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Fred stared at the dying embers of the fire, the sounds of his family’s laughter echoing in the background. The Burrow was alive: people moving, fireworks crackling, the leaves blowing across the ground. The heat of summer had yet to give way and sweat clung to the nape of his neck but fall was coming all the same.
Another boom sounded and Fred looked up to the sky just as a crimson red dragon took flight, spiraling around in the night sky as it roared.
He had wondered why George insisted that they expand their WWW fireworks line. It was all they had worked on in the months following the war. He insisted it was for the summer holidays but on Harry’s birthday he finally had spilled the beans.
“Just look at them all Freddie boy,” George said, sitting on the porch where Fred was still trapped, confined to his chair while the bones in his leg set the muggle way. By now he was ready to chug gallons of skele-gro if I meant he could speed the healing.
Fred looked out over the family in the garden. Scattered across the grass people had summoned blankets from inside and laid them flat, stitching a patchwork quilt of colors that could only be from the Wealsey family. Harry and Ginny curled close together, smiling and occasionally pointing at the sky.
Ron and Hermione were fighting again, a common occurrence since the end of the battle. The family didn’t know specifically what was wrong. George was betting lover’s spat but Fred didn’t think so. He didn’t see love in the under current of their tones and postures.
Ron had stomped off, pointedly sitting with Charlie and Mum while Hermione called forth her own blanket and threw herself back on it in a huff. She still lay there, the blooming white of a lotus blossom bursting in the sky throwing shadows on her face and making her hair shine. In spite of the fight that occurred twenty minutes ago she was smiling, a soft wonder playing out on her face as she watched the blossom fade.
“They look happy,” Fred said finally, realizing it was true.
Everyone was smiling. Even his mother, who constantly fretted when one of them was out of her eyesight, was relaxed against his father, staring up at the sky. He smirked when she gasped, an image of her treacle tart appearing in the sky before the scent rained down on them, Harry’s birthday pie floating out just as everyone gathered to start singing.
“It’s more than that though,” George insisted. “They aren’t scared. They hear a big bang and they don’t go for their wands. A flash of light doesn’t make them jump. They laugh at the colors of deadly curses, twisted into shapes and sounds that only bring joy… We did it Fred. We did it.”
Fred glanced at his twin but George was just smiling serenely as the song came to an end and Harry blew out his candles. All of the sudden the pie shot up into the air, causing Harry to stumble backwards as it careened into the sky. Another bang jolted in the background and suddenly quidditch players were flying through the sky and imaginary crowds chanted “Harry! Harry! Harry!”. A seeker shot around the imaginary pitch, chasing the pie rather than a snitch.
Harry simply laughed and took the offered broom from Ginny before giving chase to his birthday dessert as people below cheered him on.
“So they are.”
“We can never make those memories go away,” George said softly. “They’ll always be there, lurking in the back of our minds. But we can hide them. Drown them out with the good. Give them so many happy memories that there’s no room for anything else.”
“You can’t force people to be happy George,” Fred said simply as Harry quickly swiped at his pie. Behind him fireworks exploded, zinging by his face and bursting with a sonic wave of sound. But Harry just summoned a fork, grinning as he took a massive bite in victory.
“No,” George agreed with a sad smile. “But I can do what I can. Everyone deserves a good laugh now, don’t you think?”
Fred relaxed as he saw his brother, no longer by his side. Instead he was floating around Angelina, smiling with an honesty that Fred had not seen in a long time. Angelina laughed at something he said, granting George a kiss on his cheek. It was sweet. It was kind. It was everything his brother deserved for replacing tragedy with joy.
“Does it hurt?”
Fred jumped as Hermione appeared beside him, two glasses in hand. He smiled wickedly as he took one.
“When I fell from heaven? Only a bit.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Hermione scoffed, taking her place on the log beside him. “If anything you were booted out of hell. The devil didn’t like the competition.”
“I’m wounded,” Fred gasped, his hand to his chest even as he drank his cider.
“You’re healed actually,” Hermione said, taking a sip at her drink.
“So they say,” Fred responded slyly. “I still think I have a bit of devil inside of me.”
“I assure you, you do.”
He smiled as another firework burst above them. After Harry’s birthday people kept marveling at what he made, asking about future shows and where he would take it next. Ever the showman, he always made it bigger. Made it more . At least to the best of his abilities.
Fred had gone a bit crazy with the effects this time and above them a glowing scene of a mermaid swimming through water played out like a movie. Her song was beautiful and sweet.
“You doing okay?” he asked, turning to Hermione as she watched the sky. Colors flashed across her skin, ranging from blue to green as the firework faded and a new one exploded.
“Hm, fine.”
“I know that you and Ron… I don’t know what was happening between the two of you but I know you’ve stopped talking.”
Her face didn’t change but her hand tightened into a fist. Just as quickly as it happened it was gone.
“He’ll come around. You know how he is. But just because the truth isn’t what he wants it to be doesn’t mean we should change it.”
He tilted his head curiously, not sure what she meant.
“Can you even change the truth? Wouldn't it no longer be the truth then?”
“I’ve never thought that far into it.”
“What a shock,” Fred teased lightly. They sat in silence as more fireworks went off. Just as they were winding down, Fred shot another spell at the next box, sending more careening into the sky, much to his family’s enjoyment.
“So you’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Fred asked, trying to keep his voice teasing and not defensive.
“Angelina. I thought you two…”
She nodded her head to where George was tucking a braid behind Angelina’s ear. She laughed at him and he took the moment to steal another kiss.
“We were nothing serious. They’re better suited anyway. George is the more fun twin, quicker with a joke or a smooth line. She needs that right now.”
Hermione nodded. Her hands fiddled with each other and after a while of silence he wondered why she was still here. After a moment he looked around, realizing why.
He wasn’t sure when it had happened but everyone who was still here had paired up. Percy had brought his girlfriend Penelope. Harry with Ginny. George with Angelina. Bill and Fleur. His parents. Even Ron (who was still pointedly ignoring Hermione) was listening attentively to something Lovegood was saying. All that was left was them.
“Ah, I suppose you'll be banished to the singles table with me at the next wedding then?”
Hermione snorted.
“At least I’ll have good company,” Hermione responded, nudging his shoulder.
“The best! To the singles table!” Fred shouted, raising his cider.
“To the singles table,” Hermione said with a laugh as they clinked glasses.
As the show was coming to an end, Hermione cleared her throat. Fred looked over to find her holding a little stick. It was dark pink and thinner than a wand but about as long. Her cheeks were red as she faced him, but her eyes held a fierce determination.
“So… I have an idea.”
“A dangerous prospect around me,” Fred said with a grin. “Do go on.”
“Well… I’ve noticed that you’ve really gotten into fireworks lately.”
“I’ve been known to be fond of things that explode, yes,” Fred said quickly. “Me and George are quite familiar with the concept.”
“But you make them all, right?”
“Well it’s a group-”
“You’re the only one who smells like gunpowder,” Hermione said pointedly. Fred was so shocked by the statement he didn’t consider taking the time to point out that she was correct. “In any event I have something to show you. It’s muggle but I figured you wouldn’t mind that. It would be a great product for the shop and I could help and… well… just let me show you.”
Fred watched as Hermione summoned a small flame. She touched it to the tip and sparks began to shoot from the fuse in between them, then she just… held it. Fred gasped as she just sat there, letting the fuse spark. In a panic he smacked it away, just before it was about to go off.
“Hermione!” he shouted, diving over and pulling her to the ground.
He was intimately familiar with detonations at close range and tried to arrange his body to cover the most vital parts of hers. He stiffened over her, bracing for the searing heat and rain of hot shrapnel… but none came.
After what felt like ages, he felt her hand rest on his cheek and it was only then that he realized he was shaking. When Fred opened his eyes hesitatingly Hermione was simply staring at him, her mouth set into a sad frown. Her eyes were guarded, showing nothing more than the colors in the sky reflecting back onto them.
“It was just a sparkler Fred,” she assured him softly. “They don’t explode.”
“Oh,” Fred said lamely but he still didn’t move. His legs shook like a newborn mooncalf and he was aware that she could feel his heart hammering against her chest. He hated the aura of fear that cloaked him.
A loud boom in the background had him flinching and his family cheered. It appeared no one had noticed his overreaction.
“S-sorry. I didn’t-”
“It’s okay,” Hermione shushed, pushing back his hair from where it fell between them. “It’s okay.”
“I can’t… I can’t move,” he said honestly.
Fred knew he had blanched white and his eyes were blown wide. He probably looked like a crazy person. She should just push him off, let him fall to the grass and leave him there until he could pull himself together enough to function.
“Take your time,” Hermione cooed.
With only a moment’s hesitation she rested a hand over his heart, the warmth feeling like fire on his cool skin. His breaths moved her hair but she just waited, staring up at him with wide eyes. After an eternity he felt his arms shake, about to give out.
Something must have shown on his face as Hermione’s eyes narrowed and her mouth set into a line of thin determination before she tugged on his shoulders. He fell listlessly to the side, letting her guide him onto the grass gently.
Her body remained next to his even though she had no reason to. He was grateful for her presence, and the way her hands twisted in his when he flinched at his own creations as they drew gasps of delight from his family.
“I’m so sorry. I was fine and then…”
“It just came out of nowhere?” she suggested, squeezing his hands tightly. “I didn’t know you were afraid of fireworks. You… well. You’re you.”
“I…”
He wanted to say that he wasn’t afraid. That like everyone else he had successfully drowned out the taste of exploding spellfire with the sound of his family’s joy. But he hadn’t really.
“You don’t hold them anymore,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “You used to hold them in the air and toss them where you wanted them to go. Scared the life out of me everytime. I used to take points from you for it, remember?”
“I-I remember,” Fred said shakily. He tried to smile as he recalled a whip-angry Hermione chasing him and George through the halls, running past the sparks that got caught in her hair. Sometimes they would let her catch them, just because she worked so hard at it. Even if they caught a bit of detention for it.
“I thought it was odd you started setting them off from a distance but figured it was just easier.”
“It is easier,” Fred said weakly.
“But that’s not why, is it?”
Fred didn't respond, just closing his eyes. He could do this. He could get over it. She didn’t need to know.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that-”
Fred scowled, the self-hate chasing away the fear. “I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
Fred scoffed but quickly found his face being tilted up by her soft, warm hand.
“Look at me, Fred.”
He begrudgingly opened his eyes, staring into the darkness that were her own. A firework would flash and they would take the color of whatever was floating across the sky in deep jewel tones. Emerald, ruby, sapphire. It was beautiful, but not enough to stop the way his muscles jumped from the booms.
“It’s not pity,” she said again.
He frowned but said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. Like it had hurt her. That made him flinch too.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m such a melt,” he sighed. “I swear I’m fine. I just don’t know why I get this way.”
“I should have warned you,” Hermione said weakly. “Even if you shouldn’t have needed it, I still should have warned you. I just thought… you’ve been doing so much work with them this summer, I thought you would like them. That they would make you happy. It was stupid of me.”
“Don't,” Fred said, raising his own hand to rest on her cheek. It still shook but he ignored it, hating the way her face had fallen. “I’m fine. I was just… I was just caught off guard. That’s all.”
She whimpered, her lip trembling. Fred forced himself to breathe, making his hand still as he calmed.
“Show me,” Fred insisted, staring into her eyes. “Show me again.”
“But I-”
“Please Hermione. I want to see. I’m ready this time.”
Hermione frowned but scooted back. He noticed that she kept their legs entwined even as she summoned the cardboard pack he hadn’t seen before. She sniffed before holding it up.
“What color?”
Fred blinked at the package, little drawn images of a sparking fuse all over it. But no explosions. No spells. Just sparks.
“Not green,” he said finally. “Not green or red.”
Hermione nodded and withdrew a blue stick holding it above and between them. She glanced at him before calling forth a flame. He nodded and she lit the tip. He couldn’t help the way his hands shot to her hips in a panic, trying to simultaneously pull her away while leaning back himself. The end result was having her back tight against his chest while she held out the sparkler at arms length.
Just like she promised, it didn’t explode. It reminded Fred a lot of the sparks that first shot from his wand when it picked him. His purple, George's orange.
The sparks that hit the grass sizzled but did not catch, and when the fuse extinguished, he pulled her tighter against him and shut his eyes.
Moments passed but nothing happened. There was no boom. No pain. No death. Just silence.
He was shaking again and her hand stroked up his hip, soothing as she murmured soft things that he didn’t quite make out. When he opened his eyes the stick had burned away, the small handle all that was left. He let out a massive sigh staring at the stick until Hermione tilted her head back against his chest to look up at him. With soft eyes, she opened her mouth before pausing as if deciding something. When she finally spoke it was soft, like the rustle of drying leaves on the trees.
“Another?”
Fred’s breath hitched. He could do this. It was just like a wand. A happy time. A special time. He just needed to drown out the memories that said otherwise.
He nodded.
“Color?”
“Not green or red,” he mumbled, leaning back down to burrow into her neck. Maybe it was too much. Maybe he was taking liberties. But he was scared and it felt like where he needed to be.
She lit a white one and they watched it spark. This time when it fizzled down to nothing, Fred forced himself to keep his eyes open. It hurt a bit less and instead of bracing himself he was able to feel the muscles of her stomach tense under his hands. He forced himself to relax, watching while she did the same. After a moment he exhaled, watching as she laid the stick next to the other. A few more moments of silence lingered before another bang in the background went off.
“Again,” he whispered against her hair. He saw her glance at him from the corner of her eye before she reached for the pack.
“Not green or red?” she asked.
“Purple,” he said after thinking it over for a moment.
By the time they finished, the green and reds still pointedly ignored in the discard package, there was a small pile of sticks, resting in the grass. He still hadn’t moved his hands, even though he knew he should. But she didn’t pull away and as the last sparkler went out, he realized the garden had fallen into silence.
“Thank you,” he offered weakly. “For understanding. For dealing with me. For… showing me. I think I like them.”
“They’re not really like your bigger stuff so I thought… well, for the kids and everything. I imagined some parents would like something a bit safer.”
“It’s a good idea,” Fred said with a nod. “Safe is good.”
“Never thought I would live to hear you of all people say that,” Hermione teased.
Fred huffed a laugh that caught her hair before they fell back into silence. At some point it grew awkwardly long, and he knew they had crossed a line. His family had moved inside, probably heading to bed. Still he didn’t feel in the need to move, not when her body felt so warm and secure against his.
“You missed the rest of the show… because of me. Because I couldn’t hold it together.”
“I’m sure it was wonderful but there will be more,” Hermione sighed and shifted. With a begrudging frown, Fred finally released her, surprised when she just turned toward him rather than away. It was a good thing the fireworks had stopped going off, her eyes were dark and unreadable now. He didn’t really want to see what they had to say.
Instead she rested her hands on his chest, snuggling the rest of her body close to him. When she spoke, she was careful to keep her tone quiet and soft.
“Why do you make fireworks if the explosions still scare you?”
The question caught him off guard and he frowned. She flinched, already opening her mouth to apologize. He didn’t like her flinching. There had been enough of that for the night.
“Well you see,” Fred started, trying to inject humor in his voice. “I have this idiot twin. And he says the only way to get over bad memories is to drown them out with good ones. So that’s what I am trying to do. Make good memories.”
“Oh?” Hermione asked. “How's that going?”
“This one isn’t so terrible.”
He offered her a weak smile and she gave him one back. He didn’t say a word when she curled properly into his chest, her small breaths warm on his neck. He didn’t move when he realized she had fallen asleep, even though the autumn chill nipped at his fingers where they were wrapped around her back.
He didn’t even correct himself when the moment slipped from not too terrible to nice, or from nice to wonderful. But he would remember, that as he too drifted off to sleep under the smell of gunpowder and the too cold moonlight, that this memory was especially good at drowning out the bad.