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The owl arrived that morning while they took their breakfast. Fred watched as delight stole over his mum’s entire body–face lifting and stretching into a grin, back visibly straightening, and hands trembling with excitement.
“What is it, Mum?”
There was nobody else in the kitchen to witness the scene, another boon in his favour. George still hadn’t returned from Angie’s, both of them taking their time enjoying time off from the joke shop. Fred would have been with Hermione, too, were she not called off on one of her work emergencies. Dad was outside in the garden.
“Andromeda and the girls want to try on the new spring selection at Madam Maulkins! There’s also apparently a beauty demonstration at Perfectly Pansy. They’re even offering in-person makeovers.”
This was it. The chance he’d been waiting for.
“You should probably get ready. I’ll let Dad know where you’ve gone. When do you think you’ll be back?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“I dare say I’ll be out for most of the day. The girls always want to grab a bite at the end.”
He had to suppress a giggle at the observation that, while accurate, was especially true given that Fred had requested they take as much of his mother’s time as possible.
“Give them my love, would you?”
“You are such a darling! Of course.” Pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, she rushed off.
Fred waited for the woosh of the Floo–nursing the last bit of tea, then washing up–before heading outside to find his dad.
He’d never met anyone more passionate, aside from Neville, about the Burrow’s gardens and orchards. Together with Mum, they ensured that the family never went hungry, no matter how tight the purse strings became. That was in the past, though. Ever since the change within the Ministry, his dad had received one promotion after another, all of his diligence finally recognised.
“Dad!” he called.
Silence.
The garden shed came into sight as he walked around the corner. Not the workshop, which was once a garden shed and had long ago been converted into his dad’s personal space for tinkering on his many projects, but the actual garden shed that housed supplies, tools, and seedlings.
Based on the wheel barrow parked just outside the door, from which a warning sign hung, Fred made sure to snag a set of earmuffs sitting on the window sill before entering.
His dad stood at the centre table surrounded by pots of all sizes, elbow deep in one as he transferred a juvenile Mandrake that was clearly screaming at the top of its lungs.
Ugly buggers. Fred grinned, remembering how he and George had tested Bubotuber paste on the pimpled plants. They’d been assigned detention with Hagrid for a month when Sprout had found out.
Reformed in his adulthood, he jumped in to help his dad transfer the rest of the Mandrakes into larger containers.
“Thanks, son.”
“Welcome, Dad.”
But, Arthur Weasley knew better than to expect assistance from his most mischievous son for nothing. “Did you need something?”
Feeling sheepish, Fred nonetheless set his plan into motion. “Mum’s out for the day to shop with her girlfriends, and I was hoping you’d have time to take a trip to Gringotts.”
His dad’s eyebrows jumped, his curiosity obviously peaked. Fred hurried on to explain.
“You know how Mum is about secrets; she can’t keep one if it has anything to do with...” He paused, struggling to word things better so he didn’t sound like such an ungrateful son.
“Go on.” Humor twinkled in Dad’s eyes, and Fred remembered that this was a man who’d known Molly Weasley for more years than any of had and his siblings had been alive.
“I’m ready to take the next step with Hermione.”
There. He’d said it.
It felt like there was something stuck in his throat, and he swallowed in an attempt to rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation. When that didn’t help, he tugged at his collar, wishing he’d chosen to have this conversation outside where it was a bit cooler.
He needn’t have worried.
His entire body jolted forward at the force of his father’s slap to his back. The man wore a smile wide enough to nearly split his face in half.
“Congratulations, son. Let me get changed, and we’ll head out.”
The entire affair was more straightforward than Fred could have hoped for.
He wasn’t a stranger to the wizarding bank, dealing with the goblins regularly enough both for his personal account and Wizard Wheezes, but somehow Fred was still surprised at how quickly they arrived at the Weasley vault.
His father knew exactly where to go, leading them over to a wooden cabinet along the back wall.
“Take your time. Let me know if you have any questions.” He squeezed Fred’s shoulder, then wandered off towards a filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room.
Holding his breath, he hooked his thumbs beneath the lid to pull it open. This wasn’t Fred’s first time to look in at their family heirlooms, but now that he did so with intention, he saw everything in a new light.
A decent selection of jewelry met his eyes, the cumulation of generations of Weasleys. A snort escaped him as he noted the prominence of rubies over any other gem. Their family name went hand-in-hand with red, but it felt too obvious, and that was even before considering Hermione’s own inescapable association with her Hogwarts house years after graduation.
No rubies. No diamonds, either. She’d made clear her distaste for the gemstone, and he’d noted it along with every other detail about her.
Then, his eyes snagged on a stone the colour of a clear summer sky. Fred was drawn to it like a Seeker to a Snitch, or, in his case, a lovesick wizard to the woman who filled his every dream and thought day in and day out.
“Is that the one, then?”
He jumped at his dad’s voice, hand hanging mid-air above the delicate silver bracelet upon which were strung five small stones.
“It is.”
The other man waited until Fred had plucked up the piece before continuing.
“That belonged to my great, great, grandmother. It’s part of a set.”
“A set?” he repeated.
“Here, allow me–” Fred stepped aside to give his dad room to open the lower drawers. “–ah, yes. Here we are.”
Just as described, a matching necklace, drop earrings, and, most importantly, ring, lay in a row, waiting for their time. For Hermione.
It wasn’t until the following day that Fred saw his mother. He hadn’t planned on visiting home again so soon, but her owl made it clear in no uncertain terms that she needed his help. For what, exactly, she didn’t say.
He’d no sooner taken two steps from the Floo before she pounced.
“Frederic Gideon Weasley!” she squealed, surrounding him in a painfully tight hug.
“Mum! I can’t breathe!”
“Oh, tosh. You complained just now, didn’t you?” Nevertheless, she pulled back, eyes crinkled at the corners and smiling in a way that had him terrified.
“What’s going on? I thought you needed help with something.”
“I do, I do!”
She ushered him towards the stairs, giving no hints as to what the fuss was about. He wasn’t sure what he could do that Dad couldn’t. Maybe it was a surprise for the old man, or something else along those lines.
It wasn’t until they drew up to a familiar door that he noticed the change.
There was the door bathroom across his childhood bedroom, one he’d shared with George for as long as he could remember. And, there was Ginny’s room next to the bathroom. His parents claimed the room closest to the stairs, Bill and Charlie on the opposite end, while Ron’s sat directly below the ghoul’s attic.
There was an extra door.
“Mum, what’s this?” He stared at the two doors facing the bathroom where there used to only be one.
“This, my dear, is a change that’s been long-overdue.”
Having said that, she entered the closer door ahead of him, Fred close behind.
For years, they’d begged her for another room–not because they wanted to sleep separately, but because of the amount of space their projects took up on the floor, every table surface, and even the window sill! She’d finally done just that, the reason for doing so immediately clear.
A double bed sat where there used to be two twins, and the walls that had once been a cheery yellow had been repainted a calming sage green.
“Wh-What in the–”
“I’ll have to check with Hermione, of course, to see if she likes the colour or would prefer something else, but now you lovebirds have a room of your own whenever you visit! I’ve set up the other similarly for George and Angie, once they’re properly courting, of course, so–”
He didn’t hear much after that, the first phrase ringing in his ears.
She knew.
Wholly unapologetic and a tad indignant, he interrupted her mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, but how did you know?”
“Oh, darling,” she warbled, hand fluttering at her bosom and not even attempting to suppress her amusement, “if you had wanted to keep this a secret, you wouldn’t have enlisted your father. Plus, your little prank to get me out of the house was not as well planned as you might have thought.”
Fred’s mind reeled at that–Dad, he could forgive, being as the man buckled at the slightest pressure from his wife like Fang at the sight of a harmless Faerie–but Fred’s own planning being anything less than genius was a reality he could not fathom.
“What do you mean ‘not well planned’?” he squawked, thankful that Hermione wasn’t there to hear him just then.
“Please.” This woman, his mum, rolled her eyes at him as if he were some Firstie. “Andromeda isn’t the sort of witch to chase fashion trends, preferring more timeless pieces. That was my first hint that someone had convinced her into leaving her grandson for the day.”
He could feel heat prickling along his neck. A slightly uncomfortable perspiration began to build at his pits.
“The second hint was how long Miss Parkinson spent on our makeovers. Everyone else was in and out in no time at all. I would have thought she’d want to usher us out of there as soon as possible given her ‘secret’ relationship with Ronald–” How does she know about Ron and Pansy? “–but she took every possible opportunity to prolong our time there. She even went so far as to help get us reservations at that popular new restaurant–”
“Zabini’s?” he asked incredulously. He’d been trying to get in there for months!
“Yes, that’s the one. Lovely establishment. The young man himself came out to chat with us during dinner.” Her gaze turned calculating, then. “Do you think he might be Ginvera’s type?”
“Mum!”
“What? He’s fit!” She pulled her head back, surprised at his outburst.
“So, you had a perfect day that somehow convinced you that I’m courting Hermione for marriage.” He said it more as a statement, certain of her answer and choosing to ignore her question about Ginny. The last thing he needed were two Weasley women on his case.
“Well, I’m sure you aren’t quite yet, but that young woman loves you too much to say no.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Now I know where Gin gets it from.”
His mother beamed at him, drawing close to wrap him up in the sort of hug that suffocated as much as it nourished. Then, she relaxed enough to catch his eye with a smile of encouragement.
“Now, tell me everything.”
So, he did.