Broken Bits

28. Mangled

It became easier after the picnic. Though Fred couldn't really tell what switched, or what he had done differently. 

He spent less nights on the couch, and more lying beside Hermione in bed. He continued to do all the cooking, but now instead of hiding in the sitting room, Hermione would perch on a bar stool and read a book on the counter while Fred hummed a quiet tune of contentment. 

Most of their days were still spent in silence, just gentle touches and soft conversations to guide them through the day. Fred didn't utter a word as Hermione slowly stopped wearing her sweaters, and solely wore Fred's. 

Fred woke in the middle of the night near Christmas to find Hermione pressed tightly to his side, and whimpering softly. His eyes shot open, and he turned to her to find her eyes screwed shut and her lips pressed firmly together. 

He jumped slightly as light filled the room before they were blanketed in darkness again. Fred looked out the bay windows to see a storm looming over the ocean. Thunder shook the house, and Fred looked down just as Hermione's eyes shot open in panic. 

"Fred, I'm scared." Hermione whispered, pressing herself tighter against him. 

"Shh, I'm right here." Fred whispered, he tugged the blanket over her shoulder more and turned to her. But he waited to see where she placed her hands, before placing his own. 

He shivered as her hands wound their way under his t-shirt, one settled on his chest while the other wound across his side until she splayed her fingers over his ribs. Fred gently tucked one arm under her head, and the other over her waist drawing her into his chest. 

He hummed softly into her hair until her whimpering turned to gentle snores, only then did Fred allow himself to fall asleep. 

Fred woke to a heavy pressure on his chest, and the smell of lavender in his nose. He blinked open his eyes to see their bedroom blanketed in a golden hue, and Hermione curled on his chest. 

He pulled his head away just enough for Hermione's head to fall in the crook of his neck, she pressed her face against his skin before settling down again. Her gentle snores cascading under his collar and down his chest. She still had one hand shoved under his shirt, splayed over his chest but the other was holding his other hand. 

The arm that had been tucked under her head was now settled up on the pillows, gripping her hand in his hands. Their fingers laced together gently. Fred's other hand was settled on the small of her back, keeping her anchored to him. 

He waited the slow, but well spent hours for her to stir. Not once moving, just simply enjoying the stolen moment of beauty he had been granted. 

Once Hermione did began stirring, Fred feared the worst. For Hermione to fly off of him, and demand him to leave her alone. As that's what usually happened when they touched for to long, and Hermione got overwhelmed. 

He waited, stone still as Hermione went rigid in his arm. Her hand tightened in his, and he felt her nails dig into his chest before she loosened her grip. She slowly lifted her head, and Fred found himself stuck in her gaze. 

She calculated him, reading his soft eyes as hers dug through his. Searching for any sign of uncertainty. Fred could tell she was deciding what to do, or what to say. He waited for her to pull away, and let out a string of curses. But neither of those things happened. 

What Fred had not expected was for Hermione to lean forward, and slot their lips together. He remained stone still, as Hermione gently moved her lips against his own. He didn't move a muscle, he simply let his eyes flutter shut before snapping them open as she pulled away.