1 August 1997
"Hermione?" Fred's voice asked from somewhere outside the half-open door of the loo.
"In here!" she called back, ducking her head over the sink and securing the back of her earring.
"Hey, Ginny said you were –"
Fred drew up short as she straightened again, catching his eye in the mirror. The look he gave her was pure heat and she reveled in it for just a second before taking in his appearance; then she was the one gawking.
"Oh," she breathed, eyes skimming the rich green dress robes that he wore overtop a black muggle suit and trousers, the shoulders and breasts of which were intricately embroidered and gilded with golden accents. All articles were perfectly tailored, of course, and he had a gold watch chain hanging from his pocket.
"You're mentally undressing me, aren't you?" Fred teased, pulling her into him and placing a quick kiss on the top of her head.
"Am not," she said defensively, running her fingertips along the buttery-soft fabric of his lapels. "You just look… dashing."
"I always look dashing," he scoffed. "You on the other hand… good Godric, witch. Wars have been started over less. Is this new?"
"We went shopping with the Delacours a few weeks ago," Hermione said, turning in his arms and looking at herself in the mirror. She'd thought about wearing red, because it complimented her own colouring rather well. Then she remembered she'd be on the arm of a ginger and quickly altered course.
"Rather perfectly on the nose, isn't it?"
"I'm not hiding," Hermione shrugged, lifting her chin a little. The light caught the rich champagne of her gown, a hue just shy of gold.
Fred nodded and skimmed his hands along the satin that hugged her waist before tracking one up along the bodice and over the plunge of her neckline, resting it lightly on her bare sternum. His thumb traced a slow circle just below the hollow of her throat.
"Fred –" she exhaled, willing her eyes to stay open as their lids fluttered. They were fully visible from the hallway, for Merlin's sake.
"Relax," he chuckled. "I just have a gift for you."
He brought his other hand around her front and opened it to reveal a gold chain with -
"Is that a magpie?" Hermione asked, grinning in recognition as she examined it. There was a little golden bird hanging in the center of the chain, clipping a clear gem in its beak as though it'd just absconded with it. She hoped ardently that he hadn't spent money on a diamond, but it certainly looked as though he had.
"It is," Fred affirmed. "Here, lift your hair."
She did as he'd requested, grabbing her mane of loose curls and gathering them as best she could so he was able to bring the chain around and clasp it at the back of her neck. The bird nestled between the tops of her breasts and as soon as it made contact with her skin she sucked in a sharp breath, faltering, nearly stumbling.
"What the bloody hell is on this?" she asked, resisting the urge to pull it away for fear of insulting him. It wasn't painful per say, but the thrum of magic that she felt was unexpected, and certainly strong, vibrating nearly down to her bones.
"Sorry, I should have warned you," Fred cringed sheepishly, turning her in his arms again. "I'm used to touching it, I didn't think."
"Used to what, exactly?" It was bizarre, reminiscent of the hum of energy she'd felt around the opal necklace that had cursed Katie with none of the malevolence. It felt… light. Pure.
"Figure it out," Fred encouraged, nodding at her wand balanced on the counter beside the sink.
She picked it up, casting revelio and a few other basic diagnostic charms under his watchful eye. There was a ridiculous web of concealment spells and protective enchantments, all meant to deter or dull the effects of dark magic. It was breathtakingly intricate, and she peeled it back layer by layer until, at the center, she found the original intent of the artifact.
"It's a portkey!" She gasped, ending the charms and bringing her fingertips up to skim the delicate filigree of the chain in wonder. Fred simply nodded.
"I've been working on the thing for weeks," he admitted, running a thumb over the impish little bird. "If I've keyed it correctly, and I truly hope that I have, it should bring you straight to the workroom at the shop, regardless of where you are."
"Regardless of where I am? How is that possible?" she asked, mind whirring. Portkeys could circumvent anti-apparation charms, and they were certainly subject to the talent and ingenuity of the person that created them, but they weren't foolproof.
"Do you remember the night my dad was attacked and Dumbledore sent us off to Grimmauld Place?"
"Vividly," Hermione replied with a flicker of dormant irritation at the memory of being left behind.
"Well, he did it with a portkey he'd made, a burned up old tea kettle."
"I assumed he'd used the floo," she admitted, before quickly realising that was daft. The ministry was already monitoring floo travel by then, and it would have been a massive risk to send Harry through without knowing the depth and details of what had transpired that night.
"Well, in any event, I held on to it. I figured any portkey that can circumvent the wards around Hogwarts can probably do the same from just about anywhere."
"So you… copied it?"
"I tried to copy it. Bit like figuring out a recipe with only a small bite of the finished product for reference; some components were obvious, others much less so. Old codger made the thing in about two seconds, but I think I managed something similar. This one is activated by a word rather than being set to leave at a particular time – spoken with clear intent, of course."
Hermione blinked, a million questions running through her mind about the mechanics, but she only asked one. "What's the word?"
"Domum," Fred replied, lips quirking. "Sorry, couldn't get the English to work."
Hermione looked up sharply and met his eyes, intense and steady, concealing an ocean of things they'd both said and not. Then she nodded slowly, because it was perhaps the most appropriate application of a word that she'd ever encountered, spell or otherwise.
Home.
He leaned down to kiss her, a soft press of lips that, for once, cleared her head a little rather than fogging it.
"C'mon," Fred said, dragging her out of the bathroom as she snatched her wand and beaded bag from the counter. "We have a party to attend."
It was moments before the wedding was meant to begin and Hermione was milling about the first couple rows with the Weasleys that didn't have an active role in the ceremony, as well as Angelina and a rather well-disguised Harry.
"She really said that to you?" Angie asked, tucked under George's arm with her mouth agape.
"Uh huh," Hermione confirmed, rolling her eyes and shooting a glance at Fred's pinched-faced Aunt Muriel a couple rows back. "She'd just been upstairs, giving Fleur the infamous goblin-made tiara, and she looked me up and down and then frankly proclaimed, 'Oh, this must be the muggleborn. Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"
Fred, who was standing beside her with his hand resting lightly on the curve of her lower back, made a low sound in his throat that was startlingly similar to a growl.
George, on the other hand, guffawed. "Bleeding hell. Well, if it makes you feel any better, she told me over breakfast that my ears looked lopsided."
He gestured to his one remaining ear which, admittedly, did appear rather lopsided when paired with the one that was no longer there.
"You know, I could have sworn I had a Ton-Tongue Toffee in one of these pockets," Fred muttered, beginning to pat down his robes. "Bloody shame if she accidentally ate it, the wretched old-"
"You look vunderful," a gruff voice said suddenly from behind them, and Hermione turned, coming face-to-face with Viktor Krum. At first she was happy to see him, but that sentiment was immediately followed by a ripple of anxiety.
"Oh, Viktor! Hi!" She greeted, lurching forward to give him a quick hug. "I'm so glad that you could make it."
"I am as vell," Viktor agreed, his accent a little lighter than it had been the last time she'd seen him, over two years prior. "Fleur was kind enough to invite me."
"Of course," Hermione nodded before turning. "You remember some of Bill's family, right?"
She looked at Ron first, standing across from her and acting as though he'd bitten into a lemon. Harry, presently disguised as Barny, looked pleased to see Viktor despite not being able to voice as much. George was obviously entertained, Angelina was starstruck, and Fred… Hermione drew up short when she glanced up at him beside her.
Where she'd expected to find distaste, or at the very least tension, Fred looked utterly at ease, save for perhaps a bit of lingering animosity toward his Aunt Muriel.
"Great to see you, mate," he greeted gamely, reaching a hand around Hermione to grasp Viktor's in a firm shake.
Viktor's eyes quickly scanned the assemblage of redheads and then he nodded, turning his attention to Fred.
"You as vell. You are the inventor, no?"
"One of two," Fred replied, gesturing to his counterpart and partaking in a bit of small talk about the business and the international quidditch league.
While this transpired Hermione glanced between them, Fred and Viktor. Between the sweet, shockingly awkward quidditch prodigy who'd claimed her heart for a few brief months, and the brilliant, affectionate man at her side, who'd claimed everything down to her very soul after that.
It was a bizarre collision of worlds.
"We should probably sit down, or we're going to get run over," George cut in a moment later, interrupting her thoughts as well as the conversation. Everyone began to quickly find their seats as the quartet in the corner of the tent transitioned to a softer, slower tune.
"It was lovely seeing all of you," Viktor said in parting, nodding to Hermione in particular and watching with an amused expression as Fred's thumb traced lightly along her bare shoulder; it wasn't possessive, merely idle habit, but the message was received all the same. His lips quirked up in a smile as his near-black eyes met her own, and in them was the same thing she knew reflected back toward him; a gentle fondness and well wishes.
When he was gone and they'd settled into their seats, Hermione and Angie in the middle with the twins bracketing them, she leaned over to Fred.
"I'm impressed," she said under her breath. "I was prepared to referee."
Fred scoffed and leaned in, whispering back, "I don't need to pound on my chest and embarrass us both to prove something. Viktor treated you well from what you've said, I don't have any reason to dislike the bloke."
"Still, it would be understandable if you were uncomfortable."
"Hermione, you're literally sitting next to one of my exes as we speak."
Her head spun toward Angie, who gave her a smile and a slightly confused look, and pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. It was easy to forget that she and Fred had dated, however briefly. But he was right – for a whole host of reasons, she certainly wasn't threated by that history. Hell, Angie was one of her best friends.
"Alright, fair point."
"Besides," Fred said, leaning in and lowering his voice further, speaking so softly that it was barely audible, "I'm the one you're going home with tonight, not Krum. So the only thing making me uneasy is the amount of time between now and when I get to take this dress off of you with my teeth."
"Luna is in rare form," Fred chuckled as he led Hermione across the dance floor and past their blonde friend, who appeared to be dancing with… well, nobody. She was obviously having a grand time of it, though.
"She most certainly is," Hermione replied, still clearly a little distracted following their conversation about the symbol Luna's father was wearing on a chain over his chest. The mark of Gellert Grindlewald, according to Krum.
"You want to go consult your books, don't you?" Fred teased.
"What? No!" Hermione exclaimed, her cheeks flushing and betraying her. "I was just trying to remember where I'd seen it before, is all."
"I'll tell you what," he hedged, deftly spinning her away from him and then back. "Two more songs and we can sneak away to consult the books and…."
"And?"
"Oh yes, most certainly and."
She giggled and he couldn't help but smile at the sound. They danced in silence for a little while longer, simply enjoying the evening and the ambience, watching Bill and Fleur hold court near the head table as a never-ending procession of guests paraded by and wished them well.
"So, what do you think?" He asked, ducking his head to speak just below her ear. "Want to put on one of these someday?"
Hermione laughed again and then exhaled a heavy breath, glancing around at the milling masses. "Maybe something just a bit smaller? We can cut the cousins that are more than once removed, right?"
An image flashed in his head and an unexpected swell of emotion rocked him at the thought of her in an ivory gown, him standing where Bill had stood that afternoon. He swallowed and cleared his throat.
"We can probably manage that. Shame my long-lost cousin Barny won't make the list, though."
They both glanced at Harry in the corner, who was in the midst of a conversation with Elphias Doge and his wretched Aunt Muriel, of all people.
A warm breeze blew through the tent, the smell of jasmine and orange blossoms hanging in the air like a heady fog. Fred looked down at Hermione, the curls that had only grown wilder since they'd begun dancing, the rosy flush to her cheeks, and thought perhaps they could skip those last two songs.
He was about to voice as much when, all at once, a massive ball of silver light crashed through the canopy directly over them. Fred tugged Hermione hard forward and out of the way, caging her against his chest as their eyes met in alarm and the music came to screeching halt.
The light quickly took form and a silver lynx began to speak, the deep baritone of Kingsley Shacklebolt ringing through the tent and effectively freezing everyone in place.
"The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
For a split second, the barest fraction of a moment, everything went fuzzy and slow, like blinking awake from a dream. Or, more accurately, from a nightmare. And then all at once it pulled into sharp focus as the tent devolved into turmoil.
Hermione and Fred had their wands out before the Patronus had even fully disappeared. Somebody out of sight screamed, but panic didn't truly hit him until the first person near them disapparated with a crack and a heavy pit sank in his stomach. If they could disapparate that meant the wards around the burrow were down.
"I have to get to Harry!" Hermione shouted frantically over the din, gripping his arm tightly to keep from toppling as someone knocked into her from behind. They'd lost sight of both Harry and Ron in the crowd, but that problem was quickly overshadowed when a figure in a dark cloak and silver mask popped into existence about ten feet away.
"Protego!" Hermione screamed, shielding them at the same time that Fred sent a silent blasting curse into the man's chest, throwing him backward and out of the tent to sprawl across the grass.
He briefly wondered if he'd killed him.
He immediately decided that he didn't care.
They saw Lupin and Tonks take a similar stance at the other end of the dance floor, his mother and father dragging a struggling Ginny behind the cake table as more and more cloaked figures apparated in.
"You need to get out of here!" Fred yelled at Hermione, despite every fiber of his being screaming in defiance of that notion. Her hand was clammy and shaking in his, both of them operating on pure adrenaline.
"I can't yet, I need to find –"
"We're here!" Ron and Harry burst through the fray with Angelina and George on their heels, the former maintaining a shield charm over them as they crowded and backed into a corner.
Hermione looked at the boys and then back to Fred, wide-eyed panic and unabridged anguish shimmering in her eyes as she came to the same realisation that he already had; they were not going to have one more night.
The tear that streaked down her cheek may as well have been a knife in his chest.
But then as he looked at her, the chaos around them faded again and a devastating solemnity washed over him.
"They need to go!" George shouted, but it was a slow, distant whisper as Fred took Hermione's face in his hands, cupping her jaw as his thumbs whisked the tears from her cheeks and he placed a crushing, too-brief kiss to her lips.
"You come back to me," he bade her fiercely, as if saying it, speaking it aloud, might somehow make it so. Their foreheads came to rest against one another in that ghost of a moment, that breath before goodbye.
She didn't have time to respond because as soon as he said it he carefully but firmly shoved her backward into Ron and Harry, knowing that if he held on even a second longer that he wouldn't be able to let her go.
A fractured sob slipped from her as she gripped the boys' arms and turned on the spot, then he blinked, and she was gone.
Fred couldn't fathom what his face must have looked like as George gripped his shoulder, anchored him, but it didn't matter. In rapid succession, Angelina's shield behind them was struck – once, twice, three times, and then it fell. Neither Fred nor George moved fast enough to conjure a new one before a red stunner flew toward them and hit her directly in the chest.
"Angie!" George roared, catching her as she slumped to the ground in a heap of pale purple tulle. Fred looked toward where it had come from, another unknown cloaked figure and silver mask, when a booming, amplified voice rang from the centre of the dance floor.
"LOWER YOUR WANDS IMMEDIATELY, WE ARE ACTING ON OFFICIAL MINISTRY BUSINESS."
What few guests remained stilled and scattered as Corban Yaxley stepped forward, unmasked and wand still raised to his own throat. He looked around at them, lip curling in a sneer.
"Doesn't look very bloody official to me," Oliver spat with Charlie at his side, neither making any move to do as instructed.
Yaxley paused and cocked his head, like a predator scenting blood. Then he jerked his chin and two Death Eaters – because that's precisely what they were – stepped from the shadows and grabbed Charlie by the shoulders, dragging him forward and forcing him to his knees in the middle of the floor as several onlookers screamed in protest.
"Let him go!" Oliver bellowed, wildly lunging and then rocking to a halt when one of the men pressed a wand hard against Charlie's neck, forcing his head to the side. His brother's eyes blazed, and his chin lifted in stalwart defiance.
Fred's pulse racketed up, a sticky sweat breaking across his neck as he shoved his wand into his pocket and listened to his mother begin to cry, nonsensical begging intermixed with her sobs. George did not make any move to revive Angie, merely knelt at Fred's side with her unconscious form cradled in his lap. By all accounts he was doing her a kindness.
"I believe I told you to stand down," Yaxley said again, his voice like ice as he looked at Oliver's ruddy face with a flat expression.
Ollie wavered for just a second longer, his horrified, desperate eyes never leaving Charlie's back, before finally doing as he'd been told. The clatter of his wand hitting the dance-floor was deafening.
Yaxley nodded again and the man holding the wand to Charlie's throat lowered it only to step forward a second later and throw a right hook, his fist making a sickening crunch as it connected with Charlie's nose and a spray of crimson blood flew in an arch across the floor. There were more sounds of protest, but the other Death Eaters merely laughed as he sagged forward with a pained grunt.
"'Zat is enough!" Fleur snarled, breaking from the crowd. She was wrath incarnate, her once pristine gown dirty and singed at the hem, a shallow gash dripping blood above her brow. Fred could have sworn he saw fire dance at her fingertips as Bill moved beside her like a moon in orbit, ready and willing to throw himself in her path at the first sign of danger. "You are with the ministry? Fine. What business do you 'ave 'ere?"
Yaxley looked her over slowly with a lewd, lecherous gaze that made Fred want to gouge his eyes out, before he reached into his cloak and extracted a sealed roll of parchment, placing it in her outstretched hand.
Fleur tore it open and began to read, her eyes widening incrementally before she schooled her expression.
"We've received an anonymous tip that several persons of interest are in attendance of this… event." Yaxley strolled, circling the perimeter of the tent and passing by the faces of Fred's friends and family one by one. Fred was a little surprised to see that Krum had stayed, wand stowed but expression absolutely murderous as he stood beside Fleur's father, in front of Gabrielle and Apolline. "If you've any knowledge as to the whereabouts of these individuals, it would be in your best interest to share that information."
"Who is it?" Fred heard himself ask, his voice hollow. "Who are you trying to find?"
Yaxley just grinned at him as Fleur looked up, her already fair complexion paling further when she saw him standing there in the corner, Angelina unconscious and Hermione nowhere in sight. It was Bill who answered his question, though.
He took the parchment gently from his wife's trembling hands and read aloud, "The individuals named below are wanted immediately for questioning by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger."