A/N: Sorry this one took a while, she's a little thicc.
Disclaimer - There are a few small bits of dialogue pulled directly from DH in this chapter, so... now that's a thing that you know.
26 July 1997
"Dad, are you out here?" Fred called, peering around the garden shed for any sign of his father. It was a warm afternoon, but a slight breeze swept its way through the open doorway and the loose boards that made up the walls, chasing away some of the waning July heat. "Hullo? D—?"
"Yes! I'm – oof," there was a loud bang as the worktable across the room jumped, along with everything on it, followed by a soft groan and his father appearing overtop the table a second later, glasses askew and rubbing the back of his head.
"Alright there?" Fred asked with a chuckle, crossing the room to sit on a rickety stool while his dad placed the item he'd retrieved on top of the table. It looked like a television remote that had been half-deconstructed.
"Oh, I'm just fine," Arthur assured absently, rubbing his head again, nonetheless. "Is your mother back yet?"
"No, Ginny said she was still at a fitting with Fleur and Madam Delacour."
"Right, right…" Arthur muttered, drawing his wand to conjure another, much more stable looking chair and taking a seat. "Alastor and Kingsley were here this morning; there've been a few changes for tomorrow night."
"What sort of changes?" Fred inquired.
"Apparently Alastor doesn't trust Mundungus and, given that Angelina volunteered to fly should we need additional people, he's made the executive decision to exclude him."
Fred wasn't particularly surprised. Dung was good for a bit of intel out of Knockturn Alley now and then, but he wasn't exactly the sort you'd want covering your back in a duel. For once Moody wasn't being overly-paranoid. He was being appropriately paranoid.
"That's fair enough," Fred said, bobbing his head. "So how does that change the pairings?"
"Well, there are a few possible reconfigurations, which is what they called to discuss. The first is simply putting Angelina with Alastor, however your brother has expressed a preference to keep her with him, as has Remus with Nymphadora, given the option. You haven't said as much, but I would have to assume –"
"That I would prefer to have Hermione with me?" Fred finished, pulling in a deep breath and exhaling it in a huff. He had thought about it, ad nauseum, but Hermione was set to fly with Kingsley. Kingsley, who was an auror and a truly brilliant fighter. He couldn't help but think that asking that she be paired with him was a selfish, hubristic notion that could possibly put her in undue danger. But in the same respect… "What do you think?"
His father's eyebrows rose briefly before settling again. Then he took his glasses off and slowly cleaned them on the hem of his shirt, squinting in thought at the earthen floor beneath them.
"When you're a parent, there are things that you want for your children. Things that protect them, things that make them happy."
"Dad, I —"
"Hush, let me finish. One of the things that you want is also one of the most frightening things in the world: you want them to not need you anymore. You want them to go out on their own and build their own lives. Their own families to protect and make happy."
Whether his father realised it or not, he'd struck a chord with that word: family. Hermione didn't have hers anymore, not in the traditional sense. She'd given it up in perhaps the most profound act of selflessness he'd ever witnessed. But she still had Harry and Ron and George and Angie and… and him. She had him, every last little bit of him that there was to be had.
"You love her, yeah? Hermione, that is." His father's earnest question shook Fred from his reverie, and he nodded without hesitation.
"After everything that we've… I don't know what it is to be a man, to be me, and not love her. She's shaped me and changed me and I — I wouldn't be who I am without her."
A gentle smile touched Arthur's face as he put his glasses back on.
"Not to in any way insinuate that Kingsley wouldn't do a good job, but I've found that those protecting someone out of love have far more motivation to succeed than those protecting someone out of duty. So, for what it's worth, I haven't any doubt in your ability to keep Hermione safe – nor in her ability to do the same in return, come to that."
Fred thought for a long moment and started to nod before stopping. It occurred to him in a rush that Hermione also had an opinion on the situation, likely a strong one if he knew his witch, and he didn't want to rob her of the opportunity to voice it.
"Can I talk to her about it and let you know?"
"Of course; I told Alastor I would speak to the both of you and get back to him by tonight. He's working with Bill on placing the last of the portkeys."
"Right." Fred got up, brushing his hands on his thighs and glancing toward the door, wavering. "Thank you for asking. Given that George and Remus and Bill have already committed, I feel like a bit of an ass for hesitating, but —"
"— but you want to keep her safe; it's nothing to be ashamed of."
Fred nodded. "Right. I'll send a patronus once I talk with her."
With a few more parting words, he made his way back to the house, waving at Ginny and Ron across the garden as he went.
Upon stepping out of the floo and back into the living room of their flat, he found Hermione on the sofa, freshly showered and pouring over a book of what appeared to be illustrations of mushrooms.
"There you are," she said, looking up and smiling in her way that was simultaneously casual and breathtaking – though he doubted she saw it that way. "I was wondering where you got off to."
"Dad owled and asked me to come by," he said, toeing his shoes off. "They're finalising everything for tomorrow night."
"Oh." Hermione marked her page and then set the book on the end table, her demeanor immediately shifting to something just a little more solemn. "And?"
"And it seems there are a couple of potential deviations." Fred stepped around the coffee table and sat beside her on the sofa, running a hand through his hair. "Dung is out. Moody doesn't trust him, and I honestly can't believe he even contemplated using him in the first place."
"Does that mean that Angie is flying?"
"Yes. But it presents an opportunity that I wanted to –"
"Can I fly with you?" Hermione asked abruptly, rotating in place to meet his surprised gaze. "Sorry. I just thought that may be what you were getting at and, while Kingsley is lovely and certainly more than capable, I would prefer –"
"You'd prefer to fly with me over Kingsley?" Fred asked incredulously. She gave him a curious look and moved a little closer, placing her hand on top of his between them and ghosting her fingertips between his knuckles.
"Did you contemplate saying no because you would rather be with someone else? With your father or Alastor?"
"No," he said baldly.
He hadn't at all. His hesitance had stemmed purely from his apprehension for her wellbeing and what she might want. Hermione fought the same way that she loved: fiercely and with everything that she had. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't anybody else that he would rather have at his side or, in this case, his back.
"Exactly. Besides, if I'm with you, I'm not going to be worrying about you, nor you about me. Not in the same way that we would be if we were with other people with no idea what might be happening. If something goes wrong then a distraction like that, no matter how much we tried to suppress the inclination, could put everyone at risk."
Fred, a little dumbfounded, searched her face for any hint of hesitation or placation; though he tried, he found none.
"Have I told you that I love you today?"
"Yes," Hermione said, smiling again and inching closer. "But I don't mind hearing it again."
She shut her eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips as he exhaled the anxiety coiled in his chest and breathed her in instead.
"Thank you for trusting me," Fred said quietly.
With your safety.
With your heart.
"Always," Hermione replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She stayed in his space for just a moment before crawling back to her book and opening it again.
Fred stood and headed toward the kitchen, throwing over his shoulder, "Besides, if all goes according to plan it should be little more than a leisurely evening flight."
oOoOoOo
"No!" Harry protested loudly the next night, standing in the kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive with his arms crossed. "No way, absolutely not."
"I told them you'd take it like this," Hermione said from beside him, sighing and leaning against the counter. In truth, nobody looked all that surprised by Harry's protests.
"If you think I'm going to let six people risk their lives —!"
"Right, because it's the first time for all of us?" Ron asked with a snort. Harry pinned him with a glare that would be far more intimidating were he allowed to use his wand.
"This is completely different. Pretending to be me —"
"Do you think we fancy the notion?" Fred piped in. "Imagine if something went wrong and my girlfriend got stuck as a specky, scrawny git forever."
Tonks made a choking sound that might have been a laugh, but Harry's frown didn't budge.
"You can't do it if I don't cooperate," he argued petulantly. "You need me to give you some hair."
"Well, damn. I suppose that's the end of that plan," Angelina shook her head in faux defeat. "Obviously there's no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."
"Oh yeah," George nodded solemnly. "Thirteen of us against one bloke who's not allowed to use magic. We don't stand a chance."
"That's funny," Harry said, sounding as though he thought the exact opposite. "That's really amusing, thanks for that."
"If it has to come to force then so be it," Alastor growled, visibly losing his patience. "Everyone here is of-age Potter, and they've all agreed to take the risk."
Harry looked around and saw the same thing that Hermione did, the same thing that she felt: determination. Thirteen people, including a half-giant wearing motorbike goggles the size of saucers, that would die to keep him safe and move their efforts even a hairsbreadth closer to ending the conflict plaguing all of them.
"Now, let's not have any more arguments," Mr. Weasley, the perpetual peacekeeper, began. "Time is wearing on and we need a few of your hairs."
"But this is mad! There's no need —"
"Harry!" Hermione finally snapped, turning and stepping in front of him. Whatever expression was on her face, he took a small step back. "We talked through all of the potential plans. All of them. If we're lucky, Voldemort swallowed the fake bait that we planted about moving you on the thirtieth, but he'd be mad not to have someone watching the house until then."
"It's what I would do," Kingsley added sincerely, his deep baritone lending a gravitas that she lacked. Harry began to show signs of cracking when Ron stepped to Hermione's side in front of him.
"They might not be able to get at you right now because of your mum's charm, but they know where the house is. Snape has all of the school records. Our best option is to use decoys." Ron paused and shot them both a cheeky smirk. "After all, even You-Know-Who can't split himself into seven."
Hermione pressed her lips together to suppress a bubble of wildly inappropriate laughter, and she was thankful that nobody could see their faces because even Harry had a hard time not smiling at that bit of dark humor. His shoulders slowly fell in resignation, like a balloon deflating.
"If anything happens to any of you—"
"We'll get patched up and hex you a few times if it makes you feel better," Fred finished with a sense of finality as he dove forward and grabbed a small chunk of Harry's hair, unceremoniously yanking a bit of it out.
Harry yelped and rubbed at the spot as the hairs were deposited into Moody's waiting flask.
"Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please," instructed Moody.
Hermione took her place along the wall between George and Ron. Angelina smiled smugly as the former crossed the room; it had been a topic of much debate over dinner the previous evening but ultimately it was agreed that Angelina was, by a very close margin, the more skilled flier.
Fleur and Kingsley would also be taking the potion, but Tonks didn't need it. They all watched in fascination as, in a matter of seconds, her features shifted and morphed into an exact replica of Harry. She was still perhaps an inch shorter, but a quick charm on the trainers she'd be wearing fixed that.
The Polyjuice was distributed and, while Hermione wasn't experiencing the exact same self-consciousness that Fleur voiced, it was her first time transitioning to a non-female. Even in all of her maturity, she could admit that it was a bit unnerving to know that, were she to examine her body too closely in its current state, she'd know what her de facto brother looked like naked.
When the transformation was complete she glanced up at Fred who, despite being extremely blurry, appeared wildly entertained by the whole process.
After she'd changed, she went to stand beside him with the empty trunk and fake owl in tow.
"Good," Moody affirmed, looking around at their assemblage. "The pairs will be as follows: Hermione and Fred on broom, George and Angelina on broom, Fleur and Bill on thestral, Remus and Tonks on broom, Arthur and Ronald on thestral, and Kingsely and myself on broom."
"An' you're with me, Harry," Hagrid explained. Harry didn't look at all put-out by the declaration as he went to stand by Hagrid's side, but Fred and Hermione shared a look. Outside of Mundungus, who was no longer participating, it was the pairing that made the least sense. Harry couldn't use magic and, outside of a few simple charms, neither could Hagrid.
That said, they'd be expecting Harry to be on a broom. Like the one Fred was carrying, which she would be mounting in just a moment. That realisation sank in; in all of the discussion and planning, it hadn't truly hit her until that moment that she would be flying. In the air. With nothing beneath her by a charmed branch and some twigs.
"You're okay," Fred murmured to her as they lined up in the back garden and he secured the trunk and owl cage to the back of the broom. He climbed on and motioned for her to do the same at his back. "Just breathe."
"Right," Hermione said, nodding as she got on the back of the broom. "I'm breathing."
She didn't care if it was strange for Fred given that she looked like Harry; she clung to his waist as tightly as she could.
"Alright, then," Alastor said, settled on his own steed with Kingsley. "Everyone ready, please. I want us all to depart at exactly the same time, or the decoys are pointless."
Hagrid kicked the bike to life and Hermione glanced toward Harry, huddled in the sidecar with Hedwig's cage between his knees. There was a buzz growing in the air and Hermione, keeping one arm secure around Fred, drew her wand and rolled it between her fingers. It had been glamored to look like Harry's, the same as all of the decoys, but the familiar twist of vinewood around the handle grounded her.
She could do this. They could do this.
"On the count of three!" Moody called. "One —"
"— two —" Fred followed quietly.
"— three." Hermione whispered, but the sound was lost as wind rushed past her ears and they shot up through the sky and straight into a maelstrom.
"Fuck," Fred hissed, barrel-rolling them immediately to the left to avoid a purple hex and nearly colliding with one of the wings on Bill and Fleur's thestral. There was a scream in the distance that sounded like Angelina, but Hermione couldn't see or hear much of anything past the vibrant flash of spells flying back and forth.
There were at least thirty hooded figures on brooms, floating in a circle overtop of the house, waiting for them. Hermione, quickly swallowing her anxiety about flying in light of more pressing perils, rotated as much as she could in place and cast a silent, but strong, shield charm around the two of them.
The Death Eaters might believe that Harry would break the statute and use magic given the circumstances, but Polyjuice didn't transform your voice, so the minute any of them heard her, their value as a decoy was lost.
"Hold on!" Fred called, and the two of them shot through a gap and into the night sky. Hermione saw as other pairs began to get their bearings and do the same, but she couldn't focus on who went where. The only thing she could focus on was the four cloaked figures that split off directly behind them.
A stunner ricocheted off of her shield, followed almost immediately by an orange hex that threw sparks upon impact. Then they were hit by another spell. And another. And another. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow as she held her arm steady; if she could maintain the shield, they could make it to the safehouse outside of Reading and –
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green light streaked toward Fred and a terror she'd never felt before gripped her. He dove them downward in a sharp maneuver that made her stomach lurch and the spell missed, but the intention hadn't. It had been aimed for him.
It was like bucket of cold water had been dumped on her head; for all of Harry's fear about the Polyjuice, as long as she was disguised as Harry, she was safe. But Fred wasn't.
Hermione dropped the shield and aimed up at the shadow that the killing curse had come from. The image replayed in her mind, the flash of green missing Fred's head by inches, and a sudden calm washed over her. The cold air bit at her nose and her ears, but the height no longer mattered. Nor did whatever reservations she had left about using lethal spells.
Sectumsempra.
A small flash of white light flew from the tip of her wand and into the night. Hermione wasn't sure if it had hit until warm droplets rained down on them and the screaming started. A second later the dark figure plummeted toward the earth already well behind them.
She couldn't think about it then.
She dragged a sleeve over her face as sticky blood cooled on her skin, the slight metallic odor burning in her nostrils.
She would think about it later.
There were three left, gaining on them and disappearing and reappearing through the clouds. Hermione still had an arm wrapped around Fred's middle and she could hear his heart pounding beneath her wrist as he did everything that he could to get them to the safehouse intact. Unfortunately, and unlike their adversaries, their broom was carrying two.
"It's not much further," Fred said after what felt like a lifetime of her deflecting and shielding everything that was thrown at them with mechanical, textbook precision. She wasn't sure if he said it to her or to himself, but it didn't matter. One of the Death Eaters finally pulled ahead of them and stopped dead.
This proved a miscalculation on his part.
Fred Weasley, having grown up with five brothers and played the position of Gryffindor beater for six years, didn't have any misgivings when it came to knocking someone bodily off of a broom. The Death Eater, however, realised this too late and Hermione braced herself as they flew headlong, directly into the man.
The intention had clearly been to check him and keep moving, but whoever he was, he managed to get a hand on Hermione and she felt herself jerked hard backward as she started to slip off of the broom. She silently fought and clawed and pulled away, but he had a death-grip on her jumper.
The ground loomed beneath them and her head spun, and just when she thought she was going to fall, Fred threw his elbow out. With a sickening crunch, it connected with the man's face and he howled, finally letting her go. Hermione kicked blindly toward the figure, pain shooting up her leg as her foot made solid contact with his broom handle and spun him away from them. Still clutching at his face, they didn't hang around long enough to see if he fell.
Hermione was breathing hard, the phantom feeling of hands still dragging her down before she righted herself and reclaimed her hold on Fred. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't speak at all. He pushed them with single-minded determination toward the farmhouse that had barely come into view in the distance. Alastor told them that the wards started at the oak tree. They just needed to get past the tree.
But as soon as she got the thought out, the last two Death Eaters materialised as if from thin air directly behind her.
"Diffindo!"
Fred pulled up and pivoted the broom, pushing her to the side and nearly knocking her off as the spell, intended for her, struck him instead. It had gone wide and been heading straight for her throat, but it hit somewhere along his shoulder and he screamed out in pain.
"INCENDIO!" Hermione shrieked around him. Surprised eyes flashed in the glow of her wand as massive plumes of orange and gold flames shot forward and engulfed both men. She could smell it; burning hair, burning cloth, burning flesh, but she pushed down the bile rising in her throat and ignored it, all of it, turning her back.
"Lumos," Hermione hissed, raising her lit wand to see a deep gash along Fred's bicep and a glimpse of white bone. She pressed a hand over the wound, but blood flowed freely through her fingers, rapidly soaking his sleeve. "Shit, shit. Fred, talk to me."
"Almost there," he said again, his words beginning to slur a little as they swayed in the air. "Almost… there…"
Horror engulfed her when Fred suddenly slumped forward over the handle of the broom. They were hovering nearly overtop the farmhouse, but they were still every bit of sixty feet above the ground as they started to twist off center.
"No, no, no, no, no…" She tried to reach around him, stretched to the point of pain and wanting to cry with frustration, but she couldn't get a hold on the handle.
Then, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, Fred slipped off the broom. Without even blinking, Hermione threw herself after him.
Fifty feet.
She was in free-fall.
Forty feet.
Her fingertips brushed his shirt.
Thirty feet.
She got hold of his uninjured arm.
Twenty feet.
She fumbled frantically with her wand.
Ten feet.
"Arresto momentum!"
Air cushioned them a split second before they struck the earth and Hermione let out a scream that was half relief and half unfettered terror before she carefully lowered them the rest of the way onto grass.
"HELP!" She shouted in the direction of the house, crawling and rolling Fred over, pointing her wand at his arm. "Ferula."
White bandages sprang forward and wrapped tight, finally staunching the flow of blood.
"Did we make it?" Fred asked dazedly, breathing labored.
"Yes, yes, we made it, you unbelievable knob," Hermione said, voice quivering and tears streaking her face. All at once her vision went blurry and she realised she had transformed back to herself. She ripped the glasses off and threw them aside. "Why did you do that? Why did you take the spell?"
"Family," he muttered disjointedly. "Had to… keep… safe."
Before Hermione could process what he meant, a shadow appeared over her shoulder and she spun, crouching low over Fred and raising her wand.
"What time does the werewolf howl?" She asked tersely, not sure if she had any strength left to fight, but prepared to do so nonetheless.
"Just before dawn," a low, melodic voice replied.
Hermione lowered her arm and released a tense breath as Hestia Jones conjured an orb of pale yellow light, levitating it overhead and illuminating her face as well as the both of them sprawled on the grass.
Hestia looked at Hermione as though seeking permission, which she received in the form of a nod, before proceeding around to where Fred lay. Carefully, she unspooled the bandages and examined the wound.
"Accio," she commanded, raising her wand. Hermione caught the three small glass phials that flew out of the house in shaking hands and gave them to her. Hestia unstopped one and brought it to Fred's lips. "Drink."
Although groggy, he obeyed, and she repeated the process with the second one.
"Blood replenisher and invigoration draught," she explained distractedly. Hermione nodded and something in her eased when she saw color start to bloom in Fred's cheeks again, his gaze sharpening.
Then Hestia uncorked the third phial and gave Fred a warning look. "This one will hurt."
Fred nodded and Hestia proximately poured a pale blue potion directly into the laceration. Fred gripped Hermione's hand tightly and she saw his jaw clench as muscle and skin began to knit back together before, at last, the bleeding ebbed and smooth skin was left in its wake beneath tattered, blood-soaked fabric.
Hestia sat back on her heels and dragged a forearm over her face.
"What the bloody hell happened up there?"
"Ambush," Hermione said curtly. "How long until the portkey?"
She asked the question of Hestia, but her eyes were locked on Fred as he sat up. He reached out and cupped the back of her neck, placing a quick kiss on her forehead.
"I'm okay," he reassured quietly, warmth breath ghosting over her skin. Her brain accepted it, but her heart didn't. So she nodded, but she also kept her vice-grip on his hand.
"You got here fast, you still have about ten minutes," Hestia said, reaching out to help Hermione to her feet before doing the same for Fred. Her eyes swept critically over them. "And we need to use them to get you cleaned up, or Molly is going to have a heart attack. Come along."
They started to make their way into the farm house, briefly veering to the right to collect the broom, which had plummeted to earth upon their dismounting it but was otherwise unscathed.
"Never again," Hermione muttered ruefully, eyeing the thing.
Despite the unbearable weight of the evening, and the fact that they had no idea what had happened to the others, Fred snorted.
"Yeah, okay."
They stepped up onto the porch and through the doorway, entering Hestia's home. Hermione and Fred both blinked against the light.
Hestia Jones, whom Hermione had only met once before, was a short, dark-skinned woman in perhaps her early thirties.
"Loo is through there," she said, gesturing to a doorway. "I'll call you when the portkey is a minute out."
She turned and busied herself with something on the stove while Fred, still holding Hermione's hand, led them into the water closet.
He flipped the light on and Hermione cringed. Not only were her hands and lower arms totally covered in blood, most of which was Fred's, but her face was smeared and speckled with it. Fred didn't look much better, although most of the gore on him was localised to his arm.
He stood behind her in the mirror with a similarly stricken expression and she met his gaze overtop her reflection's head.
"I killed three people," she admitted quietly.
It felt like she was describing the actions of someone else. Some hardened, ferocious war-heroine. Not her, not Hermione Granger. No, she was a good girl, bright and with a promising future. She wouldn't do something like that.
"I know," Fred said levelly. He didn't show any sign of distaste or judgment, nor did he move to comfort her. He just held her stare, raw and open. "We'll talk about it later, alright?"
She swallowed hard and nodded. "Alright."
They took turns washing up and mending their clothing, nearly looking back to normal by the time Hestia called them. Hermione certainly didn't feel normal but, like Fred said, there would be time for that later.
"Best of luck to you both," Hestia said as Hermione and Fred both took hold of the broken teacup she'd motioned to. "If Kingsley is still alive, tell him to come by tomorrow for tea."
"Erm, of course," Hermione said, unable to tell if she was joking. "Thank you."
Hestia nodded her goodbye just as the portkey activated, tugging them through to the Burrow's back garden where, by some miracle, they both landed on their feet.
Fred had just opened his mouth to speak when Ginny rushed out of the house, her face pale and panicked. They both turned.
"I-it's George."
If Hermione had thought time had slowed earlier during the fight, it was nothing compared to that moment. She could hear her heartbeat, the pulse pushing blood through her veins and the air leaving her lungs.
Fred looked to her. Before anything else, before they moved even an inch, he looked to her, and she knew: she wouldn't ever be able to forget the expression on his face.
Then they were running and it felt like moving through water.
Bursting through the back door, around Ginny and past the kitchen, Hermione was hot on his heels when they entered the den.
She took in everything at once.
George on the sofa, his head tipped back over the arm and crimson painting the side of his face and his neck, pale as a sheet with a ragged mass of blood and flesh where his ear had formerly been.
Mrs. Weasley and Alicia Spinnet, who was in her first year as a healer, bent over him and rapidly passing potion bottles back and forth while they muttered spells far beyond Hermione's skill set.
Angelina, sitting on the ground near the fireplace with her head in her blood-coated hands, rocking in place and sobbing while Katie tried to console her.
Every eye in the room save for those working on his twin turned to Fred, who seemed by all accounts frozen in place.
"What happened?" Hermione croaked. Fred drifted closer to the sofa but stayed out of the way, and Hermione tore herself from his side in the interest of understanding just how dire it was. What she needed to prepare for.
Remus stepped away from the wall and placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her away from the center of the room.
"Angelina said that it was Severus," he explained in a low voice, as if speaking too loudly might interrupt the healing that was taking place. A million thoughts and theories ran through her head, but they were swallowed by other, more pressing emotions.
"Is he going to live?" She heard herself ask, too quietly for anyone else except maybe Tonks to hear. Remus wasn't a healer, but he'd survived the first war, and she trusted him not to lie to her or fabric optimism where it wasn't warranted.
He looked past her, quietly assessing before he nodded. "It's dark magic. He'll lose the ear, but I think he'll be okay."
"Thank you," Hermione just numbly nodded back. "What the hell happened tonight?"
"I don't know how, but they knew. They knew that we were moving him. Our only saving grace was that they didn't seem to anticipate the decoys."
Hermione looked around; all of the pairs were back except for –
"Where is everyone else?"
"Kingsley and Alastor missed the first portkey. And Harry –"
There was a commotion in the garden and, a second later, Harry appeared in the doorway with Ginny behind him, and Hagrid ducked into the kitchen. Hermione turned from Remus and threw her arms around Harry's shoulders.
"Is George —?" He started to ask, his chest rising and falling against her like he'd run a marathon.
"They're working on it," she said softly beside his ear. Ginny joined Arthur and Bill at Fred's side as Molly and Alicia continued their ministrations.
Harry nodded and then pulled back, searching her face. "Are you and Fred —?"
"We're fine," Hermione assured him.
He was quiet for a moment before tears suddenly appeared in his eyes.
"They killed Hedwig," he admitted in a whisper, his voice cracking as he said her name. It was like he didn't think her death warranted mourning with human lives on the line, but the visceral grief in his eyes was like a punch in the stomach.
So, she pulled him tight to her again and just held him for a moment while he mourned his first real friend and they all just… waited.
Waited for George to wake up.
Waited for Kingsley and Moody to arrive.
Waited for comfort when there wasn't any to be had.
Eventually Hermione turned Harry over to Ron and knelt by Angelina and Katie near the fireplace.
"Scourgify," Hermione whispered, wandlessly cleaning the dark, red-brown blood from Angelina's hands. Her sobs had turned to rapid, ragged breaths and Hermione shared a concerned look with Katie over her head, who appeared to be at a loss for what to do. Everyone's attention was on George, and rightfully so, but Angelina appeared to be going into acute shock.
"How long has she been like this?" Hermione asked.
"I'm not sure," Katie said helplessly. "She started to explain what happened and when they started working on him she just went quiet."
"Umm, g-get her a calming draught," Hermione directed, which Katie immediately got up to find. She took one of Angelina's hands in hers and gently, but firmly, tilted her chin up. "Angie, look at me. Can you hear me?"
Her hands were cool and damp with sweat, and her swollen eyes didn't show any sign of having heard anything at all. Hermione shifted two fingers down to her pulse, just below her jaw, and felt a rapid flutter.
Katie reappeared, holding a small purple phial, and Hermione tried to coax Angelina to drink. When this didn't work, she carefully pinched her jaw open and decanted the potion into her mouth. For a second she was afraid Angelina wasn't going to swallow, but she finally did and the effect was immediate. The shaking in her hands ebbed and her breathing slowed.
"Hermione?" Angelina said, blinking and looking around like she was coming out of a fog. "Is – is George dead?"
Before she could answer there was a cry of relief across the room and Hermione got to her feet, pulling Angelina behind her.
"Say something, sweetheart," Molly encouraged as George's eyelids fluttered.
He mumbled something unintelligible, and Fred stepped around his mum to kneel at his brother's side.
"Say it again?" he prompted, straining to hear.
"I feel saintlike," George muttered a little louder, his voice sounding like gravel. "You see... I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"
Fred wiped a hand over his face and shook his head. "Weak. Absolutely pathetic. Of all the ear-related humor -"
There was a collective, albeit tense, murmur of laughter that swept the room at that.
"Go ahead." Hermione nudged Angelina forward and she knelt beside the sofa next to Fred. George's eyes, increasingly in alertness, left his twin and focused in on her.
"I th-thought I lost you," Angelina choked, her head falling forward to rest on his chest as she began crying again in earnest. All signs of joking gone, George brought a hand up and carefully traced his fingertips along her damp cheek. Still too weak to move much beyond that, he just closed his eyes and kept his hand on her.
"I'm not that easy to get rid of, witch."
A few more people chuckled, but Fred stood abruptly and dashed back toward the kitchen and out the back door. Bill started to follow him, but Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, nodding at Hermione, who was already in motion. She stepped outside just in time to see Fred brace his hands on his knees and be violently ill near the rhododendrons.
Grimacing and minding her shoes, she placed a hand on his back and moved it in slow, soothing circles while he retched. And when the retching turned to dry heaving and then to ragged sobs that shook his frame, she vanished the sick and supported him as best she could as he dropped to the grass, their legs tangling in the process.
"He's okay," Hermione said quietly, over and over like a prayer as he fisted the back of her too-large jumper and buried his face in her shoulder. Hot, wet tears scorched her skin and she brushed her fingers over his neck and along his back as her own tears began to silently fall. "He's okay. George is okay."
Facing the door, she watched over Fred's back as a procession of concerned faces appeared and quickly disappeared, giving them privacy; giving her space to piece him back together. Until one surprised pair of eyes connected with hers and lingered.
Silhouetted in the doorway with half of her face concealed by shadows, Molly Weasley looked at them in apparent shock and Hermione bristled. Fred, lost in the reality of his own worst nightmares coming to life, didn't seem to notice the shift, but if Molly said anything, did anything at all to cause him further pain in that moment, to try and take him away from her, Hermione genuinely didn't know what she would do.
They stayed like that for a long time, Fred shaking against her and Molly staring with near palpable astonishment. And then slowly, ever so slowly, she straightened up, squared her shoulders, and nodded. Just once, and just to Hermione, but with that nod, crystalline understanding passed between them.
Molly Weasley might have a complicated relationship with her children, and an even more complicated relationship with the people that they loved, but when it came down to it, her motivations were simple: she wanted them safe. And, whatever she saw as she stared at Hermione and Fred in the dark garden that night, she seemed to trust that that was what Hermione was doing. She was keeping her son safe.
When Molly finally disappeared, she shut the door behind her.
"He's okay," Hermione murmured again as Fred fell apart. For a second they were back in that vacant classroom two years in the past, scared teenagers looking out over a roiling sea of fear and broken glass. She tipped her head back and stared up at the stars, blanketing them in a silent serenity that she couldn't feel. "George is okay."