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The air smelled of woodsmoke and damp leaves, and for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt the ache of something that wasn’t quite sorrow but not joy either. Hogwarts looked different this autumn, quieter somehow. The war had left shadows even in the brightest corridors.
She tugged her scarf tighter around her neck, kneeling in the courtyard to gather fallen leaves for Professor Sprout’s latest experiment. They were crisp and gold, some still edged with green. As she reached for another, a voice rang out behind her.
“Careful, Granger. Collect enough of those, and you’ll summon a leaf monster.”
Hermione startled, dropping half her pile. She turned to see Fred Weasley grinning down at her, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, his hair catching the orange light like fire.
“You’re supposed to be in Diagon Alley,” she said, brushing dirt from her hands. “Running your shop.”
He gave a little shrug, his smile fading just slightly. “George is holding the fort for the moment. I thought that a change of scenery wouldn’t hurt.”
Hermione saw it then, the shadow behind his grin. She knew Fred’s laughter had always been loud enough to fill every space, but now it seemed softer, strained at the edges.
“Well, I’m sure Professor Sprout would appreciate your help. If you’re so keen on teasing me, I’ll put you to work,” Hermione said, holding out her basket.
Fred raised a brow but crouched beside her, sweeping up leaves with exaggerated flourish. “Anything to keep you from drowning in homework. You’d think saving the world would’ve earned you a permanent holiday.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “Some of us still care about finishing our education properly,” she told him. Fred grinned.
“Dropping out with a bang didn’t do me any harm,” he confessed.
“No, I suppose it didn’t, you are a very successful wizard,” she admitted as she continued with her task.
They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes; the courtyard filled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of students. Hermione found herself glancing at him more than once, noticing the faint lines around his eyes, the way he looked at the castle like it held both comfort and ghosts.
The next time she saw him was in Hogsmeade. She’d gone to the Three Broomsticks with Ginny, but when Ginny slipped away to meet Harry, Hermione lingered with her butterbeer, content to people-watch.
Fred spotted her instantly. “Merlin’s beard, do you ever take a break from that serious face?”
“Do you ever stop making an entrance?” she shot back, but her cheeks warmed as he slid into the seat across from her.
He set a paper bag on the table. “New product. Want to try?”
Hermione eyed it suspiciously. “If it turns my tongue green, I’m leaving.”
Fred’s grin widened. “Only for a minute.”
She sighed, but curiosity won. The sweet was fizzy and sharp, making her laugh despite herself when her tongue tingled. Fred looked at her like the sound was worth more than galleons.
“You don’t laugh enough,” he said softly, almost like he hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.
Hermione blinked, caught off guard. She wrapped her hands tighter around her mug. “It doesn’t always feel appropriate to laugh anymore,” she admitted.
His gaze lingered on her, steady but gentle. “Then maybe I’ll just have to remind you that it’s okay to be happy.”
Their paths kept crossing after that. Sometimes in the library, where Fred would pretend to study even though he no longer attended Hogwarts. He’d always fail at this task and would end up doodling fireworks or invention ideas on scraps of parchment as he kept her company in the late hours when nightmares had drawn her from her bed in Gryffindor Tower. Sometimes they’d meet on the path to Hogsmeade, where Hermione would find herself walking beside him, listening to his ridiculous stories about customers at the shop.
Autumn moved quickly, pumpkins glowing in the windows of the Great Hall, scarves and mittens appearing overnight, the first frost glazing the grass silver. With every passing week, Hermione felt the heaviness in her chest ease, just a little. Fred’s laughter wasn’t the shield she once thought it was. It was something else, something healing.
One late afternoon, she found him by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The ground was littered with leaves, the branches overhead a canopy of rust and gold. He was tossing a small, enchanted firework between his hands, watching it flare blue before fizzling out.
“You shouldn’t be playing with explosives in the woods,” Hermione said, arms crossed.
Fred smirked but tucked it away. “Here I thought you’d come to scold me about skipping supper,” he told her quietly. For the past week, he’d joined her in the hall for her evening meals, and Hermione had missed his presence that evening.
She stepped closer, crunching leaves under her boots. “You’re deflecting.”
“You’re predictable,” he countered, though his tone was warm.
They stood there for a moment, the silence filled only by the whisper of wind through branches. Hermione suddenly realised how close they were, how she could see the way his freckles stood out against the flush of the cold, how his eyes weren’t just mischievous but thoughtful.
“I was afraid,” she admitted quietly. “Afraid that if I let myself laugh or feel, that it would be like forgetting all those we lost in the war,” she confessed.
Fred tilted his head. “Forgetting them?”
She nodded.
He reached out, brushing a stray leaf from her hair. “I too was afraid, that’s why I kept coming to the castle initially, I almost died here, and I had to come to terms with what happened during the final battle,” he admitted quietly before continuing: “I think they’d want us to remember them by living our lives fully. We should laugh daily and if we’re lucky fall in love,” he spoke, his hazel eyes fixed on her chocolate ones with intention.
Her heart caught at his words and at the heated look in his gaze. For a moment, neither of them moved; it was as though the air itself was waiting. Then Fred leaned down, and Hermione rose onto her toes, their lips meeting for the first time. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it soon became certain, warm and passionate, a fire burning against the autumn chill.
The leaves whispered around them, the season shifting toward winter. But for the first time in months, Hermione Granger didn’t feel like she was standing in the shadow of what was lost; instead, she felt as though she was standing at the beginning of something new with Fred Weasley, a man she’d grown to love, standing by her side, ready to embrace their future together.