Chapter Text
Hermione yawned widely as she stretched up to place the star atop her tree. The past week had been too busy to make time to decorate her flat, and now she was determined to finish before she went to bed.
As a soothing Christmas song played in the background, she stepped back to admire her work. Smiling, she studied her favorite sentimental ornaments nestled amongst the pine-scented branches and twinkling fairy lights. The only thing missing was a cup of hot cocoa as she basked in the cozy atmosphere, but it was already late.
Stifling another yawn, she waved her wand and the room went dark. That would have to wait for another evening when she wasn’t quite so knackered. After quickly completing her nighttime routine, Hermione climbed into bed and got comfortable. Just as she was nodding off, an insistent tapping sounded at her window.
Sighing deeply, Hermione climbed back out of bed and opened it. She recognized one of Fred and George’s shop owls. What could they be sending her at this time of night? Quickly, she exchanged the envelope for a few owl treats, and the bird flew back out the still open window. With a longing glance over her shoulder at her bed, she was tempted to wait and open the letter the following morning, but concern that it could be urgent won out.
Hermione closed the window, ripped open the envelope, and withdrew the contents — then she simply stared. This had to be a joke, right?! One of Fred and George’s new products, perhaps. Her exhausted brain simply couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. So, she tossed the photo onto her nightstand and got back into bed, not noticing the accompanying letter that fluttered silently to the floor.
After tossing and turning for several long hours, she finally fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke, Hermione’s eyes flew open, and she groped for the photo. Maybe it wasn’t what she’d thought at first glance; maybe it’d been a trick of her drooping eyes, or maybe a dream.
But when she took another look at the photo, her now fully rested mind still couldn’t process what she was looking at. There at the top, in festive red letters, it said, Happy Christmas, 2026.
That was impossible. Surely this was some prototype of a fortune telling joke shop item that they were trying to finish in time for Christmas. Because beyond it being the year 2006, not 2026, Hermione certainly didn’t have any sort of romantic relationship with Fred Weasley, but that was definitely him standing next to her with his arm around her shoulder smiling broadly. And those were definitely three teenage children who were clearly a mix of Hermione and a Weasley; those wild coppery curls simply couldn’t belong to anyone else.
And if she’d still been unsure of the identity of the man who was standing next to her, at the bottom under the photo, in the same festive red lettering it said, With Love From, The Weasleys: Fred, Hermione…The rest had been cut off, quite literally, by a long jagged tear that prevented her from reading the names of her presumed children.
Tossing the offending item aside, Hermione stalked to the kitchen. Cursing Fred under her breath, she made a pot of tea. This was supposed to be a relaxing day and now she would spend it brooding until Fred decided to explain himself. Instead of sitting by the fire with a book and her Christmas lights, her mind raced with all of the wild possibilities that couldn’t be reality.
Even knowing that Fred Weasley did not fancy her in the slightest, she couldn’t help but daydream about what might be. Now that a tangible representation of that had fallen into her lap, she knew the fantasies would be even more detailed.
By noon, Hermione had given up on attempting any other tasks and had resorted to pacing around her flat. She debated just going to the twin’s shop, but she couldn’t let Fred know that he’d gotten to her. That had to be what he wanted, right?
At half past seven, Hermione sighed in defeat. Her stomach hurt from all the random bits she’d anxiously shoved into her mouth during her laps around the kitchen and the many pots of tea she’d drunk in an attempt to soothe her nerves. She stalked into the bathroom in search of a stomach soothing potion. After locating the vial, she downed the contents in a single gulp and decided that she might as well have a bath while she was in there.
Before she could turn on the taps, a knock sounded from her front door. Who on earth could that be? She wasn’t expecting anyone. Suddenly, she realized how awful she must look and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. It was worse than she had expected, but there was nothing she could do now.
With a final defeated look in the mirror, she went to answer the door. Before she opened it, she peered through the peephole, and the sight of Fred Weasley standing outside her flat made her blood boil. She was so angry that she missed the uncharacteristic uncertainty on his face as she quickly summoned the offending photo while yanking the door open and gesturing wildly at the Christmas card in her hand before he’d even crossed the threshold.
“What is this, some sort of fortune-telling holiday card? I know that you and George will have come up with a clever alliteration for the name, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of what that might be. I’ll admit that it’s really good. How did you get the photos to look so realistic? What charms did you use to make this?”
The angry tirade spilled from Hermione’s lips without pause until she got a good look at Fred. He looked… confused, and maybe a little hurt. But why would he be confused? He’d sent the bloody thing to her. Though she was still angry, the look on his face was enough to stop her cold.
She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. When she opened them again, Fred was watching her intently.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I just didn’t understand and then I didn’t hear from you all day and I got carried away before letting you speak. Will you please explain?”
“Didn’t you read the letter that I sent with the card?” Fred asked with genuine confusion.
“Letter? What letter? All I saw was this.” She thrust the photo card in his direction. “But,” she paused to gather her thoughts, “I was knackered last night when it arrived. Give me just a moment.”
Turning, she rushed into her bedroom and crouched down to look on the floor beside her bed. When she didn’t immediately see it, she lifted the valance and spotted the folded sheet of parchment immediately.
With burning cheeks, she quickly returned to the living room where Fred still stood by the door. “Fred, I’m really sorry. Please come sit on the sofa so we can talk. This,” she held up the folded parchment, “was under my bed. I see it when I opened the envelope.”
Fred smiled. He still seemed a little off, but he followed her to the sofa and sat.
“Would you like some tea?”
He shook his head. “None for me, I’ve had pots of it today. We were slammed at work, but I couldn’t focus, so George put me on restocks, and he handled the register.”
Hermione laughed. “Sounds like my day. I’m surprised I didn’t wear a hole in my rug with all the pacing I've done.”
“We’re a right pair.” Fred chuckled.
“Shall I read my letter, or would you just like to explain?”
“The note only says that I need to explain the Christmas card and that you should owl me to let me know when we could meet in person. But I’m going to need you to ignore your logical mind for the next half hour. Remember when you didn’t believe that magic was real. Think about how skeptical you must have been at first and give me the benefit of the doubt, alright?”
Searching his eyes, Hermione decided that he was being sincere. She felt incredibly vulnerable, trusting that this wasn’t a prank, but Fred had been different since his near-death experience during the war. It felt right to trust him this time. Nodding, she sat back and waited for him to begin his story.
“It all began while I was in a coma at St. Mungo’s, after the Battle of Hogwarts…”