Hermione stood, transfixed, as she watched the tender moment unfold. Her heart clutched as George greeted his heavily pregnant wife with such care. Sighing quietly, she leaned against the wall, absorbing every detail of the scene before her. Love like theirs was exactly what was missing from her life, and she wanted it desperately.
George's large hands cradled Angie's round tummy and, leaning down, he softly kissed her bump. He stood then, gazing at his wife with the utmost devotion and adoration, before capturing her lips in a much more steamy embrace. They were amazing together. It was obvious to anyone who saw them how in love they were.
An errant tear ran down Hermione's cheek; this was the kind of moment she feared that she would never get to experience herself.
A small noise behind her brought her back to reality. Quickly glancing around, she made a mad dash for the stairs. Her survey of the room didn't reveal anyone, but in a house full of witches and wizards that didn't ease her mind. She really hoped that no one had seen her like that. Explaining why she stood there alone, crying as she watched the happy couple, wasn't something she ever wanted to do.
Once she was safely ensconced in the Weasleys' bathroom, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander again. Honestly, she knew that she had nothing to complain about. She'd built a wonderful life for herself and she felt guilty that it didn't feel like it was enough. At only twenty-five, she had a successful and fulfilling career, a lovely home, and wonderfully supportive people that she considered both family and friends. The only thing that was missing was someone to share those little moments with; someone who would wake beside her every morning and hold her close in intimacy, joy, and sorrow.
Was it so wrong to want someone who would look at her the way that George looked at Angie? That Bill looked at Fleur? That Mr. Weasley looked at Mrs. Weasley? There were examples all around her. In fact, she was the only single one left in her group of friends, aside from Fred that was, but she never counted him because he appeared to have absolutely no desire to settle down.
Deciding that she'd been gone long enough to be missed, Hermione splashed cold water on her face. Peering into the mirror above the sink, she firmly told herself to put it all aside. Someone would surely notice if she was withdrawn and pensive when she should have been enjoying Molly Weasley's Sunday roast.
Upon her return to the kitchen, she saw that everyone had arrived and they were all sitting down to eat. Hermione, along with Ginny and Angie, had come by early for a pie-making lesson with Mrs. Weasley. Everyone else had been invited as well but, for various reasons, they hadn't been able to make it. That's how she'd inadvertently witnessed George's reunion with his wife. He'd been with Fred all afternoon working on a new invention for the shop. Anyone who didn't know that it had only been hours since he had seen his wife would have assumed that it had been days or even weeks.
Sighing, she chastised herself for thinking about that moment again. If she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity someone would notice. Pasting a smile on her face, she joined the others.
As they sat down for the meal, Hermione found herself next to Fred. That was fine with her. She knew that he would keep her laughing and distracted. Somehow, Fred always noticed when she felt down and he went out of his way to cheer her up. It had been that way since the end of the war. He'd nearly died and that experience had changed him. He hadn't lost his love of laughter, or stopped pranking others, but he was much more observant and kind than he'd been in the past. Whatever it was, maturity was good for him.
Midway through the meal, Fred was drawn into a conversation with George, who was seated on his other side. Hermione found herself gazing around at all of the couples at the table. Children were slowly being added into the group and she found herself longing for that as well.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a finger playfully poking her side. She startled in surprise, and because it tickled. "Prat!" the admonishment slipped out of her mouth automatically, "What was that for?"
"You're too serious today," Fred grinned. " How are things with whatshisname? Jacob, was it?"
What on earth? That came out of nowhere. Furrowing her brows in confusion, she didn't know anyone named Jacob. After thinking for a moment, she asked, "Do you mean Jonathan? I haven't been on a date with him, or anyone else for that matter, for nearly six months. Where have you been?"
He shrugged. "If you want a dinner date, I'll volunteer my services."
Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned in her seat to face him fully. "Your services? I don't want a pity date, Fred." She lowered her gaze, not wanting to meet his extraordinarily perceptive eyes. He'd clearly noticed that something was off with her today, and he was trying to figure out what it was. "Besides, I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea."
Muttering something under his breath, he turned away. She thought it sounded like he said, "More like the right idea," but that couldn't have been it.
She went back to picking at the remains of her meal, thinking that maybe she would go home early. Her mood really wasn't improving; it was possible that being surrounded by all of these happy couples wasn't the best thing for her today.
Just as she contemplated thanking Mrs. Weasley for the lovely meal and departing, Fred spoke loudly next to her, "Who's up for a snowball fight? We could divide into teams."
The others quickly agreed. Fred turned to her with an expectant expression. "What about you, Hermione? You look like you could do with a bit of fun."
"Sorry, but I need to be going soon. I have that big order to fill for St. Mungo's this week and I need to get started."
Fred shook his head, placing a hand lightly on her arm. "All the more reason to stay. You need some physical activity before you disappear into your dungeons for the rest of the week."
"My potions lab may be in the basement, but it's not a dungeon," she retorted, incensed. But as everyone else chimed in, urging her to stay, her resolve weakened a bit.
In the end, it was Victoire who convinced her. The adorable, blonde-haired five-year-old came around the table to climb into her lap. With her little hands busily playing with Hermione's curls, she begged, "Auntie Mione, you can't leave now. You promised to read my new book to me later."
She had promised, and she could honestly do with some fun in the snow. Maybe it would break her out of this rotten mood.
That night as she got ready for bed, it was with a smile on her face. Hermione was happy that she'd stayed and enjoyed the time with her friends; family, really. They'd all been her chosen family for years, and when she hadn't been able to restore her parents' memories after the war, they'd become her only family.
The snowball fight had even been fun. Best of all, she'd gotten to smash a snowball right into Fred's face. They'd ended up on teams with the women against the men and, at the end, she'd scored the winning point with that shot.
