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Take Me Home
“Take me out and take me home. You’re my lover.” - Lover ; Taylor Swift
Fred knew everything he was saying was half-nonsense and half-unnecessary, but he just couldn’t stop himself. He had been waiting for this moment for months and it was important to him that a good first impression was made. There was no room for error.
The flat was cozy and even a guest could manage their way around it just fine. And yet, Fred felt a compulsion to be very detailed so their new flat mate could be comfortable from day one. Hermione hardly had a chance to take off her shoes before Fred offered to show her around and launched into an unpolished monologue. He walked one step ahead of her and randomly pointed to objects around the room like an ill-prepared tour guide.
Starting in the living room, Fred told her, “We don’t have a telly, but maybe we can get one for you if you’re bored.”
Hermione ducked her head and laughed quietly. “I’ll manage,” she said.
“Alright, but if you do, let me know.” Fred pointed to the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. “That’s the Floo.”
There was a sharp noise quickly covered by a cough. With a fist pressed to her mouth, Hermione smiled innocently up at Fred when he turned. She coughed once more and said, “Sorry. Just a tickle.”
“I have Pepper-Up,” he offered. Hermione shook her head. “Alright. Well, this is the kitchen.” Fred turned to his right and swept his arm out as though it was some grand reveal. “We’ve got everything you could need—pots, silverware, plates.”
“A kettle?” Hermione asked with a smirk.
Fred nodded excitedly. “Yes! We have a kettle. Do you want some tea now? I can make you some.”
Hermione pressed her lips into a tight line, though the corners of her mouth strained against the effort. She answered him with a slow shake of her head.
Fred deflated slightly. “Oh, alright. If you change your mind, let me know, yeah?” Hermione nodded. “Fridge is there. What’s ours is yours with the food. I told George not to get greedy. Don’t worry about having to do the same, though. We won’t touch anything you buy if you don’t want to share.”
“Thank you,” Hermione whispered, her voice cracking on the last word.
Oblivious to this, Fred continued, cutting around the sharp corner that turned to a short hallway with two doors on the left. He opened the first one and stepped inside, leaning against the door to let Hermione see properly.
“This is the bathroom. We keep the soap and things on the shower shelves, but we can move it. Or you’re welcome to put your stuff in there as well. It won’t bother us to see some girly shampoo.” Fred pointed to the sink where hand soap rested on one side and a toothbrush holder rested on the other. “You can put your toothbrush in there unless it’s too close to ours for your liking. Then I’ll buy you your own. We have towels in that little linen closet, but if you don’t like them—”
He looked to his right and for the first time really noticed the expression on Hermione’s face. The inside of her lips must have hurt with how hard she had her teeth biting down on them, trying and barely succeeding at keeping them still. The laughter she suppressed was on full display in her amber brown eyes, severely undercutting the attempt to look serious. Her eyebrows, raised and pinched, were the final touch, and Fred realized he was making a fool of himself.
“What?” he asked dryly.
Hermione slowly released her lips from between her teeth and giggled. “Fred,” she said sweetly. “I’ve been here before. Multiple times.”
“Yes, but—”
“You’re overthinking this.” Hermione jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “You pointed out the Floo.”
Fred leaned his head back against the door with a solid thunk and sighed.
She wasn’t wrong. He’d been panicking since he’d re-extended the offer for her to move in halfway through her term. Hermione accepted eagerly and it was decided that she’d move in over the Christmas holiday. Then began the countdown that had Fred’s heart racing as he tried to get the flat in the best shape it had ever been.
All of that planning and worrying, and now, here she stood—laughing.
“I want you to be happy here,” Fred said.
The amusement in her expression melted—her eyebrows dropped; mirth left her eyes to be replaced by sympathy. Hermione sighed, then smiled again, to comfort rather than to tease. She took one of his hands.
“I am,” Hermione said.
Fred lowered his head to meet her gaze and believed her immediately. There was nothing but sincerity in how she looked at him. Still, he asked, “Are you?”
“Yes, Fred.” Hermione squeezed his hand. “I was happy here the moment you opened the door.”