an incomplete guide to grief

two: family matters

For a few moments, Hermione only blinked, convinced she was in a dream but after a while of staring and staring (and him staring back at her in confusion), she came to the awkward conclusion that he was, in fact, very real and probably wondering what she was doing in his room.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry," Hermione said, standing on her feet and moving away from the window. It wasn't her ledge to perch so comfortably on.

Fred shook his head, tugging his toque off. "Don't be sorry..." he said hastily and Hermione noticed the large duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"I didn't know you were coming back," she told him, rubbing her palms together uncomfortably. "Mr. Weasley said it was alright to stay here for a few nights."

"That's fine," Fred assured her, still lingering uncertainly by the door. "I didn't tell anyone I would. But I thought I'd come back and rest for a while before the back-to-school rush starts at the shop."

Hermione hadn't properly looked at him in so long. Bill and Fleur's wedding might have been the last normal time she'd seen him. Once everything started, it had all been nothing but a flurry until now. Fred looked much skinnier, with hollowed out eyes and messy hair. The friendly smile on his face was simply a small piece of his old self — he was all just pieces.

"I feel bad, you standing by the door after your journey," Hermione said, motioning for him to come inside. Fred chuckled.

"My journey? You mean when I stood outside my shop and thought about this place and then arrived here in the next second?"

Hermione flushed. "You know what I mean! Just sit, alright? I'll make you tea." Fred walked in, setting his bag on a chair and unbuttoning his coat.

"Hermione, it's, like, 4am," he said, itching his hair. "Why don't you sleep? I'll take the couch. I'm not some guest."

"Hm," Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not either..."

"Fine. Make me some tea," Fred finally said, an amused smile on his lips. He seemed to have understood Hermione's need for something to do. She wrapped her sweater around herself and left the room, the tenseness in her joints dwindling as she descended the staircase. She hoped her presence hadn't upset Fred's plans.

The kitchen was dark but with a quick flick of her wand, Hermione illuminated the room and began to warm some water in a kettle. Footsteps indicated that Fred had followed her downstairs, cheeks still red from the autumn chill.

"I'm surprised you aren't sharing a room with Ron," he remarked, leaning against the counter.

"Why would I?" With a tilt of his head, Fred gave Hermione a suggestive look and she felt suddenly very hot as she quickly turned away from him. "Don't be rude! We're not..." she sighed, rubbing two fingers against her temples. "Well, we were but... it didn't work out so well. We don't have much in common, Ron and I... and the timing was all off."

Fred smiled down at his socked feet. "He never was one for the ladies." Hermione just shook her head as she poured tea into two mugs.

"I should probably stay away from it too," she admitted, handing Fred one of those mugs and then seating herself at the kitchen table. "I don't think I'm ready to date right now... I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm saying all this."

Fred watched her hover her lips over the side of the mug, blowing the swirls of steam away from her tea. In all those years of knowing her, he'd never seen Hermione so disoriented; her dark locks pulled into a messy bun atop her head, her sweater thrown clumsily over Ron's old t-shirt, the way she stumbled over her sentences, and apologized constantly. It was unlike her. He thought they'd all sort of had to grow into parts they weren't familiar with yet. It's what war does.