Epilogue, His Last Wish (part three)

~o0o~

Hermione's apartment was much like he'd expected it to be. It wasn't extravagant, rather it was purely practical with a few accents here and there that was clearly put there by someone else trying to make her home look less like an office and more like . . well, a home.

The walls were mostly covered in books and scrolls and someone (probably Ginny) had helped her squeeze in some photos of her and her friends. One in particular caught Fred's interest, a muggle photo where Hermione was smiling at the camera with her parents. Her skin was tanned from the Australian sun and she was wearing a short muggle dress. And she looked happy.

Fred didn't know that Hermione. He only knew a Hermione that cried when he talked to her. The Hermione that wouldn't look at him when he entered a room. Perhaps, he should do the right thing and just let this all go. Maybe that was the lesson here: that he shouldn't die again, clinging on to some impossible dream and rather . . . simply let go. Move on.

He was almost preparing himself to tell Hermione all of this, when she gave a shout of victory from her bedroom.

"I found it! I knew it was somewhere under the old school books . . ." She walked back into the living room to join him.

Fred's eyes widened when he saw what she was hovering in the air in front of her. "Hermione . . .?"

Hermione glanced up. "What?"

"I thought you said my memories were all gone."

She nodded, a bit forlorn. "They are. I needed them to bring you back."

His brows knit together in confusion, staring once more at the Pensive. "Then why . . .?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Because you're not watching your own memories. You'll be watching mine."

Fred felt more confused than ever.

She could tell he still wasn't sure what she was saying so she went ahead and closed her eyes, extracting the memories from her mind. "You think I don't care about you, Fred. And I want to show you why that's the one thing you could say to hurt me the most."

"Hermione, I'm sorry for saying that—"

"I know. I just need to do this. I should have done this as soon as you came back. I wanted to. But . . ." She smiled sadly and dipped the contents of her mind to the Pensive, which glowed at the touch of her wand. She raised her gaze to him.

Fred looked at her expectant face, knowing that she was serious in her request. This meant a lot to her. So even though Fred feared what he might find in there (he didn't really know why) he took a step forward.

"You promise this isn't some elaborate prank and I'm not about to listen to a lecture by Percy on the importance of cauldron thickness?"

She gave a soft chuckle and shook her head. "Promise."

"Well then, cheers."

As soon as his face had hit the surface of the Pensive water, Fred regretted putting it in there.

He fell and fell forever. When he finally slowed down, the dark mist formed ever so slowly around him and the was no way he would have done this if not for her. He loved a broom and falling through the air with one in hand was his way of life, but this was something else. There was no solid ground here, only shapes and thoughts.

Hermione's thoughts . . .

Even with her consent, this felt strange— invasive. And she had done the same for him, no doubt feeling a sense of obligation after he bloody well left a note telling her to watch it.

Not for the first time, Fred fought the urge to regret his decision to make his memories. If not for them, he wouldn't even have been here. But what had the cost been for all of it?

He supposed he was about to find out . . .

The scene was settling into place, and Fred realised that the place was the last place he'd expected to find: The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

Fred had never really spent any time in Dumbledore's office growing up. He supposed he'd never been important enough to merit a visit on his own, or even with George. However, where he definitely had spent his time was Professor McGonagall's office, more often than not receiving a stern lecture on the importance of good behaviour. And Fred could see it now, where her things were carefully placed around the room, making it hers.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Instead, he watched Hermione— clad in her school robes— stand in front of a portrait of Dumbledore, crying. To say that Fred was confused was an understatement.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore spoke, "Miss Granger."

Hermione looked up, looking small and her brown eyes pleading. "You're telling me there's a way?"

"I said it could be possible."

"That's the same thing!"

Dumbledore remained silent, watching her carefully over his half-moon spectacles.

Hermione shook her head. "You told me about your plan of using Tom Riddle's memories to go back in time and stop him before he made his horcruxes. But clearly you didn't do that, you were unsuccessful."

He sighed. "I was unsuccessful because I lacked the proper connection to them. The components were wrong. Mr. Weasley leaving you his own personal memories might have a different effect on the potion. I am willing to help guide you in making it."

It appeared to have been too much for her, she fell to her knees, gazing at the portrait like he had just told her he could bring the dead back to life. Which, to be fair, is what he'd basically told her.

"Honestly," said the portrait on Dumbledore's left. Severus Snape rolled his eyes, his arms crossed and his expression sour. "You don't even know if it'll work."

"Now, now, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Who are we to begrudge Miss Granger this? You, more than most, knows what it's like to be parted from a loved one. To lose hope is a terrible thing."

And from the looks of it, Hermione did have hope. She was crying again, but it wasn't the same as the crying Fred had witnessed at Malfoy Manor. She was crying because she was relieved, she was hopeful and— dare he say— happy.

The surroundings changed and Fred was thrown into yet another part of Hogwarts he hadn't expected. This was a hill, overlooking the lake, a place where there had previously been nothing of importance. Now, there was a statue he didn't recognise but Fred knew what it was before reading the sign engraved on it.

'To all those who fell on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. The sacrifice you made will forever be remembered. You are missed, but never gone.'

Hermione was sitting in front of it on the grass. The sun rising over the lake shone a beautiful yellow light over her and Fred had to take a second to take her in. This sight was unfamiliar to him. Just this quiet silhouette of her and the statue. He wondered what she was thinking, he always did, but now more than ever. When she looked at this statue what did she think of? Who did she think of?

Then, she answered for him.

"Fred," she whispered. Her voice was sweet. It was hard to explain, but the way it sounded to him was the way sugar quills tasted. "Hello."

He waited, wondering if he breathed too loud he wouldn't hear what she would say next.

She smiled. "I know this isn't your actual grave, but since your mother isn't very fond of me at the moment I thought this might be better. And this is the place where you last . . . well, where we last saw each other."

The wind blew and leaves on a nearby tree rustled. Hermione's locks slightly danced in the air and again, Fred couldn't understand what he was seeing. This was nothing like the Hermione he'd seen outside of the Pensive. She also wasn't like he remembered her being from his own time. So what had happened in between? What had made her change?

She continued, "I know you said to move on. I realise that it might be the healthiest choice here." She grimaced a bit at the word 'healthiest'. "But if there's a chance, even the slightest of possibilities that you could come back to us, to me, then I have to take it. I hope you understand."

The cold stone of the phoenix statue said nothing.

"You really had to make the last vial disappear, didn't you?" Hermione showed signs of sadness for the first time. But she shook it off, sighing. "Just as well, that could have proved to be a problem. I'd be with vial Fred instead of here with you."

She smiled.

The scene changed.

Next was a memory that transported Fred to what appeared to be a renovated Grimmauld Place. Nothing looked the same, what with the completely different tapestries and lack of severed house-elf heads on the walls. It seemed a bright place compared to last time Fred had been there. More like a home.

"I can't wait to move."

Fred turned to the fireplace, his sister having just spoken and materialised, a glass of wine in her hand and lounging on the sofa. Her head was resting on Harry's shoulder and they looked tired but content. A ring glittering on her left hand. Opposite them sat Hermione in an armchair. She also looked tired but amused at Ginny's statement.

"Hard to imagine why," she said.

Ginny chuckled.

"I dunno," said Harry, glancing at the packed boxes in the corner. "It's where Sirius lived and . . . we have this place to thank for having a place to go to during the war. But . . ."

"It's not a home," said Ginny.

"No," agreed Harry. "It isn't."

Hermione nodded. "Potter Manor looked incredible, by the way. With that garden and the lake next to it? You'll have to invite me over."

"Of course we will!" said Ginny. "You'll be the first on the list. And are you sure you don't want Grimmauld? Offer still stands."

Hermione shook her head. "It's even less of a home to me."

"I wish I'd thought to look for the other estates earlier," confessed Harry. "I wouldn't have had to spend so much time here to begin with. I honestly thought all I had was this!"

"It's not your fault," said Ginny quickly. "I had no idea that your family was that rich. I mean, I knew, but I didn't know. It's lucky we got someone we know working at the Ministry." She winked at Hermione.

Hermione blushed. "It just occurred to me the more I worked on Malfoy's case that a Pureblooded family like Harry's must have equally as much holdings, if not more, in its possession. I never knew much about that world and its not exactly something you can study."

"And my family is dirt poor so how would any of us know?" Ginny swept the last of her wine.

"Yes . . ." said Hermione awkwardly.

Fred didn't like how Ginny just depicted their family, but admittedly she wasn't wrong. Compared to the Potter's and the Malfoy's they were . . . less fortunate. And wasn't that why both Fred and George had strived to work hard and transform their talents into something that could be sold? To provide a more financially secure and stable life for themselves than the one his parents had chosen? He was thankful for everything they'd done for him growing up, and he was sure Ginny was too, but after some wine it wasn't hard to imagine things better left unsaid would come to the surface.

Ginny pouted. "All out. I'm going to the kitchen to get some more."

As she left, Harry turned to Hermione. "Speaking of Malfoy, how's it going?"

Hermione sighed. "It's a bit of a headache if I'm to be honest. After all that has happened you would think people would be reluctant to remain so prejudiced. But fear is fear and people have it. But we are making strides, little by little."

Harry listened attentively. "And you like it? Your job, I mean."

"It's difficult, but I do feel like I am making a difference." Hermione smiled. "Why do you ask?"

Harry began to fidget. "Well . . ."

Hermione waited.

"You know I still have lunches with Profess—I mean, Minerva, don't you?" Harry looked visibly uncomfortable calling his old professor by her first name and Fred could understand why. But he was curious to hear what Harry would say next. He had heard about these lunches, how McGonagall had wanted to feel more connected to Harry, having apparently realised her mistake in not sharing more stories with Harry about his parents. Harry continued, "Well, she told me something which got me curious I suppose."

"What did she say?" Hermione asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"She told me that you've been to see Dumbledore. His portrait. Is that true, Hermione? Why are you talking to him?"

"I wasn't aware that it was something I had to run by you, Harry," Hermione said defensively.

"You know that's not what I meant."

Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes and Fred could tell she felt ashamed for keeping a secret from her friend. "He's been . . . helping me. I am working on something, something that is taking more effort than anything I have previously encountered. And that could prove very important. That's all."

Harry looked unconvinced and he told her as much. "Me and Ginny are worried about you."

Hermione smiled tiredly. "Don't be. I'm fine."

"You don't have to do everything alone, Hermione," said Harry. "I thought I did, for the longest time. Don't make that mistake too."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," said Hermione, effectively ending the conversation. "Sorry."

Harry said nothing but it was obvious he wanted to. Meanwhile, Hermione was looking like she couldn't wait to leave.

A blink of Fred's eyes and everything was already rearranging.

"So, I suppose you're here to collect your money."

Fred turned and found himself in the joke shop, but it looked different. After a moment of observing it was clear to him that this must be after Ron had joined George in the shop. Finding a balance with Ron had taken a while according to George and Fred surmised that this was in the beginning of their partnership. What was most surprising however wasn't the interior in shocking Chuddley Cannon orange, it was that Hermione and George were talking.

Stepping aside from some running children, Hermione awkwardly tried to explain to George that she wasn't there to collect any sort of money. But considering the fact that she was wearing a set of her professional robes, it was easy to see why one might get that impression.

Hermione's mouth set in a stubborn line. "I was in the area and since Ron isn't here, I should probably leave."

"That might be best," said George, his eyes far too hostile for Fred's liking. "But don't think I will allow you to get away from your fair share when it comes to the product. I won't be accused of taking credit."

Fred blinked. What product?

Hermione sighed. "George, I owled you and told you of the doppelgangers. I owled you and told you to go ahead and use it however you liked. It might have been my idea but you have free use of it, I promise."

"It's a good idea," admitted George. "Having a stand-in for yourself, one that spends lessons sleeping, making the teacher think you're just unattentive as you escape. As a former twin, it's almost strange it didn't occur to me first. . ."

The were interrupted as yet another group of children made their way through the shelves and forced Hermione and George deeper into the store.

Hermione crossed her arms. "I don't know what you want me to say. It seems there's nothing I can do that doesn't make you upset. Either you tell me what's wrong or . . . we skip talking altogether."

George frowned. "I don't hate you, Hermione. I know you think so, but I don't. It's just that in some ways you remind me of Fred. More than anyone else."

Hermione gaped and her cheeks grew red. "I—"

"And I don't expect you to understand why, but that's why I can't stand to be around you for too long." George made to move already, and Fred couldn't help but feel mixed emotions about this situation. His twin had gone through something Fred wouldn't even want to understand, but this was Hermione. And George had always known what she meant to Fred, even when Fred himself didn't know. And to see George treat her in such a way was jarring. "Sorry."

Hermione nodded, obviously hurt but trying to hold it together. Fred wanted to throw a quaffle at his brother's head. "I suppose I'll see you Sunday at dinner then. Tell Ron and Angelina I said hello."

"Yeah."

Hermione left, leaving George and his accusing eyes, and as soon as he was out of sight Hermione let out a small sob.

Fred was very thankful when the memory moved along and he could be watching something else. That feeling was short lived when he realised that he now could barely see anything at all.

Wherever they were now, it was dark. It appeared to be a potions room of some sort; the walls covered with cabinets and filled to the brims with different jars of ingredients, the room windowless and there was no other source of light than the small candles flickering on a desk in the corner.

In the middle of the room, hovering over a cauldron, was Hermione. Stirring it slowly, counter-clockwise and the humidity of the steam enlarged her curls to form a truly impressive bush of hair. Her gaze was so intensely on the brew that Fred knew then what it must be.

His potion. The one to bring him back.

Hermione wiped a large bead of sweat off her forehead and kept stirring. And all too soon, the image changed.

They were at the Leaky Cauldron now, Hannah Abbott having just served Hermione and Ron a couple of meat pies, smiling as Ron showed both her and Hermione a couple of photos.

"I can't believe I'm an uncle, Hermione!" He passed a photo to her. "And he is so small, it's incredible."

Hannah giggled. "Didn't your oldest brother have a daughter?"

Ron's ears grew red. "Oh, right. But that's Victoire, innit? This is baby Fred."

"I think it's so sweet of George to name his baby after him." Hannah sighed. "I wonder if Neville would agree to name our future daughter after my mother."

"Already thinking about babies, Hannah?"

Hannah winked at him. "Don't think Susan isn't, Weasley."

Ron swallowed heavily. "Bloody hell."

Hannah laughed, but sobered as she spotted Hermione still staring at the photo. "You all right?"

Hermione snapped her head up from baby Fred. "Yes, of course. I was just . . . admiring the photo. It's very nice."

"He'll be a quidditch player, he will," said Ron proudly, puffing out his chest. You'd think he was talking about his own child. "My last visit he was already reaching a hand out for the toy broom a got him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You already got him a broom? He won't be able to use it for another year."

"Oh, bugger off," said Ron, jokingly.

Hermione tried to smile but her eyes drifted back to the photo in her hand. Fred assumed it must have been a horrible situation to be in. The thought of not being able to tell anyone what she's doing and now finding out George was out there naming babies after Fred . . . she must have been so full of doubt. Doubt about whether or not this was the right thing to do.

And though Fred already knew what was going to happen, he found himself hoping she'd stay on her path, because it would lead him back to home. To her . . .

The scenery changed and it was clear Hermione had decided in the end to stick to her original plan. Her potions room was as dark as ever but it wouldn't have mattered to her as she was fast asleep on her desk, the bubbles bubbling in the cauldron even without her attention.

And as quick as it had come the memory changed.

From his many visits to his father's work as a child, Fred would recognize a Ministry hall with his eyes closed. This time was no exception.

The hall was elegantly decorated, live music played much like at the Malfoy Manor and that combined with the trays of dragon tartare being passed around by servers told Fred that this was a highly anticipated occasion. And it proved just so when he saw where Hermione was.

She was standing in the middle of a small crowd, next to Draco and Astoria Malfoy, right in front of a photographer to the Daily Prophet. Her robes smart and business like, even with the occasion, reflecting her competence in proccurring the new Werewolf Protection Act. Her smile was wide, just as it was in the photo hanging in the Burrow. However, as soon as this photo was done, her smile dropped.

The photographer thanked them and the group dispersed, leaving Hermione with Astoria as her husband was engaged in shaking hands with several Ministry officials.

"You all right, Hermione?" asked Astoria.

Hermione sighed. "It's been a long week."

"More than that, I am sure! But you did it!" Astoria's smile was contagious and Hermione couldn't resist returning it. "I am so proud of you. And so incredibly grateful."

Hermione nodded, blushing at the praise. "We still have a way to go, but this is a step."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "All right, enough of this. I'm going to go celebrate with my husband and you better go celebrate with that cute Ministry worker that's been staring at you all evening."

Hermione's brows creased together and she slowly turned around. She turned quickly back. "Astoria! That's Ernest Macmillan!"

Astoria arched an eyebrow, looking far too much like her husband.

Hermione continued, "I can't just . . . and that's . . . that's Ernie!"

"I have yet to hear a sufficient enough excuse," said Astoria. "Unless, you have someone else in mind?"

Hermione blinked. "N-no."

Astoria dropped her teasing manner. "You do, though. I can tell."

Hermione grew visibly uncomfortable.

"Fine, you don't have to tell me," said Astoria. "As long as it's still not Weasley you're hung up on."

"It's not Ron, no," said Hermione. "He's still dating Susan Bones and they seem to really fancy each other."

"All right," said Astoria, sipping her wine, "Well, I still would suggest giving 'Ernie' a go, his family is quite wealthy."

Hermione was so surprised she burst into a laugh and Astoria looked very pleased with herself.

The sound of Hermione's laugh rang in his ears still when Fred took in the next memory.

It was the potions room again and unlike last time Hermione was awake, scribbling down something in a notebook of hers by the desk. As soon as she gasped, however, Fred knew something was different. She looked up from her notebook and watched the cauldron intently as it shifted colour from grey to blue. A very bright blue that reminded Fred of memories in a vial.

Hermione rose quickly and approached the cauldron, her hands moving to her mouth as she stared in disbelief. "Oh my god," she said, her voice barely audible. She then began to smile and tears shimmered in her eyes. But he knew they were happy ones this time.

What happened next confused Fred a bit, as it was a scene he was all too familiar with. It was the day Hermione woke up after she had saved him. Why would she show him something he'd already seen?

Just as he remembered, there he sat on the floor next to Ginny's old bed, with Hermione looking at him with her newly opened eyes.

Fred watched her watch him and it then it occurred to him just how long she'd been waiting for this, hoping for this moment. For her to see him next to her, alive. Where he had previously been occupied in taking the sight of her in, he had completely missed the fact that she was taking in the sight of him just as much— if not more.

"I'm sorry," she said, drying her tears with the hem of her sleeve. "I'm just exhausted and happy and . . . I can't believe it worked."

The Fred of the past smiled back at her softly and squeezed her hand. He knew that he's thinking about how holding her hand felt incredible and to be able to do it so freely almost made him almost dying worth it. Almost. Because then came the part where Hermione would begin to ignore him after, and Fred would wonder if he had been too forward.

But no, he decided as he watched on. Hermione was holding his hand back. She was crying because she was happy to see him. And though he'd known it somewhere deep down, Fred had to admit to himself now that she did care about him.

She was taking him in as much as he was taking in her. Except more. So much more. She looked like her sanity was clinging to the very image of him.

The memory changed but the room didn't. But it was Ginny by her side this time.

"How is he doing?" Hermione asked, propped up by pillows and slowly bringing a spoon of soup to her mouth. She still looked like she was in slight pain.

The corners of Ginny's mouth turned downward and she shrugged. "He's trying to not show it, but I think he's having a harder time than he's letting on."

"Oh," said Hermione. Ginny doesn't catch how this information brings a halt to Hermione's movements and how her expression changed from bad to worse.

"And Merlin, did I tell you? Mum was about faint when she realised Fred had accidentally stumbled upon his grave on his walk. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for them both . . . 'Mione?"

Hermione had stopped breathing. Or rather, appeared to have, since she was barely moving.

"Are you all right? Should I fetch Angelina?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hermione shook her head. "N-no. I'm fine." She lowered the spoon into the bowl, giving up on food for now. "I just . . . I can't help but sympathise. Go on."

Ginny looked skeptically at her friend, but nodded. "You should have seen how strange he looked when he met baby Fred and George has been anxious about being older than Fred now and— Hermione, please! Let me get Angelina for you!"

Hermione had gone from not breathing to struggling to now and gave Ginny permission to go get Angelina downstairs. While she was gone, Fred could see the wheels turn in that brilliant mind of hers: Had she made a mistake in bringing him back?

The music is loud and it takes Fred by surprise. He hadn't expected a recap of the wedding.

But it wasn't their dance nor the conversation that followed after that Fred saw: it was Hermione standing in the corner of the room, alone.

She was as dazzling as he remembered, but the look on her face was not one he'd seen before. At least not directed at himself. Fred had seen Hermione be plenty jealous before— jealous of Harry and Ron's close friendship, jealous of someone else's high grades, and even jealous of Ron's staring at Fleur and not Hermione herself. But this time, Hermione wasn't watching Ron. She was watching him. Fred. As he was dancing with Katie.

The two of them twirled happily as old friends did. But Hermione's frowned expression told a different tale, one where she was watching Fred and a potential beau. And she appeared to not like it.

There was a particularly loud laughter that erupted from Fred's lips, one he remembered coming from hearing Katie make a rather funny remark about one of the other wedding guests, that caught Hermione's attention. Her frown disappeared and was replaced by wide eyes that looked like they had just realised something.

She gave small sniff and exited the tent, disappearing behind one of the drapes. No doubt she'd gone to cry.

Fred winced. He seemed to make her cry a lot.

Before he had time to think on what this might mean, he was transported to yet another scene.

This time Fred was back in the Headmaster's office, once again with no McGonagall in sight. Hermione was seated in front of Dumbledore's portrait, a cup of tea in her hands. She was in her bridesmaid robes and from the windows the Hogwarts grounds were barely visible in the dark, despite the snow. Fred concluded that this must have been directly after Harry and Ginny's wedding.

After their talk . . .

Dumbledore sighed, breaking the silence. "I think that it might be time for our monthly visits to finally end, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked up, a mix of emotions fleeting across her face. She didn't seem to know whether to be relieved or worried.

Professor Dumbledore peered over his glasses at her. "Don't misunderstand me, they have been a most welcome presence, however I worry that it might be best for us to put this all behind us. Start a new chapter."

"But we don't know for certain yet that he is going to be okay!" Hermione protested. "It hasn't been that long— "

"It's been long enough."

"But . . ." Hermione's words drifted off and she never finished her sentence.

"I am pleased to hear about Harry and Miss Weasley's wedding," said Dumbledore. "From what you've told me it appears they are to be quite happy. They deserve it, after all they've been through."

His gaze landed once more poignantly at Hermione and his meaning was not easily missed; that she and Fred deserved happiness as well. Hermione blushed.

It was silent again.

"Why couldn't I just have saved him and dropped him off at the day after the Battle?" Hermione asked Dumbledore suddenly. Her voice was pleading, like she thought everything would have been easier had it been so. That fact made Fred incredibly sad for some reason.

Dumbledore smiled gently as if not wanting to hurt her. "Would you have thought of saving him had he not been dead, Miss Granger? Everything that has happened these past three years needed to happen in order for him to live. I should have expected you, if anyone, to understand."

Hermione bit her lip, conflicted. "I just don't want him to hate me."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he didn't return to a world he knows. Everything is different now and he has this look sometimes, as if he's feeling lost." Hermione clutched her teacup harder. "Nothing's the way he remembered."

"And why should that be a terrible thing? From what I recall, Mr Weasley was always an adventurer at heart. And what is this but an adventure?"

Hermione laughed softly. "'Death is but the next great adventure.' Harry told me once that you'd said that."

"And then imagine how great the adventure of living is for him," said Dumbledore, trying to sound encouraging. "No, Miss Granger I do not think he will hate you. I think he will come to love you. Immensely."

Hermione frowned. "That worries me more."

"How so?"

"I don't want him to confuse gratitude with love— I told him as much tonight. Nor do I want him to think that he has some sort of obligation towards his rescuer, not when he could be happy with someone else—"

"Oh, do shut up, Miss Granger!" Snape held his hands to his ears and Hermione scowled at his portrait.

Dumbledore glanced at his former colleague and then looked to Hermione. "While I under normal circumstances would scold Severus for such talk, I am inclined to agree with him at this particular moment."

"Sir!"

Dumbledore smiled. "Think about our conversation today, Miss Granger. Don't forget to let yourself have some happiness too."

Hermione looked like she wanted to protest some more, but Dumbledore was fast asleep. She set aside her teacup and sighed.

Fred emerged from the Pensive with a gasp.

He blinked several times, his mind trying to catch up with what he had seen and heard. And felt. He looked up to where Hermione stood waiting nervously. She wasn't saying anything, she was waiting for him.

"Why?" That was the only thing coming out of his mouth right now. Why? Why?

"W-why what? Fred?" If possible she looked even more nervous now.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his next exhale coming out of his nose. "Why are we both so incredibly stupid?"

She looked like that was not what she had expected him to say. She gave a small shrug. "I don't know. I . . . I don't know?" She laughed. "I- I honestly don't know?"

He was laughing too, but he suspected that it wasn't just because this was actually funny. He doubted Hermione was either. No, this just felt like years of tension had been released and it left you feeling strange. Like you had not slept in a long while and desperately needed to but instead of feeling sleepy you just . . . laughed. And giggled.

And cried.

What had started out as laughing tears became very real sad tears and now Hermione was not able to hold it together anymore and just let her tears fall with no care.

"I was so scared," she said. "I was so scared when you came back that you would regret leaving me your memories, regretting coming back or feeling like you did about me. I wasn't brave enough to face it."

"You really confused me, you know," said Fred, his eyes burning a bit as he talked. "I wasn't sure what I'd done or said to make you avoid me. And even when I tried talking to you about it, you wouldn't explain—"

"I know," said Hermione. "I'm sorry. If the memories made it clear, it's because in my mind it was the right thing to do. I wanted you to have a fresh start. If that's what you wanted."

"Hermione, if I wanted a fresh start I never would have left you my memories in the first place. I was scared of dying and you never finding out how I felt. I was scared that what I felt would be forgotten, all because I never had a chance or the courage to tell you." He sighed. "But, you were never supposed to find them as they were. I did regret leaving them for you during the battle. But not because I had regret about my feelings. Never that. It's because if I had survived I wanted to tell you myself and not have someone find them accidentally. I wanted to tell you how I felt."

"And how do you feel now?" she asked, her eyes meeting him. She was shy about the question, but she did want to know. "Do you feel the same way?"

Fred smiled. "More. If that's even possible."

She brightened, her tears having stopped by the time he'd told her how he'd felt. Then, her smile fell. "I'm not the same as I was before, though. Surely, you must know that by now."

Fred shrugged. "Neither am I. This past year . . . even before that, with the war and all . . . some things have changed, while others remain the same." He took a step forward. "Like the fact that I want to know you, Hermione. Toad warts and all. And thanks to you, we now have time to get to know each other. If that's what you wish."

Her smile returned. "It's what I wish. Truly."

"Good," said Fred, mirroring her. "But I do want to know how you feel. With your own words."

"I would have thought that was obvious," said Hermione, walking up to him. A hand reached out to his and she gave it a squeeze. He returned it and she smiled again. She looked up into his eyes. "You are my future, Fred Weasley. I can't imagine one without you in it."

And that was it.

That was when they both couldn't hold it in any longer.

For all the eye rolling Fred would have done had this been anyone else, it truly felt like this had all been worth it. The wait, the pain, the tears, the heartache. It had all lead up to this, to this moment. The moment where Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger kissed.

It was a great kiss. He could smell her perfume, feel her soft lips against his and her arms around his neck, pulling him down to get closer, deeper.

He felt it all and more.

So much more.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The birds outside along with the small fingers of sunlight that poked their way through the drapes woke him up, but it was the feel of the warm body next to him that motivated him to stay awake. Without opening his eyes, he pulled Hermione closer to his chest, needing the reminder that what had happened last night wasn't a dream. Oh, but even if it was he wouldn't complain. It had been the best night of his life. Fred sighed contentedly. He could remember struggling to stay awake a couple of hours ago as well. After everything that had happened between them he didn't want to waste another second sleeping, only feel Hermione's steady breaths throughout the night until he possibly couldn't anymore.

In short, Fred was happy. So immensely happy and all he wanted at the moment was to remain in this blissful state a bit longer. But considering who he'd chosen to love he should have known better.

"What happens now?" Hermione whispered into the room, her back still to him. Fred wondered how long she'd been awake thinking.

"I honestly don't know," Fred answered. He buried his face into her hair, a smile taking over his face. "But I'm excited."

There was a pause.

Though he couldn't see her face, somehow Fred just knew she was smiling as well as she eventually said, "Me too."

It's quiet after that, but a pleasant sort of quiet. Fred was never one for silence, but he cherished this one. There would be more than enough time to talk this over in the future and for now all he needed was that soft breathing of a sleeping Hermione, the most beautiful sound in the world. Much more so than fireworks or explosions or cheering crowds.

Fred smiles and falls asleep, with one thought echoing in his head:

I wish to hear it for the rest of my life.

~o0o~

THE END

~o0o~

A/N: Thank you for this time.
/Primrue