Chapter 29

September 25th 1999

Explanations

After yet another night of not sleeping, Fred dragged himself from his bedroom and into the bathroom that was attached to it and glared at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess from all of his tossing and turning, his eyes were bloodshot from tiredness and he had dark circles around his eyes that would rival a Raccoon. He knew that Hermione was okay, at least for now, from the quick update Ginny had given him and George once she had returned from Hermione's flat the night before. His twin had stayed with him while they waited, trying to distract him with product ideas and attempts at humour, but Fred had been entirely distracted and simply stared into space the whole time. His anger at himself had only built when his sister had told them that she had found Hermione crying on the floor and he desperately wished he could have been the one to go to her rescue, but she had blocked him and he understood that meant she didn't want to see him. He had even tried a half-asleep apparition into her apartment at 2am, but it hadn't worked and he supposed he should be glad of it. She didn't need him showing up splinched in the middle of the night. He sighed as he looked at his own reflection, reaching up and trying to smooth his hair but deeming it pointless when every attempt at taming it was met with his rebellious strands bouncing back all the more messily. It was a lost cause and he snorted bitterly, rolling his eyes as he pushed away from the sink and stumbled into his living room only to come to a halt once again as he glared around the photo wall. Making a snap decision, he angrily picked his wand off of the stand that held it at night and used it to transfigure a sheet of parchment into a cardboard box which he placed on the sofa before moving closer to the wall.

Looking around, he could see multiple copies of each member of his family looking back at him. There were photos of his parents from before he was even born, photos of him and George as they grew up, many of his siblings at different ages. Each snapshot in time was a moment that would never be forgotten, but perhaps some of them needed to be forgotten. His first target was the photo that had caused Hermione's setback and he plucked it from the wall, holding it between his hands as his little brother turned to glare at the woman Fred now loved. He wondered what she had said or done to deserve that look in Ron's eyes; maybe she had made a smart remark that Fred would feel proud about, maybe she'd told him an uncomfortable truth or maybe she'd simply not said what Ron had wanted her to at the time. Whatever she had done, he felt angry with the photo rendition of his brother for that look, whatever he might have believed warranted it. Without a second thought, he put the photo into the box and turned back to the wall. He looked at each photo with careful consideration, trying to differentiate between what was important to him and what was important in the history of their family. He quickly decided that photos of him and George were definitely worthy of being on the wall, but photos such as the one of Charlie holding a baby Ginny were better placed in a photo-album of some sort that could be kept at the Burrow. Deciding that an album was a project for another time, he focused on separating the photos and boxing up what he no longer felt he needed to keep around him.

The wall had been Percy's idea, back when Fred had sought the solace of his own space away from the constant noise and questions at the Burrow. He had taken the flat above the shop citing that it would be good for security, but secretly just needing his own space and not to be asked if he was okay every five minutes, and had absently mentioned to Percy that he missed the company of home but not the noise. Percy had returned days later having gathered up as many photos as he could before helping Fred to place them on his wall. Fred had to admit, it definitely assuaged the loneliness he felt to be able to see his family smiling down at him, but now his flat didn't feel so lonely, not since Hermione had started to come around, so his need for the company of photos had passed and now they seemed to crowd him.

As he worked through the photos and the box began to fill up, he found himself drawn to a particular photo and smiled as he looked up at it. The picture had been taken at the Yule Ball, focused on himself and Angelina, but that wasn't what drew his eye. Behind Angelina, he could see a nervous girl coming down the stairs in her periwinkle blue dress, hair styled perfectly and makeup expertly applied. He pulled his wand, aiming it at the photo and magically zoomed in on the girl, smiling as she smiled anxiously back at him. Hermione looked radiant and even back then, he hadn't been able to ignore the sudden change in her and he certainly hadn't been alone in his shock. Every boy in the room had stared at her at least once, even those who would adamantly deny it if you asked them. He'd even caught Malfoy eyeing her as she had danced with Krum. Deciding that this was definitely a photo worthy of his wall, he left it zoomed to her and stepped back. Where there had previously been maybe hundreds of photos that littered the wall, there now remained perhaps 40. Photos that held special importance to him, photos that made him smile and photos of Ron that showed him smiling happily. Making a mental note to take the box with him to Sunday dinner the next day, he closed it and moved it into the corner before going into his kitchen to make some breakfast. He was just chopping up some sausage in order to add it to his omelette when he heard the floo roar and in his haste to check who had visited, desperately hoping for it to be Hermione, his hand slipped on the knife and the blade sliced through the skin on the side of his hand.

"Bloody hell." he hissed, picking up a tea towel and holding it to his hand as he stumbled out of the kitchen, very much relieved and happy to see the one person he desperately wanted to see.

"Fred…" she said quietly before she obviously caught sight of the blood stained towel and rushed forwards, grabbing his hand and pulling it towards her, "what did you do?!"

"Sausage," was all he could get out, overwhelmed by her sudden proximity and the intoxicating scent of her hair, obviously freshly washed. She frowned, looking up at him in confusion and he shook his head, clearing his throat, "I was cutting sausage."

"Your hand isn't a sausage, Fred." she retorted quietly, grinning nervously up at him before turning her attention back to his hand.

"I don't know," he smirked, letting her pull the towel away slightly and grunting when he saw the blood flow from the cut, "look at those fingers, don't they look like sausages to you?"

"No, Fred," she chuckled, shaking her head as she dragged him over to the sofa and pulled him down next to her, dragging his hand onto her lap and pulling her wand from her sleeve, "they look like fingers. Now, this might hurt a bit…"

Fred bit his tongue as she muttered an incantation to stitch his wound back together, feeling the sting of her somehow included antiseptic charm, but it wasn't the pain that had him biting his tongue. He wanted to ask if she was okay, whether she wanted to talk or if she knew how worried he'd been, how sorry he was. He wanted to reach out and drag her against him, to let her know that he was there and that she didn't need to apologise for her actions. He wanted to do a lot of things, but he simply sat and watched her face contort in concentration as she focused on healing his hand. While she was otherwise occupied, he allowed himself to soak in the sight of her. Her hair was smooth, clean and looked like it would be soft if he could run his fingers through it. Her outfit was simple, a black v-neck jumper that made him have to force himself to divert his eyes from her cleavage and a pair of jeans that hugged her perfectly. She was stunning in every way and he wanted to tell her that, too, but he didn't. He remained silent until she sighed, putting her wand on the coffee table but keeping his now healed hand in her lap as she looked up at him with anxious eyes.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," she whispered, her hand still holding his and he turned it over to lock it around hers, "I shouldn't have run away like that."

"It's okay, I understand," he reassured, smiling softly at her as he grazed his thumb over hers, "we all want to run away sometimes."

"Maybe," she conceded, frowning as she nodded, "but most people would at least try to explain themselves."

"Well, you're not most people," he murmured, thinking aloud and she raised her eyebrow in question. He gulped down what he truly wanted to say before continuing, "you're still recovering, it's to be expected that you'll have-"

"Moments." they said in unison and he chuckled, frowning at her as she did too.

"Ginny," she offered and he nodded in understanding, "she told me you used to have them too."

"Of course I did, we all did, even Ginny," he told her and she gasped, surprised by the information, "we looked after each other after everything, helped each other through them. You've been alone all this time and I… Well, you should know you're not alone any more."

"I know," she whispered, smiling up at him and he leaned forwards, gently brushing her hair behind her ear. He was glad when she leaned into his hand, albeit shyly and with a fresh hint of red in her cheeks, "can I ask you something, Fred?"

"Of course, anything." he told her, dropping his hand down into her lap to join his other as it held hers, now holding her small hand between his two much bigger ones.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked shyly and he opened his mouth to reply instantly, but snapped it shut with a sigh.

Squeezing her hand in reassurance that he wasn't hesitating in a way that should be perceived negatively, he smiled gratefully when she nodded to let him know she understood. Everything he wanted to say bubbled near the surface, but he swallowed it down in an attempt to measure his words and not let her know his true feelings for her. Even if he had wanted her to know, this set back meant that she wasn't in a place to welcome any advances on his part and he didn't want to send her running away again. She was delicate and vulnerable right now, which meant that he needed to tread lightly and not put her into any situations that might make her feel uncomfortable. He couldn't tell her that he was helping her because he had come to be unable to imagine a life without her, because he had fallen in love with her and he desperately needed her as much as he thought she needed him. He couldn't tell her the whole truth, so he carefully composed his answer to give as much as he felt that he could without scaring her away.

"I'm helping you because I care about you, Hermione," he started and she nodded, resting her elbow against the back of the sofa and leaning her temple against her fisted hand as she listened, "I enjoy our Friday evenings and I like having you around, it brightens up the place," he smirked and she snorted, rolling her eyes slightly, "not to mention that you know I've been where you were, except I had my family around me and you didn't have anyone to support you."

"I made that decision." she said quietly, shame in her voice and he nodded as he squeezed her hands in his.

"Because you felt like you had no other choice," he reassured his understanding, to which she nodded again and he felt her thumb begin to stroke against his freshly healed cut, "I never want you to feel like you're alone again, you deserve so much better than that. So I'm here for you, as long as you need or want me to be. Because I… Care about you."

"You're not helping me because you feel obligated?" she asked shyly and he snorted, shaking his head as he threw caution to the wind and pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"The last thing I feel towards you, Hermione Granger, is obligation." he chuckled, holding her head to his shoulder and rubbing hers with his other hand.

"And you don't mind me being here?" she asked quietly against his chest and he sighed, dropping his head and pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his cheek in the same spot.

"I love having you here." he reassured, emphasising the word he wished he could say in a different context and she seemed to take what he said at face value, allowing him to hold her.

Oh how he wished he could tell this insecure and self-doubting witch how much he had come to adore her, how he wished she could be in a place where she might let him love her as much as he desperately wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to pick up all of her pieces and mend her back together, patiently help her overcome every issue she faced and build her up to be better than she had ever been. There was nothing he wouldn't do to be loved by her, but he knew that she was fragile and delicate, a flower that needed to be handled carefully and with hands much softer than his own. He had resolved himself to simply help her as much as he could, to be by her side if she needed him and deal with his own internal conflict out of her sight. He simply held her, feeling her slight quiver as her arm rested around his waist and only releasing her when she moved to sit up of her own accord. She smiled at him, her cheeks pink, before her gaze drifted over his shoulder and she frowned.

"You took some down?" she asked and he nodded, gesturing to the box in the corner as he stood up and she did the same, trailing after him into the kitchen where he resumed making breakfast, "why?"

"I didn't need them any more," he offered and she raised her eyebrow in question while he shrugged, "I'm going to put them into a photo album for Mum or something."

"That's a nice idea." she smiled, before stepping up to the counter and picking up some eggs, cracking them into the frying pan as he continued cutting up his sausages.