two, until a matter of moments later she was breathing hard and rocking her hips up toward him. Then, just as she was nearing her climax, it all disappeared at once.

She was going to sit up and ask why he'd stopped when a familiar tingling coursed through her stomach right before the familiar press of Fred's cock at her center, fingertips picking up to circle her clit in the same way his tongue had been. He was leaning over her with the other hand braced on the tabletop.

This was happening. This was really, truly happening.

It was the very first morning of the new year and Hermione was about to have an orgasm beside the butter dish.

She sat up and gripped his shoulders so her legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him deeper so just her ass was perched on the very edge of the table.

"Fuck," Fred chuckled with a soft groan, dropping his forehead into the crook of her neck for a second before he started moving again. The table creaked softly with each thrust of his hips.

"I'm close," she gasped a moment later. "Fred, I'm –" she cut off, eyes squeezing shut as her orgasm took her, toes literally curling while he kept a steady pace, one hand working her clit and the other gripping her thigh and holding her to him. She sank her teeth into the thick muscle of his shoulder, which only served to spur him on, and then gave herself a little mental pat on the back for remaining fairly silent.

He waited until she stopped clenching around him and then eased her back to lay down again, which she happily obliged, her whole body relaxed and boneless. Then Fred picked just her hips up, dragged her a bit closer, and fucked her

Hermione arched her back, giving him as much access as she could and reveling in the feeling of him. Not long after, his motions stuttered and then stopped, fingers biting deliciously into the sides of her stomach as he ground out her name.

"I love you too," Fred murmured back quietly as he carefully set her lower body down and then dipped to kiss her sternum, in between the open buttons of his too-large shirt. He drew out of her and then conjured a rag for them to clean up while she retrieved her knickers.

Fred's front was to her, which meant his back was to the hallway, blocking her view. It also meant that Hermione heard George before she saw him.

"Hey, if the two of you are awake – bloody fucking hell!"

Fred cringed, tugging his pants back up his thighs as Hermione hastily crossed her legs and made sure the buttons on her shirt were done. At least she'd had time to put her underwear back on.

"Sorry, George!" She shouted, leaning around Fred. Hermione winced as her boyfriend's twin stumbled back toward the hall with an arm flung over his eyes, tripping and nearly knocking over a lamp as he went. She tried and failed to keep the laughter from her voice as she apologised again, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Fred, on the other hand, was openly snickering and not even attempting to say sorry as he retied the drawstring on his pyjamas.

"Twice!" George yelled back furiously, right before his bedroom door slammed shut behind him. "That's twice!"