Broken Bits

51. Epilogue

I can't believe this is actually happening right now. 

September nineteenth happened upon Hermione with complete and utter surprise.

Not because she was shocked it occurred between the eighteenth and the twentieth, but more so she simply forgot it was her birthday.

She couldn't recall the last birthday celebration she had actually enjoyed. She recalls one passing while she had been in prison, but she hadn't realized until after the fact. Then one occurring while her and Fred were locked up at Shell Cottage, that one had passed with a breakdown in the bathroom and Fred cooking her a well loved hash.

On this birthday, she woke to Fred pressing kisses to her neck and whispering sweet nothings.

She turned to him, letting him cover her in his warmth as he continued his gentle affirmations to her skin. Always the first up he was, with Hermione close to follow. As if one couldn't exist without the other for too long.

"So beautiful." He whispered, kisses trailing her collarbone.

"All mine, Granger." He breathed, lips trailing the waist band of the shorts she had stolen from him. They were cotton, and hung well past her knees but they were comfortable and Fred adored Hermione in his clothes, it had become a thing between the two.

"My wife." He said faintly, lips ghosting against her jaw until she finally was fed up with the slowness, and pushed her hips up into him, at the same time claiming his lips against her own.

They moved slowly, simply letting each other feel one another as their sheets grew warmer. After the fact Fred fell to her side, but pushed the duvet away when Hermione tried to pull it up to her chin.

He began tracing, his fingertips dancing across her scars slowly. The newer ones still tingled to the touch, so he pressed kisses to those. While the older ones were hard, and fading, so he'd simply ghost his touch. He kept moving, down her chest to her stomach to her thighs. Murmuring quietly, and whispering into her skin with every little nick of skin he happened across.

It wasn't until he reached her toes, and she was giggling with her head turned into his pillow that he stopped, drawing himself up to his knees. He straddled her waist, his presence warm and comforting, instead of angry and heavy.

He waved his hand toward the dresser, and with a concentrated wandless spell, a box cluttered out of the mess of his half-haphazardly folded socks.

"I got you this." Fred whispered, sliding his body down until he was nestled into her side. He drew one of her legs up, hugging it over his waist before opening the box on her thigh.

She kept one arm tucked under his head, her finger tips embedded in his hair by the nape of his neck while the other hovered on his chest, waiting to reach out and touch whatever priceless gift he had been waiting to present her.

"It's a charm, for that chain you still wear around your neck." He continued, his voice still slow and soft.

Hermione reached up, hooking a thumb in the chain she hadn't taken off willingly since Ireland. It was worn now, from years of wear and hadn't held a ring since their wedding day. But she wore it, as a symbol from when she had first fallen in love with him.

From the day she had asked him to wait, though she hadn't asked for a promise.

From the day she had realized she would always fight for him, and never against him.