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Title: Blind Faith
Authors:
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the_lone_jen and angelpiphiDisclaimer: Belongs to JK Rowling
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see. ~ Hebrews 11:1
Warnings: Sexual Situations
Genre: Romance/ A little angst/ One-shot
Author's Notes: Written for
mandy_jg at the “Massive Flist Fic Exchange O’Doom”. Many thanks to our betas kazfeist, anticlownperson, andbotticellichick(who suggested the title).The knock at the door startled Fred, and he knocked the inkstand askew, cursing briefly as he felt for his wand, casting a ‘reparo’ and ‘evanesco’ in the general direction of the mess he had just made. He flicked his wand a third time and the wards chimed acknowledgement of the person outside. He heard the delicate sound of heels and tensed.
"Who do we have here?" He stumbled around the edge of his work station, eventually grabbing the edge of the desk and steadying himself.
"Fred, it's me, Her..Hermione." Her voice was a bit shaken, angering him all the more.
"What do you want Hermione? Can't you see I am busy?" He felt around the smooth mahogany surface, his feet shuffling clumsily against the wooden floor. He reached out, feeling for any solid object that would provide means for his escape. He knew the doorway to the bathroom was just five or six steps from in front of his desk. Yet as his hands stretched out, scoping for their destination, his fingertips brushed her hair and he jerked back.
"Why didn't you let me know they had released you?" Hermione's soft voice came from right in front of him, and she grabbed his hands as he jerked backwards. Her hands were soft, gentle, just like he remembered.
“Fred…” her hurt tone was unmistakable and creeping towards shrill, as he interjected, not wanting her pity.
“Last I remember my mother had red hair and a shrill voice. Now unless you have dyed your hair, I suggest that you keep your nose out of my personal business. This doesn’t concern you.” He reached forward once again, finding her arm, and gently pushing her out of his way. Her resistance was brief, thus allowing him to pass through as he slowly guided himself towards his previous path.
The creaking of the floorboards was unsettling to him, when he knew full well that Hermione was shifting her weight from one foot to the other and possibly crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest. He could picture her warm brown eyes narrowing at him in frustration while her beautiful pink lips pressed firmly together until they lacked color. He felt his own lips quirk a tiny smile at how predictable this witch could be, but quickly his mouth moved to form a grimace as his shoulder slammed against the door frame.
She was upon him instantly, her breath tickling his neck. Their hands met simultaneously, each reaching for his injured shoulder. He finally allowed her fingers to intertwine delicately with his, unable to deny her touch. His eyes closed, yearning for more of her. He could feel her tremble as she pressed her body against his back, her other hand trailing carefully around his waist. Memories flooded his thoughts, of times when they had stood like this watching George demonstrate the ingenious effect of one of their milder wheezes.
“Please don’t shut me out, Fred. It’s no shame for you to let me help you.” Her words washed over him like ice water, his pride firing in response.
“I don’t need your help. I will never need you. We’re over, Hermione!” He abruptly pulled away, finding the door and slamming it behind him. He stumbled forward and leaned against the sink, butting his head against the mirror as he took several deep breaths. He could hear Hermione doing the same, inhaling and exhaling forcefully to keep the tears at bay.
He could hear her jiggle the knob, then jumped as she somehow slammed the door open. Before he could say anything to her, she petrified him. It rather surprised him, given what he had done, that she would go this route, but she was nothing if not a creature of habit. In his calming bemusement, he nearly missed Hermione’s clearing of her throat, which was his only warning of the blast that came from her.
“Now you listen here, Frederick Gideon Weasley! I will not let you ruin your life out of some misplaced sense of guilt! I know you miss George, but he wouldn’t want you to let this stop you. And I don’t care if you are blind, that will NEVER change my feelings for you! If you think that you can run me off by sending me a Howler to break up, you are far denser than I ever gave you credit for!” She stopped to take a breath, and in his mind’s eye, he imagined her flushed, her eyebrows low and mean over her eyes, which always filled with tears when she was enraged, but never spilled over until after the fight, when things were fixed. He knew very well from all the shouting matches they’d had in the past what was coming next. She’d calm down and try to present things logically, rationally, before she gave him a chance to speak his part.
“We could fix this place up. Make it even better than it was before. All we need is some fresh paint, a few supplies…” Her voice trailed off while her footsteps drew closer to where he stood frozen. He ached to speak despite his immobility, to argue that nothing she said or did would change his mind. Yet, those thoughts ebbed away upon feeling hair brush the underside of his arms, as she moved in front of him. Her pliant fingers threaded through his hair and her breath tickled his cheek. Her voice continued, softly pleading with him, “The war is over. People are trying to rebuild, trying to get on with their lives and look towards the future. We should be doing the same. After all we have been through, after all we have seen… don’t you think the world needs some laughter to carry them and us through? If George was here, you and he would be banging away, coming up with new gimmicks, new products just to lighten the mood. I know I can never replace him, but I can help you continue what you both have started. Put me to work, let me be your eyes.”
His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he barely heard her whisper, “Finite Incantatem!” before placing her lips gently against his. He was immediately lost; consumed with the basic desire to feel whole again, to be the man he once was. He surrendered himself to her and slowly moved to wrap his arms around her. She let out a tiny whimper (a sound which he catalogued as one of the sweetest sounds Hermione Granger could ever make) and began stroking his lower lip with her tongue. He complied with her unspoken wish by opening his mouth and welcoming her sweet caresses. With each swipe of her tongue, he felt his body come alive with want. With a sense of urgency and his passion for her fueling his libido; he turned her roughly, while placing his back to the sink. He swiftly pulled her atop him and settled her legs on either side of his hips, thrusting harshly against her.
With a guttural moan, she released his lips; the sound of it reverberating all around him. Her hand forcefully gripped his hair, causing him to wince slightly, while the other pinched his shoulder. She began rocking in time with his thrusts, small sensual sounds escaping her with every breath. He was physically panting now and praying silently to the Gods to see her at this moment, so wild and untamed. He leaned forward once again in search of her and found her neck. He reveled in the salty taste of her skin as he trailed hot kisses towards the collarbone and across her shoulder. He swiftly moved his right hand and guided it underneath her shirt. The sudden feeling of warm flesh sent a jolt to his lower region and memories of their first night together inundated his thoughts.
Hermione’s hair spread across his pillow, her back arching and her body squirming on the bed in anticipation as he rested between her thighs. Invigorated by the erotic scene unfolding in his mind’s eye, he trailed his fingers south and guided his hand beneath the waistband of her satin knickers. He stilled her hips and motioned for her to rise slightly. Her breathy declarations and the moist heat of her against his fingertips were almost too much to bear. Conscious now only of his aching need and the fulfillment of the recollection, he violently pulled back his hand and hoisted her up, reversing their position. As she rested against the sink, a wave of self-consciousness stilled him. Unable to see her expression, he steered his hands towards her face hoping to feel some sort of approval. He froze as her hands halted his. He began to cower away until he felt her lower his hands to the edge of her trousers. The implications of her gesture caused a burning desire to spread throughout his body as he stripped her legs and feet of her shoes, trousers, and knickers. Kneeling before her and anchoring her legs over his shoulder, he began nuzzling against her skin seeking where his fingers were only moments ago. Her melodic sigh and the scent of vanilla and lavender, made his awareness of her spin out of control and another image appeared.
He began licking and sucking her wet folds, watching her head toss back and forth as her body quaked. Her hands buried themselves deep in his hair, urging him to continue until she tensed up, crying out her climax. Finally discovering her, he mimicked the memory in hopes of achieving the same result. As he continued his task, more visions began to surface. She rose above him and slowly descended herself upon him. The deliberateness of the penetration and the volcanic heat surrounding him caused him to writhe beneath her, clutching at her in desperation. Determined to continue to relive the fantasy, he gave her one final swipe before releasing her legs and rising before her. Sooner than he had expected, she advanced on him; placing her hands on either side of his face and smothering him in a smoldering kiss.
He felt her questing fingers nudging against his stomach, unfastening his trousers and hastily releasing him from his prison. He lifted her hips, eager to fill her completely; silently begging for her to plunge herself onto him. She submitted with pleasurable cries, wrapping her legs around his waist and bouncing aggressively in perfect rhythm with his frantic thrusts. Pictures of her from his memories rushed quickly to the surface. The sweat glistened between her beautiful breasts, her head thrown back and the curls tickled his thighs. Her inhibitions seemed to be stripped away as she rode him with abandonment, her muscles clenching like a vice and her mouth forming a deliciously perfect O. Then his eyes shrouded in obscurity as a tumultuous roar filled his ears. He began pulsing wildly inside of her, shaking his body from head to toe. The memory had turned to reality as he held onto Hermione, his faced buried in her neck as she screamed his name. He continued to hold on, both to her and the memory. One final image, his favorite image, appeared in his mind’s eye. He watched her chest rise and fall above him for several moments until she lifted her head. Her lips had the most satiated smile and the fire in her eyes danced in afterglow.
Then the image took the most horrific turn. The fire leapt from her eyes and danced around the room; vanishing the walls, the bed posts and then Hermione herself. Darkness engulfed him and George’s scream echoed in his ears. “NO!” Fred took a gasping breath and abruptly pushed Hermione off of him. He scrubbed frantically at his eyes, knowing it was a useless gesture, but he was compelled to action. He felt for the door, stumbling out of the bathroom into the work room as he pulled up his pants from around his ankles. His arms bounced off several shelves, and he could hear works in progress falling to the floor. He finally felt the brick fireplace in front of him, and he stopped, shuddering, as he sank to the rug.
Gentle hands touched his, and Fred stiffened, knowing he could and would break if he gave in to the desire to cling to her. So he sat there, tense, allowing her to touch him, but refusing to touch her, save the hand he was holding, that she had taken. It was like an anchor in the midst of this nightmare. He began to talk, the words tripping over themselves as he told her what had happened. How, one night, Draco and some of his cronies had shown up just at closing. How they’d attempted to raid the store to acquire some of WWW’s more serious items. How when Fred and George refused, it had turned into a battle, hexes flying everywhere. How George had taken Sectemsempra in the leg, and how the last thing Fred had seen was George throwing their Instant Darkness Powder into the fireplace, and how the flames had swept out, engulfing George and the Death Eaters and knocking Fred into the closet.
He was told afterwards that George had used his last bit of strength to magically seal the door, protecting his twin at the cost of his own life. Throughout this telling, Hermione’s hands remained in his, soft, reassuring. He kept his head down, not wanting her to see the damage that had been done to him. How his eyes were now pitch black, the darkness powder a permanent stain burned in, marking him and turninghis world dark. He could feel the tears tracing tracks down his face, until they dripped onto their linked hands. Fred went silent then, feeling more humiliated than when he’d been at St. Mungo’s.
Hermione let go of one of his hands, and he inhaled sharply, expecting her to get up and walk away. After all, he’d not been able to save George, hadn’t been able to fix his eyes, hadn’t been able to face the shame and had broken up with the woman he loved over it. He was an unmitigated mess, one he expected no one to clean up after. So when he felt the handkerchief wiping away his tears, he tensed in disbelief. Her continued ministrations broke something inside of Fred, and he began to shake, the tears coming harder.
As they pooled in his eyes, he wished to Merlin and every deity that they would cleanse the fine particles that were embedded in his retinas. Regardless of his brother’s sacrifice, he would have given up his life at this very moment just to see Hermione’s bushy brown hair, chestnut eyes, and determined chin once again. He wept on, knowing this wasn’t possible, and when she stopped dabbing at his face, he covered it with his hands.
Hermione spoke, her voice soft, but fierce. “Fred, this really doesn’t change anything important.” At his choked sob, she continued. “Nothing that matters. I still love you. Your eyes don’t negate that. Nothing could. So what if we’ll have to re-learn how to run the shop. I don’t care. Please don’t shut me out.” She pulled his hands down and began kissing his face, sipping up his tears, which ran clear from his black eyes. Fred’s resistance to her crumbled, and he pulled her into his lap, hugging her to him. He didn’t speak; couldn’t really, past the shudders that still shook him.
Long minutes past, and Fred took one hand from where it clutched her waist, and placed it on her shoulder, sliding it across her clavicle and up her neck. She caught it right at her chin, and he whispered, “Please.” She sighed, and let go. He began to trace her face, remembering the stubborn set to her chin, the button shape of her nose, the cheeks that had been very round and full, but was now slightly hollowed out. He traced his fingertips across her forehead, then down to her eyes, so beautifully brown with gold, and felt the wetness there.
He slid his hand into her hair and brought their heads together, pressing their foreheads as Fred slowly calmed from his storm of tears. When he finally spoke, his voice creaked. “Don’t ever hide your tears from me, Hermione. Even if I can’t ‘see’ them, don’t pretend they’re not happening. Promise me.”
He felt her nod against his head, and then he continued, more strongly. “I’m going to be an insufferable arse until this all sinks in. Are you absolutely sure you want to stay? I won’t hold it against you if you don’t.”
“You’re already an insufferable arse. Like I said, nothing’s changed that really mattered.” Hermione’s voice was unsteady, and Fred tipped her head back, kissing her lips briefly. Her voice firmed, however, as she went on. “But we can do this. I’ve been reading about some famous wizards throughout the ages that had to deal with not being able to see. One had a theory that Leg-”
Fred cut her off with a kiss, loving the indignant noise she made into his mouth. He grinned against her: She was right, nothing that mattered had changed.
One Year Later
Hermione tucked her arm into her new husband’s, laughing slightly as he stuck one finger under his collar. They moved forward into the reception area, and as people cheered, she clasped him to her, their foreheads touching. A flash of light appeared in Fred’s mind, and he assimilated the images with the speed of practice. He whispered, “Thank you love.” Hermione touched her lips to his and replied, “Thank you.” They parted, moving amongst the throng with ease. A wedding guest was heard to comment that from the way Fred was maneuvering through the people and tables, it was as though he could see. Another guest replied, “Mere blindness couldn’t stop a Weasley in love. Much less, stop Hermione Granger.”
January 30 2007, 23:29:18 UTC 5 years ago
thank you for this.
January 30 2007, 23:32:52 UTC 5 years ago
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January 31 2007, 00:43:22 UTC 5 years ago
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January 31 2007, 22:32:01 UTC 5 years ago
You can find our dramione fics on coloured grey. Mine are under angelpiphi and jen's are under sassenach_j. *hugs*
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