Acceptance
1998
Fred wipes at his sweaty brow and sighs as he can feel the grit of dirt and rubble rub against his skin. He looks down at the section of wall he’s been repairing with George and Bill, silently cursing when he sees how much is left in the hallway. Charlie and his dad are working on another portion far enough away that he can’t hear what they’re talking about. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, hoping that the feeling in his gut goes away with each inspiration.
“Alright there Freddie?” Bill asks as he too swipes at his forehead.
Fred sighs again and rubs his clammy hands on his trousers. “Yeah, ‘m alright. Just think I’m ready for a break soon.”
George perks up and turns to him quickly. “Yeah? Sure your chest isn’t giving you problems again? I bet Madam Pomfrey would look-”
“‘M fine George, promise. We’ve just been at this for hours already, my chest is fine.” He grunts and casts another repairing charm.
He can see his twin and older brother exchange looks and grits his teeth. He’s not actually mad at either of them. Merlin, he isn’t sure who he even is mad at, just that he can feel the churning of anger in his gut. This whole thing has been a pile of shit. Every abandoned wand discovered, every body of a former classmate that’s recovered, every vivid moment of the battle that plays on repeat in his mind just adds to the consuming feeling of rage. They all lost someone. Everyone that’s shown up to help repair the school has lost someone. He isn’t special just because he lost a brother, but the loss weighs heavy on his heart and mind.
The section of wall he was working on shifts and tips to side, causing it to break into smaller pieces. He curses and moves back quickly so his feet don’t get crushed.
“Fucker!” He yells, frustration rolling off him in waves.
He catches his dad and Charlie pausing their own repairs and making their way over. George and Bill, having moved back with him, reach out with their own wands to move the debris away before it can damage the floor of the hallway even more.
“Alright over here boys?” His dad asks as they stop to make a semi-circle around him.
“I don’t know, maybe we need a break. I think Fred’s che-”
“My chest if fucking fine! I keep telling all of you this and none of you are listening.” He cuts George off.
His twin shoots him a hurt look before his own anger settles over his face, mirroring what’s raging inside of him.
“Well, clearly you aren’t fine! And you were the one that said we should take a break.”
His lips turn down in a snarl. “I know what I said! That piece was just heavier than I was expecting.” His hand that isn’t holding his wand clenches in a fist. “And for the last time. I. Am. Fine.”
“Listen, maybe we should all just relax for a sec-” Charlie tries to placate, even holding his hands up.
“I don’t need to fucking relax! What I need is for everyone to stop overthinking every little thing I do! Merlin, I can’t even drop something without all of you huddling around me like we’re on the quidditch pitch and losing.”
“Fred!” His dad barks out, quieting his brothers in the process. “I know that this is hard, I understand. This uses a lot of magic. But you were in St. Mungo’s a week ago, it’s ok if you need to take a break, but you can’t keep snapping at us when we get worried.” He finishes quietly.
He takes in the expressions of his father and brothers. He knows that they must be feeling similar to him. The lines drawn on their faces, dark circles under their eyes, and slightly vacant looks were replaced with the shine of annoyance at him. They also lost a brother or son, his subconscious reminds him. You aren’t the only one who lost someone. While the guilt sits heavy in his chest, he can’t bring himself to apologize. He’s just so angry. It clicks for him at that moment. He’s angry at himself. He was there when Percy died. His brother died for him. While still mourning the life and soul of his brother, his family was concerned about him and he wasn’t the one who died. His hands clench, making the wand dig against the flesh of his palm.
“Fine, I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in a bit.” He grits out and turns on his heel.
“Fred! Wait, we can all-” He can hear his dad quietly murmur to George to let him go and the guilt rises.
He cuts to the right and slips past a fragmented statue that still has to be repaired and moved. Tomorrow, his mind whispers. He keeps going, pace quick even though he doesn’t hear anyone behind him. He takes a left and slows his stride. He’s breathing heavy, heavier than he should for the little amount of exercise he’s done. He slows even more, trying to get the flood of emotions under control. He can’t even pick out the one that’s causing him to have this reaction. It’s sloshing around inside of him in violent waves of anger-grief-guilt-anger that he has to take a steadying breath. He stops in front of a familiar oil painting of a bowl of fruit and lets his eyes unfocus as he tries to make his breathing normal again.
He stands there, chest aching with distant pain and a violent sea of emotion and tries to remember why he’s even here. He closes his eyes and clenches his hands, making his knuckles go pale. He’s here because Percy isn’t . He’s here because his brother died instead of him. He’s here, at the school, to atone, and he can’t even do that right. His family is so concerned about him, constantly watching his movements and spellcasting, that they aren’t grieving the loss of Percy. He’s angry at himself for being the reason they can’t grieve and mad at them for being so collected when he can’t even work for longer than four hours because his brother died for him.
He gasps out a laugh and rubs at his aching chest. At this point, he can’t tell if it’s hurting from the strain of spellcasting or the emotions that swell with each breath. He’s laughing because it almost feels like he’s dying. Like the universe is fixing the mistake it made when it took Percy instead of him. He got hit by the same piece of wall as Percy, yet only one of them is here and he isn’t positive that it should be him. He tries to unclench his fingers when they start to feel cold with numbness. Fred opens his eyes and just lets his breathing lull him into some semblance of peace.
“Fred.”
His eyes sluggishly move toward the soft voice that called his name. He finds her standing there, hair half up in a messy bun and eyes filled with warmth. She’s no longer dirty and gaunt with the effects of being on the run for nearly a year. Instead, she’s clean and he knows she smells like lavender and chamomile. Her cheeks are softer and less sunken in, but her mouth is turned down in worry, which is the only visible concern etched on her beautiful face.
“Hermione.” He tries to answer with a smile, but his face feels numb.
She’s quiet as she moves to stand in front of him. He reaches out and gently grabs at her elbow, allowing his thumb to trace gentle patterns on the soft skin. He looks at it for a moment before meeting her eyes. He’s struck again by the warmth of them, brown with specks of honey that shine in the sunlight. She smiles up at him and quirks her brow.
“Alright?”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the anger well inside of him like when his brother had asked earlier. Instead, he feels it become disconcertingly quiet. The swells of angry sea settling into something calm. He can’t tell if it's a brief respite before the storm starts to surge, or the gentle balancing of a tumultuous system. He takes a breath.
“Yea-” He cuts himself off as his throat clicks. He can feel her hand sneak up and rest on his chest. He takes a deep breath and is greeted with comforting lavender and the spice of chamomile. He breaks eye contact and looks around the deserted hallway.
He glances around at what was once a beautiful piece of the castle and is suddenly transported back four years ago when they stood in this very place. It was, at the time, decorated in splendor for the occasion, to show their guests the greatness of Hogwarts. Now, as he flinches slightly at the sight of an abandoned wand fifteen meters away, it is collapsed and ugly. So ugly that he struggles to remember it as it was on that night all those years ago. Before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was resurrected, before Cedric died, and before this fucking war that was just won was ended.
“Fred?” Her soft question draws his eyes back to her. “Are you-”
“This is where I fell in love with you.” He blurts out and her eyebrows fly upwards. “When I found you,” he starts slowly, “after the Ball and you were crying. I had never seen anyone so beautiful and couldn’t understand why all I wanted to do was make sure you laughed instead of cried. I don’t think I even fully knew that night.” His eyes track her face. “But when we danced in this hall, that terrible waltz that McGonagall made us learn, I have never felt so right. It was you. It was you that made me feel right. And when I kissed you here?” His hand glides up so that he can gently caress the furrow between her brows before dropping down to cup her jaw. “That’s when I fell in love with you.”
“Fred-” Hermione says hoarsely and clenches the material of his shirt before he cuts her off again.
“I fell in love with you in this hallway four years ago.” He states. “When you left last year,” he shushes her when she tries to talk, “I know you had to, I know.” He strokes his thumb over her jaw and her eyes shine with something new. “But when you left, I was so scared that I would never get that feeling back. That I would never feel right again. And when I couldn’t find you after he was dead and no one had seen you? I was so scared that I had lost you and that I would never-” He chokes out and feels his own eyes and cheeks become damp. “I-”
He doesn’t finish because she pulls him down suddenly. Her lips crash into his as her other hand comes up to help pull his neck down. He can feel her desperation and fear in the kiss. He tilts her head up to fix the angle and lets out a desperate gasp as they separate briefly to catch their breath. Their eyes lock and he can see a reflection in hers of the quieted sea of emotion he had just been feeling. She lets out a choked noise and leans up to brush their lips together again. It’s less desperate this time, but no less filled with emotion. He can sense her own swell of love-grief-anger-love meet his. He hums and tangles his free hand into the mess of curls at the base of her neck.
They kiss, the slick noises filling the empty hallway. This spot, which looks so different from the last time they were here together, is filled with the same amount of love, even as the ghosts of the past flick to and from in the shadows. He’s struck, suddenly, with the understanding that he’s been given something precious in such a time of sorrow. He’s been given the very thing that so many of his friends, and more importantly, Percy, will never get to have. He’s been given the chance to live his life, and until this moment, he’s been wasting that very gift because he was mad he lived when so many others didn’t.
She hums softly when his tongue glides over her bottom lip. At that noise, and the feeling of rightness settling heavily over him, he makes the promise to make the most of what the universe has given him. Even if it did make a mistake and take the wrong brother, and he highly suspects that it did, he won’t waste the chance he’s been given because he’s too angry seeing it as a burden instead. He’s been given life, no matter how hard and tumultuous it may seem, and he’s done being angry at it. He has what he needs, the people he needs, and a perspective that lets the shadows seem just a little less accusing and a little less dark.
He may have lived in this universe when he didn’t in others, but he’s done letting the guilt and regret dictate it. He has a beautiful witch to keep loving after all.