Being sixteen has its perks. Her parents trust her, and she finds herself with the freedom to roam. She makes her way to Diagon Alley, a cloak around her shoulders and its hood covering her hair.

The shop stands out, orange against the gray, things moving and making noise. She smiles and heads inside.

Business is already booming. Products she had never seen them work on line the shelves and the queue twists around the aisles. For a moment, she fears she won't be able to find him. She brushes the hood away from her face so she can see better.

"As I live and breathe, what brings you here Miss Granger?"

Hermione turns, a smile already stretching across her face, "I thought I'd come to see you."

Fred gives her one of those looks, one of the ones that make her feel like he knows everything about her, and extends a hand. She grasps it without hesitation and he pulls her behind him, into the back of the shop and up a flight of stairs. The loft space is simple, two camp beds, chairs and a table, a sofa, and the wizarding equivalent of a camp stove.

"It's not Versailles, but we're rarely up here to appreciate it," he catches her eye, a glint in his as she looks around, "Tea?"

"No thank you," she shakes her head. Her cloak is tossed over one of the chairs. They move to the couch. It's garish, with green and orange stripes.

Fred doesn't speak. Hermione knows why. He's waiting on her. Has been waiting on her for a while.

"How long?" She asks, eventually.

"Long enough," He replies. Their eyes meet and he gives in, "Long enough to have realized my brothers were idiots to value you less than a broomstick."

That he'd called Harry his brother just confirms her opinion, solidifies her intent.

"I've been driving you mad then."

"Mmm," he agrees. "I almost approved of Krum, if only because he seemed like he would value you properly."

"Almost?"

"I am selfish, Hermione. Don't start believing I'm some kind of saint, you'll be disappointed."

She chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you don't look out for deaf people, so I can't say that I'll confuse you."

Fred snorts. Things fall silent as she tries to find words. None come to her, but then she tilts her head. Maybe words aren't what she needs.

She shifts, pushing any anxiety to the back of her mind. She presses forward, till she's on her knees leaning toward him, pressing her lips to his.

Fred smiles against her lips and tugs her into his lap. Hermione goes willingly and cedes control to him. He's gentle with her, even as one of his hands works its way into her hair to guide her head.

Minutes later, he pulls away. "I won't always be so gentle, Hermione."

"I know," she replies, "but you'll always see me, won't you?"

"Always," he assures, eyes on her.

For her, it's enough.

Saint Frederick is the patron saint of the deaf.