But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.
'T is a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.
September - Helen Jackson Hunt
Hermione shimmied into a pair of high-waisted Muggle jeans and pulled a jumper over her head, which only dishevelled her already uncooperative hair. She wrestled her unruly hair into a messy french plait before assessing her appearance in the mirror of her dorm room, tucking and untucking the jumper indecisively. Then she huffed a rebellious strand out of her eyes and decided that she could put as little effort as she wanted into her outfit on her own birthday, for Merlin’s sake. Even if she did look a bit like her mum.
The jumper was a bottle green Mrs. Weasley creation with a golden "H" embroidered across the chest, and it did not belong to her. Or rather, she supposed it did now that Harry had given it to her, but it wasn't made for her.
He had been aghast to learn, while helping her pack for her “Eighth Year” at Hogwarts, that she had never received one from the Weasley matriarch.
At the time she had shrugged him off, insisting it was fine, honestly - though it was something that had always bothered her in some unacknowledged corner of her heart. For all the time she spent in the Weasley's home, and for all the assurances from Ron that she was “practically family,” Hermione had never felt she was accepted into the fold quite as unreservedly as Harry.
The next day Harry had arrived in the bedroom she was sharing with Ginny, a stack of old jumpers he’d outgrown piled in his arms and a sheepish, crooked smile curving his lips. “I think the ‘H’ could just as easily stand for ‘Hermione,’ don’t you?” he had offered in explanation with an awkward shrug before Hermione had tackled him in a hug that sent the pile tumbling to the floor.
Hermione sniffed at the memory as she tugged the jumper down, wiping hastily at a stray tear escaping the corner of her eye as Ginny entered the room. No matter what her friend said, she couldn’t look at the bright letter on her chest without thinking of Harry.
Her friend whom she missed desperately and was inordinately excited to see in Hogsmeade today. He and Ron had insisted they would get the day off to visit. And, to her surprise, so had Fred and George .
“Not everyday a witch turns nineteen,” George had said when they’d made the plan on the train platform while seeing her and Ginny off three weeks ago.
“Not everyday we get to witness Hermione willingly take a break, either,” Fred had added with a grin and a puzzling amount of eye contact. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Hermioneeeee!” sang Ginny, cutting into her thoughts and making her startle. The younger witch was bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet in the doorway. “Are you ready yet? I’ve been waiting for ages .”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “We’ve got three hours until we’re meant to meet them for lunch, Gin.”
“I wanted to walk around the village for a bit before we have to meet them,” she replied innocently. “It’s beautiful out.”
“Right,” Hermione said slowly, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. They both knew they were allowed to walk around the village whenever they pleased, and that on any other day Ginny would be trying to get in as much flying as possible before they had to leave.
Rather than give enough time for Hermione to begin an interrogation, Ginny began to drag her out the door, pulling impatiently on her arm and talking animatedly in her ear so fast Hermione only caught half of what she was saying.
They continued that way all the way out of the castle and across the school grounds. When they arrived at the entrance to the village Harry and Ron were, predictably, not there yet. George, too, appeared to be content arriving on time and not hours beforehand. Fred, though…
Fred was leaning patiently against the Hogwarts gates, a book in one hand and the other tucked into his trouser pocket. Judging by his progress in the book and the red tinge to his cheeks and his ears, he’d been there for a while.
“Fred!” Ginny yelled, flying forward to greet him in a crushing hug. Her hair streamed out behind her and reflected like fire in the bright sun as Fred spun her around, their laughter echoing in the street.
He put Ginny back on her feet, both of them a bit breathless, while Hermione looked on in confusion. Fred ruffled his sister's hair, and Ginny picked up the book that had been flung to the ground in the excitement, whacking his shoulder with it in retaliation.
Then Fred looked up, mouth stretched wide as his eyes alighted on her.
“Hello, Fred,” she greeted pleasantly with a small, awkward wave.
Before she knew what was happening, Fred’s arms had wound around her waist and he was lifting her off her feet, giving her the same treatment he had given Ginny and making her squeal in surprise as they spun in dizzying circles. “Hello birthday girl!” he exclaimed.
“Fred!” she shrieked, burrowing her head in the crook of his shoulder as she scrambled to get her arms properly around his neck. When he stopped spinning he held her for several long moments, her legs dangling and his arms tightening around her waist before he set her back on her feet.
“What are you doing here so early?” she asked as she pulled away, craning her neck to look up at him properly.
His wide grin became lopsided as he answered without hesitation, “To spend extra time with you, of course!” Fred hooked his arm through hers and leaned down conspiratorially, “Before Harry and Ron claim you for themselves.”
She hoped to God or Merlin or whatever merciful birthday deity happened to be watching that the flush that came to her cheeks was being attributed to the cold by the others.
“Oh,” she said dumbly, as Ginny came to link her arm through hers on the other side. “Where’s George, then?” she asked, looking between the two redheads, reminded again how much shorter she was than all of the Weasleys.
“Watching the shop until Lee can get there; he drew the short straw about leaving early. Ole' Georgie's still coming to lunch, though, don’t you worry,” Fred answered easily as they began to stroll through Hogsmeade at a languid pace.
The air was crisp and clean, filling her lungs in a way that made her feel rejuvenated. The sun was warm on her face and radiating at her sides, where she was bookended by her two friends.
Ginny snickered. “Right. I’m sure you had no hand in his bad luck.”
Fred gasped dramatically beside her, hand coming up to cover his mouth in mock offence. This hand, incidentally, was attached to the arm linked through her own. And this , consequently, meant that Hermione was pulled away from Ginny to stumble into Fred.
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Gin,” Fred continued without missing a beat, even as he easily caught Hermione and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “My own kin, accusing me of subterfuge.”
Ginny snorted, and in answer Fred pulled Hermione even further into him and the rest of the way out of Ginny’s grasp. “That’s it. Hermione and I won’t stand for this slander,” he said, absolutely affronted.
It was her turn to snort. “ Hermione wants zero part of this,” she laughed.
Fred feigned being stabbed in the back as Ginny once again linked her arm through Hermione’s and began to lead her into Honeydukes, leaving Fred to walk behind them as he stage whispered under his breath about betrayal.
His offence didn’t last long, though, before he was buying her a truly insane quantity of sugar quills, batting her hand away and insisting it was her birthday when she tried to reduce the pile. “For you to chew on while you study,” he shrugged when she asked why he was buying so many. “You study a lot.”
Then he was taking Ginny’s basket out of her hands and insisting on paying for hers as well.
“Gin,” he said in exasperation when she protested most vehemently. “What is the point in being wildly successful if I can’t spoil my little sister?”
There were no more protests after that.
The rest of the hour leading up to her scheduled birthday lunch was wonderfully pleasant and perfectly lovely and wholly confusing.
She and Fred were friends . Of course they were. Despite her lack of official Weasley uniform, they were nearly family. They had spent plenty of time together over the years – even more so this past summer, after the war, until her recent return to Hogwarts.
She’d been alone with him plenty of times. They’d conversed and joked and fought with familiarity and ease. He routinely teased her and tugged on her curls and greeted her with a hug and a kiss on her cheek. Just like most of the Weasleys.
So why, today, was she feeling like this was the first time she’d ever really spent time with him?
Why did today feel so different?
She didn’t get long to reflect on this new feeling before her other friends arrived, arms circling around her and voices overlapping as they all made their way into the Three Broomsticks.
“Happy Birthday, Hermione!” chorused Harry and Ron, again , as the former slung an arm around her waist and the latter slung another around her shoulders from where they crowded her on either side in the middle of the booth. They had been smothering her through the whole meal.
“ Honestly , you two” she said, as she attempted to shove them both away, which only made them tighten their hold. “It’s only been three weeks.”
“Three long weeks,” Ron countered.
“More time than we’ve spent apart in over a year,” said Harry quietly even as he released her. “We just miss you.”
She squeezed his hand and blinked rapidly. “Stop,” she protested, knocking her shoulder into each of them in turn. “You’re going to make me weepy on my birthday,” she sniffed.
“Can’t have that!” George snickered as Ron began to look uncomfortable and took a sip of his butterbeer for something to do with his hands.
Fred and George exchanged twin Cheshire grins, and Ginny clamped a hand over her mouth to poorly conceal her giggles.
“What?” asked Ron, looking down at his drink in horror. “What is it?” he asked again with growing panic, inspecting his arms and torso. Hermione looked over at Ron in alarm, before a laugh burst out of her at the sight of his now lime green hair.
It gave him the appearance of wearing one of Fudge’s old bowler hats.
Fred winked at her, looking quite pleased when she grinned back, now fighting her own giggles.
“Anyway,” giggled Ginny, as Ron inspected himself in the reflection of his spoon and cursed loudly. “Time for presents!” she demanded, as if it were her own birthday. “Me first!” she added as she shoved a neatly wrapped package with a tasteful bow across the table at Hermione.
“Don’t just sit there!” her friend prodded barely thirty seconds later. “Open it!”
Hermione began to carefully untie and unwrap the present, causing Ginny to groan. She was nearly vibrating in her seat. “Hermione, you’re killing me,” she grumbled.
"You're being a bit dramatic," Hermione told her as she lifted the lid off the small rectangular box. Then she gasped. “Oh, Ginny, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, tracing her fingers over the intricate silver otter bookmark as she lifted it carefully out of the velvet box it was nestled in. “Thank you!”
“I found it in a Muggle shop,” Ginny beamed. “I remember you saying your parents used to get you one every year. I thought you could add it to your collection.”
She leaned across the table and grasped Ginny's hand. “ I love it, ” she stressed.
“Me next,” Ron said, thrusting a book-shaped package into her hand. Across the table, George cleared his throat loudly. “Me and George ,” he amended.
Hermione’s eyebrows climbed her forehead, looking between the two of them. These were not the duo she expected to give her a joint present. George nodded at her. “Go on, then.”
“Ron, what is this?” she asked, thumbing through the blank book curiously.
“For your N.E.W.T. year,” he explained, straightening upright in his seat and looking exceptionally proud of himself. “After you write your notes in there you can search for keywords with your wand, instead of searching manually. Dad gave me the idea; he was telling me about… Merlin, what was it called? Some search function that Muggles use on their, erm… George?”
“Computers,” said George helpfully.
“Right,” Ron nodded. "Computers. George helped me with the charmwork. I thought it would help with your revising.”
“Ron…” Hermione said, words clogging in her throat and tears welling in her eyes.
He looked down at her with an uneasy expression, misinterpreting her distress. “Do you like it?”
“It’s brilliant,” she declared, clearing her throat. “ Thank you .”
Ron beamed.
“And thank you, George,” she said, embarrassed at the tears starting to leak out of the corners of her eyes.
“S’nothing,” said George lightly. “Had to make sure Ronnie didn’t muck it up.”
“Oi!” protested Ron.
Hermione laughed, wiping hastily at her face with her sleeve.
“And if you’ve been studying too long, it’ll remind you to take a break, Granger,” added George. “And if you don’t listen…”
“What?” asked Hermione in alarm.
“I’m sure you’ll find out,” George laughed. “The way you study.”
“George…” she said warningly.
“Nothing bad, promise!” he winked.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“It’s your birthday , relax.”
“It won’t be my birthday when I use this,” she pointed out.
George’s grin widened. He didn’t look guilty about it, but the devious look spoke volumes to his lack of innocence.
“Don’t worry, Hermione,” interjected Fred. “We both know better than to mess with someone as proficient in revenge as you are.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “I’m not vengeful,” she muttered.
“Tell that to Marietta Edgecombe,” said Ginny, causing Hermione’s cheeks to flush even more as she sunk deeper into the booth. Around her the table laughed.
“My turn,” Harry said, gently nudging his present into her hand and saving her from further ribbing.
“Oh,” she said after pulling back the plain brown wrapping to reveal a single circular mirror. “Is this…?”
Harry nodded, “Like the one Sirius and my dad used to have.”
“Oh,” she repeated. And then burst into tears.
Both of her best friends stiffened beside her.
“Er…” Ron began, ears reddening.
"It's a present!" Harry exclaimed, alarm expanding all the features of his face upward. "It's not sad!"
Seven years and they still didn't know what to do when she cried.
She flung her arms around Harry’s neck, now hiccoughing as she cried even harder. His arms came around her uncertainly. “It’s okay , Hermione,” he said as he awkwardly patted her back.
Hermione squeezed one more time before releasing him, leaning back and examining the mirror more closely.
“It’s so we can talk,” Harry explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “And not have to wait for owl post.”
“Harry,” she said, voice wobbling. Her friend winced, clearly worried she would begin crying again. Which, to be fair, she would if she tried to speak any of her feelings right now. Instead, she kissed his cheek, and then Ron’s.
Her heart was so full.
“Now my gift looks stupid,” Ginny complained.
Hermione laughed in surprise, wiping her eyes yet again. “Ginny, respectfully, shut up,” she said. “Your gift is perfect.”
Fred barked out a laugh across the table from her, and George snickered when Ginny elbowed Fred hard in the ribs.
“Best for last,” Fred winked, as he slid a cylindrical parcel wrapped in garish neon paper with exploding fireworks on it across the table.
Hermione laughed even harder through her residual tears.
“That’s ghastly,” said Ginny with a wrinkled nose. “Honestly, Fred, you and George have no taste.”
“Oi, leave me out of it,” protested George.
“Mate, your robes are the same colour ,” Ron pointed out, voice just short of incredulous.
“Yeah, but mine have flying broomsticks on them,” George said slowly, like he was explaining Gamp’s Law to a toddler.
“Fireworks are much cooler than broomsticks,” Fred argued.
Hermione looked at the gift in trepidation, unable to explain why this gift , more than any of the others, made her heart pound in anticipation. Of what , she had no earthly idea. While the Weasleys continued to bicker around her, Hermione unwrapped her last present slowly to reveal a plain white candle poured into a clear glass container. Upon holding it up to the light, the wax appeared iridescent. She sniffed it and smelled nothing.
Her brow contorted in confusion as she continued to turn the nondescript gift in her hands. No matter what angle she looked at it, the candle remained at odds with the busy packaging it had come in. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like nothing more than a source of light.
“A candle?” she asked, looking up at Fred to find him already watching her with an amused smirk, settled back against the booth with his arms crossed nonchalantly across his chest.
“Five points to Gryffindor,” he drawled.
“It doesn’t smell like anything,” she said.
“It won’t until you light it,” Fred explained as he leaned forward. “It’s a new prototype for the shop.”
Hermione paused with her wand tip halfway to the wick. “Right,” she said warily, withdrawing her hand and pocketing her wand. “I’ll wait then.”
Harry snorted into his drink.
Fred’s answering grin did nothing but reinforce her decision. “Suit yourself.”
“Thank you, Fred,” she said, brow still furrowed.
“You’ll have to write and tell me what you think,” he said in answer, seeming maddeningly unperturbed.
“Is it supposed to… do something?” she asked, confusion starting to give way to another feeling. After the thoughtful gifts her friends had all given her, and after the way she had been feeling while wandering the village with Fred earlier, she had been expecting… Well, she wasn’t sure, really. But something more than this.
Fred seemed satisfied enough with his gift. “It’s supposed to smell good,” he shrugged.
“Oh,” she said.
“Right,” said Harry, glancing between them uneasily. “Cake?” he asked.
She hoped no one had caught the way her bottom lip trembled. She was being silly, really. Fred had gotten her a gift. It was probably a perfectly nice candle.
It didn’t make sense to be so disappointed.
Hermione didn’t get an opportunity to light the candle until that night, once she was sequestered safely in her private dorm room where no one could see her if the effects of the candle were similar to the effect the twins had had on Ron’s hair.
The wax shimmered pleasantly as it melted, the smoke curling from the wick in a mesmerising spiral pattern, but otherwise it continued to look and behave like a normal candle. Hermione had just begun to accept that for the first time ever Fred had developed a completely unremarkable, exceedingly normal product, when she smelled it.
At first it was only the pleasant smell of fire and smoke that could be attributed to any burning candle wick. Then… a spicy, earthy smell that would be equally at place both in the woods or at a library. Mahogany, maybe? Leather and parchment? Grass? Pine? Musk? Being wrapped up in a hug by her dad? Each option she considered and then discarded as not-quite-right.
She felt the same frustration of having the exact word you need on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach, without being able to recall it. Whatever this smell was, it was infuriatingly familiar. And yet she couldn't place it for the life of her.
After several minutes, Hermione gave up. She let the candle continue to burn and opened a novel, allowing herself to indulge in Muggle fiction rather than schoolwork for once. It was still her birthday for another twenty minutes, and it was a Saturday . Despite what the twins might say, Hermione was capable of taking a break.
As she read she continued to breathe in the warm, comforting scent of her gift and felt a strange calm wash over her. It was a rather nice candle, she could admit. If all their new product was supposed to do was smell good, she supposed they had succeeded.
Then it snapped into place and she sat bolt upright in her bed, heart pounding. The word she had been searching for fell from her lips to linger in the empty room with the candle fumes.
“Fred.”
The candle smelled exactly like Fred Weasley.
Maybe this was a prank after all.
She blew out the candle with a defiant flick of her wand.
The next morning Hermione sat at her desk scribbling a letter with her quill, writing and crossing out her words over and over as she searched for a way to relay her findings about the candle to Fred while minimising her embarrassment. She had hardly slept, staring at the ceiling well into the night while her mind whirred and turned over the puzzle she was no closer to solving. “You’ll have to write and tell me what you think,” she mumbled sardonically under her breath. “What on earth are you playing at, Fred?” She crumpled the parchment in frustration and threw it into the wastebasket.
“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud to no one. “You’re being ridiculous,” she repeated, shaking her head.
It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and Hermione made an impulsive decision, picking up the candle and making large, decisive strides to the door.
What was the point of having unrestricted permission to leave school grounds if she didn’t use it?
She made her way to Hogsmeade before she could talk herself out of it, sprinting into the Three Broomsticks when the sky opened up and began to pour without warning. She still found herself soaked, which only added to her growing irritation with Fred Weasley.
“Hello, Hermione,” greeted Madame Rosmerta as she set the candle on the bar top with a thud. “What can I do for you?”
“Rosmerta,” she exhaled breathlessly, “Mind if I use your Floo?”
Which is how Hermione found herself stumbling out of a fireplace into the flat above the shop, colliding straight into the wizard she sought and nearly toppling them both over.
"This candle is defective," she said without preamble as Fred righted her.
"Does it smell bad?" he asked, reflexively accepting the candle as it was thrust into his chest.
"No," said Hermione with unfiltered honesty and growing embarrassment as she recalled what, or rather who , the candle reminded her so strongly of.
And how entirely inoffensive she found it to be.
Fred's nose scrunched in confusion. "Does it… not smell?" he asked as he lifted the candle up to sniff experimentally.
"No." She whipped her wet hair out of her face, only for it to whip around to hit the other cheek with a loud smack that she ignored. Outside, a strong wind whistled loudly as rain slashed against the windows.
"I'm sorry, in what way is it defective then?" he asked. “It sounds like it’s in working order to me.”
Fred was getting over his initial confusion with alarming, disorienting speed. Already his brows were unfurling, all his features beginning to lift smugly upward, a confident smirk affixing to his lips.
She nearly growled in frustration, stamping her foot in a rare show of petulance.
“This isn’t funny, Fred,” she said, horrified to feel her eyes begin to brim with tears.
“It’s not supposed to be,” he said, smile drooping. “Hermione, you’re soaking wet,” he said, now officially frowning as he placed the candle on the coffee table. He put both hands on his hips as he looked down at her in unconcealed concern, reminiscent of his mum in a way that would have been amusing in another circumstance. “Why don’t you dry off first and then we can talk about the candle.”
She nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, not trusting herself to answer.
She was being absolutely ridiculous .
“Sorry,” she said, voice small. She felt suddenly silly and uncertain to have run all the way over here. “For barging in. I should’ve told you I was coming.”
Fred shook his head immediately. “Don’t apologise. You’re always welcome here. You don’t need an invitation.”
“Oh,” she said, fighting a fresh wave of tears.
“Come here,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to envelop her in a hug, head resting on top of her head.
“Sorry,” she said again. “I’m getting you wet.”
“S’okay,” he said into her hair. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine ,” she said, thoroughly exasperated with herself. “I’ve spent all night trying to figure out what this candle is supposed to be and it’s driving me mad.”
She pulled away, wiping at her eyes, which she fixed firmly on the floor and their trainers. She let out a small growl of annoyance. “And then I didn’t expect you to say that and it made me emotional .”
“I mean it. You can barge in whenever,” he said earnestly as he squeezed her shoulder.
“Thanks, Fred,” she said.
He blasted her with a drying charm. “You’re welcome, love,” he laughed as she sputtered.
Hermione blasted him back. “Prat,” she grumbled.
“Let’s sit,” he said, pulling her down onto the couch with him. “Tell me about this candle puzzle.”
Her stare back at him was determined even as her cheeks began to flame.
"I don't know if it's some kind of joke…” she started. “Like a polyjuice candle that you've imbued with Essence of Fred as a bit. But this candle smells exactly like you. Either you've made an error or you did it on purpose. Either way..."
"The candle smells like me?" He asked carefully, perking up.
She nodded.
"Can you describe it?"
"It's... I don't know! It just smells like you're sitting right next to me. Or I’m wrapped in one of your hugs. It's just... It's just Fred!"
"I was going more for… I don’t know. Notes of citrus, or old leather quidditch gloves, or..."
Hermione was silent for a long moment, chewing her lip as she thought. "It's warm and woodsy and sunshiney, maybe a little like a campfire,” she finally said.
Fred stared at her in incomprehension. “Sunshiney?” he repeated, voice pitching upward as his brows knit together.
"I'm really at a loss of how to describe it. Here, I'll just light it and you can see for yourself."
She dried and lit the candle, and just like before, the room was filled with the same overwhelming Fred smell. Hermione looked at him expectantly. “See?”
A slow grin spread across Fred’s face. "I just smell you."
"I can sit further away,” she offered.
"No, Hermione, the candle. The candle smells like you."
Her inhale was sharp and involuntary. "Describe it," she breathed, the beginnings of a hypothesis stirring in her mind.
"It's lilacs and old parchment and something earthy. It's Hermione. Like being wrapped up in one of your hugs."
Fred’s grin grew impossibly wider, a starry-eyed smile that she had to turn away from.
Hermione ducked down to look at the candle in fascination. "How does it smell like two people at once?"
"I modelled the candle's magic off Amortentia . See how the smoke coming off the wick is spiralling? The way the wax has the same mother-of-pearl sheen?"
"But that's not what Amortentia smells like to me,” she protested, face twisting in confusion even as her cheeks burned exponentially hotter.
"It's not meant to be exact. It's meant to smell like someone you love or miss,” he explained.
"But you're right here. How can I miss you if you're sitting right here?" She did not let herself entertain the first part of his explanation. No, absolutely not.
"... Hermione,” he said, rolling his eyes.
"Fred,” she retorted.
"Is it possible you weren't just missing me in your dorm room?" he asked slowly, something giving him the nerve to reach out and grab her hand.
"I never said I was missing you in my dorm room,” she said quickly. Though maybe she had been. Just a little.
"Maybe the candle just smells like someone you love, then" he suggested, voice unnervingly patient.
She did not come here for Fred Weasley to insinuate what she thought he might be insinuating.
"I do love you. Of course I love you. But why would it be you I smelled, of all of the people I love?" she asked, waiting for him to reveal that this was an elaborate joke, and, Honestly, Hermione, you should see your face right now.
"Maybe the way you love me is different,” he said instead, face open and hopeful in a way that made Hermione feel the beginnings of a panic.
"Different," she intoned dully. Her voice was flat and uncomprehending. Hermione Granger was not in love with Fred Weasley. She would know, wouldn’t she, if she was in love with someone?
"For example, the way I love you, Hermione Granger, isn't strictly platonic or familial. And this candle, even though you're right in front of me and I'm not actively missing you, smells exactly like you."
Her heart stuttered in her chest. She certainly did not come here for Fred Weasley to insinuate that either.
"It's not?"
"No, love." He interlaced their fingers and looked straight into her eyes. He gave a squeeze as he said, voice even and deep, "It's certainly not."
“Oh,” she said.
He looked at her pointedly, brushing her hair behind her ear with his free hand, coming to rest it at the base of her neck.
“Oh.”
"Yeah." He brushed his thumb against her skin, and despite how warm it was, she felt herself shiver.
“Are you sure?” she asked in a near whisper.
He nodded. Squeezed her hand. “Very sure.”
After several long beats of silence Fred said with a laugh, “Hermione, love, breathe .”
She let out a long breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding. The epiphany was so heavy it had stolen the breath from her lungs. “Sorry,” she exhaled. “I think I’m in shock.”
He laughed again, lifting his other hand so he was cupping her neck with both hands. “George swore you must know. He’s been telling me for months that I’m not subtle.”
She shook her head, puzzle pieces beginning to click into place. “I think maybe I’m just a bit of an idiot,” she said.
“Hermione, no one would ever accuse you of being an idiot,” he said.
“Yes, well…” she breathed. “Anyway, I don’t think it is for me, either,” she said. “Strictly platonic or familial, that is.”
“No?” he asked, eyes burning in a way that made her heart thud nervously.
“I have butterflies erupting in my stomach,” she blurted. “I feel like I’m about to throw up.”
“Ah,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. “Nothing says true love like the desire to vomit.”
“I’m nervous , Fred,” she said, pulling away.
He reached for both her hands, kissing the knuckles on each in turn. “ I’m nervous,” he said. “Imagine how embarrassing it’d be if the candle smelled like Hermione to me and it didn’t smell like Fred to you.”
“Well it does,” she admitted again, a flame smouldering somewhere inside her.
"Thank Merlin for that," he said. "Or it might make my next present a bit awkward."
"Next present?" she asked, a flush creeping up her neck. The fire in her burned hotter at the heat of his gaze.
Fred brought a tentative hand up to her jaw and the other to rest gently against her waist. "Gonna need you to close your eyes for this one, if that's alright,” he whispered.
Hermione acquiesced. With her eyes closed she felt warm breath ghost over her mouth, then the soft press of his lips against hers. She responded perhaps a bit enthusiastically, some molten feeling pooling in her stomach as she pulled him closer. He responded in kind, folding around her, burying his hand in her hair. This close, all she could smell with every inhale was Fred, Fred, Fred .
"Happy birthday, Hermione,” he said as he pulled away several minutes later, a blinding, triumphant look on his face.
"Happy birthday, Fred," she replied in a daze, realising her mistake only after Fred exploded with laughter.
Merlin, it's like she just told a waiter to enjoy his meal, too. Mortification set in deeper with every second he was still laughing at her . Fred was literally shaking with mirth.
Hermione pushed him away and groaned loudly, burying her face in her hands before dropping her head into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Any chance you can forget I said that?” she mumbled.
“Oh, darling,” he sighed happily, shoulders still shaking as he kissed the top of her head. She could feel the smile against her hair. “Not a chance.”