The Art of Doing Nothing

Chapter 2

Fred helped her down the hallway back to their room.

Somewhere between the couch and her bed, she found a headache that had decided to accompany the itch in torturing her. She kept her eyes closed, and, in what she was sure must have looked like a dramatic act, lifted her hand to her head and moaned, "I've already had the chicken pox, why do I have to have dragon pox too?"

"Just lucky that way," he sighed, sitting down beside her. "Really it's lucky for you that you didn't get Dragon Pox as a kid could you imagine? They'd have taken you into a private hospital and ran all sorts of tests before one of our lot found you," he shivered, having ended up in an Australian A&E years ago. "All that poking and prodding, you'd have hated it."

She dropped her hand and tilted her head looking at him, "Yes it's fortunate I didn't have it then," she agreed, "but why do I have to have it now?"

"Bright side number two my dear Sunny," he smiled pulling up the blankets up to her chin, "You only get it once. And if you've got it now that means you won't die of it in old age, we'll live forever yet."

She rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself, "Do I look horrid?"

"Remember that musical we saw in America last year? The one with the Witch and Bubblegum Princess?" he asked cautiously.

"Wicked you mean?" Hermione smiled, remembering how he had thought the one actress looked like she was decked out in Droobles Bubble Gum wrappers, the bright pink everywhere around her.

"You could probably try out for the lead and they'd save a fortune on green paint," he laughed, tucking a hair behind her ear, "Let me know if I need to take up a scarecrow outfit and I'll be there and we could go dancing through life or whatever it was he sang about."

She smiled and reached hesitantly for his hand, "Am I contagious? Do you need to leave?"

"No, no-I'm fine," he answered, squeezing her hand. "George and I had this when we were kids, remember? You can only get it once and I've already had it. I'm afraid you're stuck with me though," he sighed, "You are contagious to others though, no going to the office, no meeting Ginny for lunch-I meant it when I said you're out of commission for two weeks at least."

Two Weeks.

What was she going to do for two weeks?

"Here, I'll go make you a cuppa and we'll come up with a plan. Nothing we can't handle," he said patting her leg and rising from the bedside, "Lavender tea's good for dragon pox if I remember right, I'll be right back."

She leaned into her pillow and sat up a little more. She could hear London waking up outside, getting ready for another day. If she hadn't woken up looking like the Wicked Witch of the West, they would have spent the day running errands. There was a market not too far from the apartment they liked to store up on. And, if she could talk him into it-and she always could-they'd have bound into Soho to explore the bookshops-or better yet a walk through Kensington Gardens- the weather had been so nice yesterday if it went into today a trip to the gardens had to have happened.

But it wouldn't. Because she was green from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. And she doubted that would change over the next few hours.

She thought of her week that would have to be rescheduled. She'd have to owl her assistant-reschedule Tuesday's Presentation, the meeting with the Minister on Thursday, her head of Department on Wednesday-oh, Kaitlyn, her admin was not going to be pleased about any of this.

And her head-this headache had to stop.

Perhaps she could find some remedy-there was a potion, she knew that. She'd have Fred go get a bottle, she'd take it and be cured by mid morning Monday, sparing Kaitlyn the reworking of the calendar. That was the ticket. Who knew, maybe she'd be well enough she and Fred could go through the Gardens tomorrow-

That would work. Have a good portion of Dragon Pox Potion, a pepper up and her mother's faithful orange juice remedy. That would do the ticket. She'd get over this in no time. Hermione could almost feel the soft grass against her legs as she looked out her window at the glistening rays of sunshine falling on the city outside.

"Someone looks happy," Fred said from the door frame, "what are you thinking about?"

"Could you go get me the Dragon Pox Potion? And maybe a pepper up? I think we're almost out-oh and some Orange Juice," she said, taking the mug he extended towards her, " Please?" she smiled, looking over at him through the steam.

Fred raised an eyebrow, "I know you too well Hermione-that's not going to work," he said sitting on the corner of their bed. "You gotta let it run its course. Even after the skin fades back, it's two weeks till you're safe. I'm going to go pick up a dragon door knocker so people know before they come in."

"Wait-" Hermione started, "That's a thing? We have to get a door-I like our door knocker! We bought that in Spain!"

"And Leo will return to his post once you're feeling better," Fred said, raising his hands, "It's just-common courtesy? You know, letting people know 'Oh, someone's sick. Bless them, come along, we'll visit them later.' That way you don't kill grandparents or have little kids get it," he said, folding his arms, "Mum never forgave Uncle Billius for us boys getting it-not all of us are monsters. The door knocker's worked since those Muggle Plagues way back when, it'll work now."

Hermione took a sip of tea and wished he didn't have that look on his face. She knew he was right. She just wasn't ready to tell him that yet.

"But you'll get the potion?" she asked, looking over the cup, "Please?"

"Of course," he promised, "While I think the green brings out your eyes-"

"Potion, please," Hermione lamented, flexing her fingers "Please- I think I'm getting more green by the minute."

"You finish your tea and try and get some rest," Fred answered, "And I'll go run our errands, grab you your orange juice and Dragon Tonic and will be back in no time."

He rose from where he sat and leaned forward to kiss her head, "Please take it easy," he said as he turned around and headed for the door.

"Oi Fred!" she called as he was halfway out, summoning him back in, "Forget something?" he asked, "I can get more tea if you'd like?"

"I love you," she winked, smiling back at him, "that's all."

He smiled, winking back, "Love you too my green girl."

((*))

Hermione was dreaming.

She knew she was dreaming. It was the same dream she'd had on and off for the last eight years. In it, it was 1996 again. She was wandering through the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, trying to convince Fred that she was a time traveler, that it really wasn't 1996, but 2005 and she was his wife and it would be in his best interest to start believing her.

It was reoccurring. She had it anytime there was a great disturbance in her life. She should have expected the dragon pox to spark it. She had it when she and Fred had first moved in together. Again right before they got married. She had even had her time travelers dream the entire week leading up to James' birth. She knew how to deal with it. Let it run its course. Just go with the flow of it. Try not to hold it against Fred when she woke up in the morning unrested from trying to convince a dream him all night of things he already knew.

She didn't fight that hard this time. She was still frustrated when Fred told her what year it was. And she supposed, part of it was, she was afraid that it was true. That somehow, someway or another, time had decided to fling her back to the start and go through that hell all over again. Not the hell of the war, or losing people, but what would be the hell of fighting to keep Fred alive.

And what more, what if she couldn't get him to fall for her a second time? The fact they were able to fall into such a normal, natural relationship-could she really recreate that if she had to do it a second time? She doubted liked to tell her he had fancied her since her fifth year-something that may have ran consistent with her original timeline, but this nightmare always brought to life those archaic doubts that had she have to do it again she wouldn't come out of the war without Fred and trying to find another way through life. Maybe she'd just pack it all up and run away to Romania and take care of Dragon's like Charlie.

When she came to, she was still lying in bed. The sun was still up though now tucked behind the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Golden light amidst the falling shadows casting a lazy spell over London. How long did I sleep? She wondered looking for her clock, only to realize it was being blocked by a vase of peonies and a box wrapped in purple with orange ribbons.

She smiled, her fingers hovering over the silk soft touch of the flower petals. If there was ever a person to be accused of over the top gestures, it was her husband.

There was a loud thump that made her jump back from the flowers for a moment. She looked at the door-it must have come from the kitchen or the living room-.

Slowly she got up, reaching for her dressing gown. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She had gotten greener. What had been honeydew in the morning was now green like a leaf in the park. Positively green. And whatmore, little purple pockmarks were up and down her arms like the constellations.

Her hair was a lost cause. But it was just Fred, he wouldn't care.

As she made her way down the hallway thought she could hear voices and almost instantly Hermione wished she hadn't ventured out. But it was too late to turn around. She had been spotted.

"Hermione?" Fred called, the voices stopping, "Is that you love?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize how long I'd been out," she apologized, coming into the dining room "Hello Molly."

Her Mother-in-Law smiled, tucking away a coppery curl behind her ear. Molly Weasley had aged into the grandmother role perfectly over the last seven years. Her fire red hair had turned a soft grey, little bits of white mingled in with the occasional copper remnant of her younger days. Her gold rimmed glasses rested in her shirt and Hermione could see her purple carpet bag that meant just one thing-It wasn't Molly coming by with a casserole or another baby blanket they'd use some day oft, but Matron Molly the Mother and Healer, ready to come heal one of her children.

"Fred stopped by and told me you were sick," She smiled, wrapping her in one of her usual hugs.

"Did no such thing-" Fred said, looking at his wife with hands up, apologizing behind his mother's back. "I just popped over and asked which brand of Dragon Pox Potion was better-"

"Which told me all I needed to know," Mrs Weasley answered, letting go of the embrace and searching Hermione's face for some tell tale sign her son had forgotten to mention.

"Now, Freddie's got some nice toast for you and I'll go get your bath ready-"

Hermione's face wrinkled and she turned to Fred. "My bath?"

"Freddie said your nose was itching-it's going to get worse. I'll pour you an oatmeal bath, you can soak up in there for a while and then you can take your potions and go back to sleep," Mrs Weasley smiled, picking up her purple bag and walking towards the back of the flat, "Trust me, my blend is much better than what the muggles use for chicken pox."

Hermione listened to the feet disappear and the bathroom door open before she turned to Fred with wide eyes, "You popped over to ask what brand of Dragon Pox was better?" she asked, her voice livid, "And you didn't pause to think Oh I bet she'll invite herself over-"

"I went to George and Angie's and Mum was there!" Fred apologized, taking a chair out for Hermione and heading to their toaster. He turned around and shook a loaf of bread at her, "George says he owes you by the way, they've had Mum on their case since yesterday when she found out Roxy wasn't feeling well."

"Well I'm glad we could help George and Angie out, but" she lowered her voice, peeking her head beyond the wall looking for Molly, "Who's going to help us out?"

Fred tapped his fingers against the counter and then stopped, looking up at her, "We could tell her Ginny's having another baby. That'll get here out of here quicker than a niffler in a jewelry shop."

"Harry doesn't even know yet, she'd kill us," Hermione sighed, putting her head in her hands. "I bet she has some trick up her sleeve that makes her Boogey Hex look tame."

"Ah but she owes us," Fred answered, grabbing a plate and the butter dish, "Don't ask me how but she owes us."

"You think that love-"Hermione started, scratching her head and then looking up, "What about Percy? Could we pawn her off on him?"

Fred snapped his fingers, " He does owe us. George and I never got to enact our vengeance for him and the summer of '95- we could-"

Hermione heard the bath water slowing and the door creak open. She moved her hand over her throat in an attempt to silence her husband who was now slathering her toast in butter while detailing how they'd make the pass to Percy.

"Molly!" Hermione said in a sing song voice, trying to silent Fred's mumbles, " The Oatmeal Bath is a lovely thought, but I promise I'll be alright-"

"Don't be foolish," Molly said, drying her hands on a dish towel and lifting a plastic box from her bag, "You've already got an itch, there will be more," she said as a matter of fact, "besides, I've got this avocado puree that will do wonders-I won't take no for an answer Hermione."

She looked up and saw the toast in front of her son and waved her wand so it zoomed to Hermione's side instead, "Spot of toast and then come meet me in the bathroom, we'll get you all set away. Busy woman like you could use a Dragon Pox Vacation," she smiled before grabbing her containers and heading back to the bathroom.

Hermione looked over at Fred, who could only offer a smirk while he said "Dragon Pox Vacation" as though it was the most dangerous thing he had muttered in years.

((*))

Hermione actually liked the bath.

Molly had helped her put the avocado puree on her back and then left her to the warm waters. It felt weird, but oddly relaxing and almost satisfying. Molly had also left a candle going on the counter and while she wouldn't admit it out loud for her Mother-In-Law to hear, it was oddly satisfying, resting in her warm porridge waters.

When she got out an hour later she ran some cool water over her head and tried to manage the fitful curls. They had never been tame and it had taken years after the war to get them somewhat manageable again. Back in her dressing gown, she made her way to the bedroom where Molly the Matron was waiting.

"Now use this lotion and it will help you not itch while you rest," she smiled, "One of Muriel's concoctions, God Rest Her," she mumbled.

Hermione smiled, wondering what the dearly departed Prewett matriarch would have to say about the Muggleborn with skinny ankles using her lotions.

Molly looked over her arm as Hermione rubbed it in, "I think we got it in the nick of time, shouldn't need to go to St. Mungos."

"Perfect-you know how much I love that place," Hermione mumbled.

"You and me both," Molly chuckled, " Charlie was my only boy who got the pox bad enough to go to St. Mungos, but if you listen to him tell the story that's when he got bitten by Dragons and was a lost cause ever after."

"How's he doing? It's been a while since he came home-"

"He refuses to unless I promise to stop trying to match up him and Tonks," Molly sighed, taking the lotion Hermione had finished with and putting it in her purse, "You make a couple suggestions and your children go on strike-there's no winning in motherhood, just a steady course of compromises, you remember that."

"Oh come on, you won a couple good rounds," Hermione tried, settling into the bed while Molly fussed around.

"If I had won a good couple more your husband would've had a different career," Molly stressed, looking at the closed door, "But he wouldn't have been as happy. So perhaps the right person won after all."

A knock startled them both and Fred poked his head in, "You all nice and porridgey Hermione?"

"Very," Hermione laughed, "the House Elves might think me over done but I'm fine with it."

He walked into the room and kissed the top of her head before putting a warm mug in her hand.

"Whats this?"

"Dragon Pox Potion," Molly answered for him. "You need to drink it while it's warm. First potion today, another tomorrow and one more on day 5 and 7 and you'll be right as rain."

Hermione tried not to laugh as Fred turned to face his mother, giving her a look and a slight head tilt to Hermione. She could almost hear him moan "Muuuuum."

"Here, you take your potion and I'll just busy myself in the kitchen," she smiled before heading down the hall, her purple bag again in tow.

"Am I going to like this potion?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrow as she looked at the cup and then up to her husband.

Fred shrugged looking at the thin smoke rising from it, "If memory serves me right, George and I could blow smoke for an hour after taking it, so naturally we spent the hour running around the house and trying to blow fire at Ron-"

She laughed, setting the cup down on the night table. "So if I take this potion you're going to be able to tell people you have a Dragon for a wife?"

"Listen-you and I both know nothing happened between me and Fire Spawn-"

She laughed again, remembering his stories of the dragon they had escaped from Gringotts on and he had taken for his assault on Azkaban. "Fred-" she smiled, her hand resting on his arm, "Is it really going to be 14 days of this?"

He took the mug and put it back in her hands, "The sooner you start, the sooner it's done. Besides, you have a lovely flat to rest in, a job that will understand why you're out-I bet that assistant of yours has a bouquet sent to the flat first thing Monday morning-and you have your husband for a bunk mate-I fail to see how anything isn't ideal."

She raised the mug and took a drink, the warm potion burning its way down her throat like broth and firewhiskey. She drained the mug and set it down on the table, before blowing smoke above her husband's head.

"That is extremely hot," Fred smirked, leaning in and kissing her forehead. "Unfortunately, that is too."

He hopped over her legs to where he now rested on his side of the bed and leaned against his pillow. Hermione scooted down into the bed rolling on her side to face him. Fred fidgeted with the blanket, pulling it to her shoulder just as she poked her arm out and he began tracing spirals up and down her arm. "I promise love, you'll be back at it before you know it."

"Will you still love me even if I'm Green and breathing fire?" Hermione asked, laughing at the image she had of her turning into a dragon.

"Nothing could stop me loving you Sunny," he whispered, "Even if you roasted a small village in your wake, I'd still find you gorgeous."

He said something else, but Hermione couldn't hear it. She was already falling, somewhere else, falling under the spell of fingers dancing on skin.

((*))

Her Second Day in Quarantine wasn't near as calming as her first.

When she had got up after her nap yesterday, Molly had just finished making dinner-a lovely chicken soup for Hermione and summer sandwiches for Fred and was leaving for the night. They had eaten dinner, stayed up playing exploding snap-which was even more exciting when you could blow smoke during the explosions-and then tucked away to bed.

Sunday Mornings were a different affair. Fred and George had decided to split the weekends-George took Saturday while Fred took Sundays down at the shop. When Hermione woke in the morning she found Fred's side of the bed cold and folded up, a mug of tea waiting for her, still steaming on the bedside table.

It was a quiet morning for the most part. She read the newspaper in the living room and had just put the kettle on for another cup of tea when Molly came through the front door with a tin packed with a breakfast casserole. She apologized profusely for not being able to spend the day with Hermione-but as it was Sunday the little ones would be coming over and she treasured her Sundays with the grandchildren.

"But you spent yesterday with me, won't you be contagious to them?" Hermione asked, not at all torn up at the thought of having a day to herself but not ready to believe it was too good to be true.

"Oh I can do a good disinfect charm when I leave dear," Molly smiled putting the casserole dish in the fridge and setting a loaf of fresh bread on the counter, "The Children will be fine. You just rest up today and I'll be back here tomorrow."

A peck on the cheek and she was gone leaving Hermione with her mug of tea and a generous slice of fresh baked bread, grasped tightly in hand, a blanket around her shoulders like a cape as she walked back to her bed and her book.

((*))

She finished the book around 2.

She nearly died laughing when she opened the gift Fred had left her. She knew it would be a book-Fred, she knew, always kept a list of books she had thumbed through at Flourish and Blotts. But this wasn't one of them. This was a Lovegood Original.

When the war had ended, she, Harry, and Ron had signed their collective rights for a biography to be written by Luna Lovegood. In part because they didn't have any desire to sit down and be interviewed by prospective biographers, in another because they already knew what had happened, they weren't going to read it and the three of them could care less after 7 years of war what others thought of them. They also liked Luna because she took her time and wouldn't have it out in a matter of weeks like Rita Skeeter would. In fact, Harry's Biography, Roonil Wazlib, A Journey was released two years after the last battle and only after Luna had gone on her second exhibition to find the Crumpled Horn Snork-whatever. Ron's The Keeper King and her own Rebel Leader came in the years that weren't too bad, the stories. They were animated-much more than the typical biographers but also more accurate and less expose than Rita.

This book though, was one by Luna, with additions by Neville and Ginny. The Other Three was their war time memories; The three of them breaking into the Headmaster's Office to retrieve the sword of Gryffindor and the reemergence of Dumbledore's Army. She enjoyed reading memories that weren't hers, and thought Ginny was a snarky little writer so she had bundled into a blanket and devoured her friends' stories.

But she was done now. And there was still time before Fred got home. Her eye caught her briefcase, leaning against the wall where she had dropped it Friday. She already felt loads better, hadn't had an itching fit yet-there had been a headache earlier but it had passed. There wasn't any reason she wouldn't be able to go into the office tomorrow, perhaps a good concealment charm on the spots-

Every Sunday she'd go over her files and get ready for the week. Why couldn't she do this now?

She waved her wand and the bag zipped to her lap and pulled out her files. Fred would be home in three hours, she could surely get everything taken care of before he walked in, and no one would be the wiser.

((*))

Fred's keys jingled when he put them on the hook next to the door.

The flat was quiet, as he knew it would be. He doubted Hermione would be singing in the kitchen, doing her own poor excuse of choreography pretending to be the witch from that musical-but he'd like to see her enjoying herself. Dragon Pox wasn't what anyone wanted but he knew his wife-she could make any situation bearable if she wanted too.

"Sunny I'm home-" he called turning around the corner to the quiet kitchen. A few crumbs around a loaf of bread, covered in a tea towel. She wasn't in the living room or their study-she must be in the bedroom.

He hoped that Hermione would actually be napping. Or resting. Hell, he'd even take lounging about or carelessly looking out the window, longing to break free. He had known his wife since she was eleven and he knew all too well she excelled in everything-except being sick. He couldn't think of once in the years they overlapped in school where she had taken sick. She had gotten food poisoning once in Spain and that had knocked her out for a few days pretty good. That had been in a way a merciful sick. She couldn't fight it. She had been down for the count. Three days lying on the bed, telling him all the passwords to her different accounts in case she died and he needed to access her holdings in the muggle world-

When they first moved in he remembered she got the flu and was out for a week; the pepper-up potion wouldn't work and the eight liters of orange juice she seemed to chug over the weekend hadn't helped either. He nearly took her to the Muggle Hospital to see if they could come up with something to solve the problem but she slowly got better-after she had turned the apartment upside down, making each room an extension of an office so she could try and hold together some resemblance of normality.

But she had pulled through, and they had laughed. It's what they did. Make it through the fire and laugh when it had passed.

Hermione could do a great many things, but resting-resting she had to be coaxed into. He knew that. Sickness didn't. And neither did she.

He opened their bedroom door and wasn't surprised in the slightest to what he saw.

Hermione was sitting up in their bed. Her hair pushed up behind a headband, little curls whisping up the heavens. She was wearing one of his old shirts, sleeves pushed up to her elbows as she dictated to the quill floating above her head. In her arms were her work papers, more of them fanned out on the bed in front of her. On the floor, crumpled drafts, parts stricken out.

"I see you've been resting?" Fred asked, folding his arms and leaning against the door post.

"Fred!" Hermione jumped, looking up from her paper to her husband. She turned and looked at the paper, reaching up for it and frowning as she reached for the Quill, striking out his name from the dictation. "Sorry, I was just working on a draft for the Mermaid Legislation the Minister wanted to review this Thursday and-"

"Darling, you're going to have to cancel that meeting," he said, walking away from the door post and to the corner of the bed, "I'm sure this is important but you are sick-you should be resting."

"No Rest for the wicked," she smiled, crinkling her nose and booping his with the quill's feather.

"Well I don't think you're wicked, I don't even think Draco Malfoy thinks you're wicked anymore," he said, reaching for the quill and tucking it behind his ear, "so yes, rest for you."

"Fine," she huffed, rolling up the parchment and stacking her papers again, placing them on the nightside table. She folded her arms and looked at him, "Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, I've just taken away your workload," he started leaning back on his arms, "And its nearly seven-how about I make us some supper?"

She looked over, squinting her eyes, her head tilted to the side as though she was sizing him up. "Really cook? Or call in take out?"

"Chef's call," he smiled, leaning in and kissing her green forehead, "Go on, take a shower and I'll get it ready."

"Are you saying I stink?" she asked, wrinkling her nose and hiding a laugh in a sneer. Fred walked towards the door and turned around as he said, "You don't smell but you are looking rather green."

He missed the pillow she threw at the door frame, and was halfway down the hall when he couldn't hear her murmurings.

Fred walked into the kitchen, opened the crisper and tapped the drawer, an onion, potatoes, carrots and celery racing to the cutting board where a knife waited to dice them. He filled up a pot and set it to boil, a few chicken breasts diving into their awaiting hot tub.

He had a feeling the next few days were going to drive his wife around the bend. He'd have to hide her briefcase or she'd try and work-he could try telling her if she didn't rest the days would be prolonged but he doubted she'd buy that-truth be told that only worked for a few days when they were kids…

But then he thought of something.

Their anniversary was only a few weeks away. He only had to do the finishing touches on them-seal the magic as it were-

He flipped his wand and the radio started, some happy little muggle dity. He started tapping his foot, a smile spreading across his face. He may not be able to make her quarantine short, but Fred Weasley was convinced he had thought of the perfect way to make it bearable.

AN:

Confession: I am so used to writing the long chapters for Falling Through Time I feel like i'm cheating writing choppy, shorter pieces. But for the story, it works. I'm sorry if it bugs you too!

Our Freddie is up to something...you'll see more about that in the next chapter. Anyone else face the sickies the same as Hermione? I'm awful where I'll go to the doctor, get a shot and then run to the gym and do a few laps. Our girl needs help and she needs it now...and Fred can fix that.

So for my Corona experience, I'm still working-which is good. It just means most of my writing time is reserved for weekends when I'm not working on a cross stitch or re-reading the Percy Jackson books. I hope all of you are staying safe and comfortable and taking care. We'll get through this soon!

Take Care of one another. Until next time,

KH