Preface: The Hogwarts Years

1994: January

The air in the quiet room was warm for the season, smelling of rain and earth and cinnamon. It never rained this early into the year, but it was. One of the boys had left the window in their dormitory open and the winter thunderstorm had soaked a pile of parchment on the nearby desk. Fred Weasley started awake when the wind knocked the window against its frame with a metallic thud. It hadn't been raining when he fell asleep. He blinked slowly for a few moments as he stumbled across the room, letting his eyes adjust, his feet cold against the wooden floor. He cursed audibly as he realized the ruined essay had been for his potions class the next day. A loud snore from a nearby Lee Jordan only heightened his frustration. Why wouldn't one of the idiots close the effing window? He picked up the dripping homework assignment and, careful not to damage it, headed down towards the common room. Even in his annoyance he didn't want to wake anyone with a drying spell.

It was nearly four in the morning, but a small fire was still burning. Fred dropped the parchment on a low table and tried to remember a spell that would fix it. A soft exhalation of breath from the other side of the room caught his attention. Someone was asleep on the couch. This wasn't an abnormal occurrence, but usually the last person out of the common room would wake whoever was sleeping. He moved a little closer towards the fire, just enough to peer over the edge of the couch. Hermione Granger lay curled inward, almost fetal. He watched her for a moment, as her sleeping face turned towards him slightly. Fred didn't notice the tears, at least not right away. For several long seconds his focus lay on the curve of her jaw and the ways sleep made all of her features softer. It was when his eyes moved downward, from the unruly and twisting hair, that he noticed the soft reflection of firelight on fresh tears. She was crying. Something moved in him, a tenderness he hadn't felt before. It wasn't brotherly, it was deeper and more shaking. He took another step forward, bending slightly more forward, as he tried to think what sadness this girl could feel that would be deep enough to weave itself into her dreams. He knew Ron and Harry were fighting with her, or had been fighting. Had they made up yet? He remembered that Hermione had not sat with them at any meals, or had they not sat with her? He regretted not paying attention when his youngest brother talked. Most of the time he tuned Ron's incessant complaining out, but not he tried to recall any hint.

The girl in front of him stirred, her shoulders shuddering slightly, and her breath hitched. A soft whimper escaped her lips. He felt it against his face, warm and heartbreaking. He watched as a few more tears slid from the corners of her eyes. Before he understood what he was doing, he was reaching out. He stared on, like a horrified observer, as his own hand softly swiped one of those tears from her cheek. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, the tear spreading out against the swirls of fingerprint on his thumb.

There were footsteps up in the dormitory. Probably someone getting up to use the toilet, but all the same it knocked Fred from his trance-like state. He backed away from her, heading back up the stairs as quickly as possible, having completely forgotten the ruined potions essay.

1994: December

Fred hadn't wanted to take Angelina to the ball. In fact, he hadn't wanted to go at all. But he would never admit to either of those things, not even to George. He had picked Angelina to ask because, in all honesty, he thought she would turn him down. Alicia had told him at the beginning of term that Angelina fancied George, and as it was common knowledge that George had asked Katie Bell. So Fred had assumed that Angelina wouldn't agree to go with him. But he had been wrong, and so he found himself at the Yule Ball trying not to fiddle with the cuffs of his dress robe or stare too long at Hermione.

Of the two, the latter was proving most difficult. He wasn't stupid, ever since that night in the common room he had looked at her differently. He seemed to notice more about her, like the way she would scrunch up her nose when reading a particularly difficult section of a book. Or how she always spread jam onto her toast with a spoon and not a knife. Or how she always walked the long way down through the courtyard between her charms and transfiguration classes as to avoid the crowded third floor corridor. Due to this last discovery, Fred had begun spending his free hour on Mondays sitting in the courtyard. On random occasions, every third Monday, he would happen to make eye contact with the girl. She would smile. Even the thought of it made his cheeks warm slightly. It wasn't as if he fancied her. No. He just enjoyed her smile. It wasn't a crime to think a girl pretty.

Angelina pulled him from his chair. Dragging him in the direction of the dance floor. He couldn't help but wonder if it was all a show for her. If she was dancing and laughing just to show George how great of a time she was having without him. Whatever the reason Fred did his best. He spun her around the floor gracefully, not mentioning when she stepped on his toe. He was nothing if not a good date. But he wasn't watching his dance partner. His gaze wandered to Hermione, dressed in the most beautiful shade of blue he had ever seen. She was swaying slowly with Krum, his hand placed firmly on her lower back. He placed a sloppy kiss at the base of her neck, and something hot and angry sprung up in Fred. Turning away, Fred found that Ron's face held an expression that mirrored what he felt internally. It was caught somewhere between anger and disgust with the tiniest twinge of pain. He shook his head at his brother's inability to control his facial expressions, but all the same. In that moment, as both boys watched Hermione's hand rub a small circle between Krum's shoulder blades, Fred felt as if he-for once-was on the same page as his baby brother.

1995: July

Fred couldn't deny it any longer. He fancied Hermione. Really it was George that made him see it. His twin was far more discerning about Fred's emotions than he was. Not one week into the summer holiday, George had cornered him in their bedroom.

"You have a crush on Hermione." He had stated, a laugh cutting off the end of her name.

"Shove off." Fred had said, turning back to the book he was reading. George moved closer to him, stifling his smile.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." He said. "I just can't believe that out of every girl at Hogwarts, hell, every girl in the world, you decide to fancy the same girl as Ron." Another laugh broke from between his lips. "What luck!"

"I don't fancy-" Fred began but George cut him off.

"Don't lie to me. We don't do that." He said, his tone more serious. "Since last year you've been strange around her. And now that she's here for the summer you barely leave the room, and at dinner last night it was like your eyes were glued to her. I'm just suprised she hasn't noticed." Fred shook his head.

"Just because I think she's pretty doesn't mean I want to go and marry her. You think lots of girls are pretty."

"There is a difference." George said. "You watch her, it's like every thing she does enwraps you. And we're different, Forge." He said, using the playful nickname in an attempt to add some lightness to the tense room. "I don't do relationships. I do secret snogging." He waggled his eyebrows. "But really, you can't help that you like her. And if it came down to it, you're a much better guy than Ron. Plus," He said with a wink "You are the second most attractive of us Weasley's." Fred shoved George off his bed.

"Yeah. Right behind Bill." They broke into laughter again, and George hadn't brought it up again for the rest of the summer. But later, has Fred lay awake, he realized that George was right. He fancied Hermione, and that made everything so much more complicated. With this admission, he found it was even harder to spend the entire summer in her presence. Especially since Ron stared longingly after her and finding any excuse to lay a hand on her arm or leg as they spoke. Whenever this happened, Fred would feel his stomach knot itself up. Hermione was never quick to shy from Ron's affection, and so Fred had taken to spending most days in his bedroom, living for the moments she would pop her head in to tell him it was time for dinner.

1995: November

Fred was having trouble producing the patronus charm. The other members of the D.A. were gathered in small circles around the secret room, practicing fighting off imaginary dementors. He could make one. George and him had practiced last week in the dormitory, he just couldn't in that moment.

"Are you totally focused on it?" Harry asked, Fred nodded.

"I'll get it mate, don't worry. Why don't you go help Neville, the poor thing looks lost." Harry chuckled and walked away. Once he was gone, Fred sighed. He knew he wasn't focused. In his line of sight, standing between Ginny and Ron was Hermione. She, of course, could cast the spell perfectly. Her patronus danced around the room. Ginny whispered something into her ear and Hermione's face lit with laughter. A smile tugged at the corner of Fred's mouth.

"Yeah. Definitely focused." George said, elbowing him the ribs. Fred turned away from the girl.

"Sorry." George laughed,

"Me too."

"For what?"

"This." George said, smiling wickedly. "Hey Hermione!" He called just loud enough for her to hear over the general din of the room. She looked up, and he motioned her over. As she crossed the room to them, Fred muttered the tiniest stinging hex aimed at George's left leg. "Shit." George muttered as he felt it, elbowing Fred in the ribs again right as Hermione stopped in front of them.

"Hey." George said, his voice slightly tighter, probably due to the welt that was forming on his left calf. "Freddie here is struggling with the patronus charm." George said.

"I am not!" Fred interrupted, but George waved him off.

"He is. And I think it's because of how he's moving his wand, but he won't listen to me. Poor thing was too embarrassed to ask Harry for help, so I thought maybe you could give him a few pointers." A smile was threatening to break the mask of concern George was holding. Hermione didn't seem to notice. She turned to Fred,

"Show me your wand movement, but don't say the spell." Fred, hating George with everything in him, did as he was told. Hermione furrowed her brow. Fred jumped as she placed her hand over his.

"Sorry." She muttered, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks. Fred thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Her hand still covering his as he held the wand, she practiced the motion with him. "See, she said. Make sure it's fluid. If you get choppy with it, like Ron, you're never going to get it." Hands still moving, Fred looked down at her. She seemed to feel his glance, as she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. Neither said anything. Her eyes were brown, he knew that already. But he had never been close enough to notice the tiny flecks of gold around the iris.

"Thanks." He whispered. She stopped the motion of their hands, but didn't unwrap her hand from his. Where their skin met, it felt to Fred as if she were setting him on fire. He wouldn't have been surprised to look back and see charred skin. But there was no way in hell he was breaking eye contact with her.

"You're welcome." She whispered back. "Don't feel embarrassed about asking for help. Having imperfect wand technique doesn't change the fact that you are one of the most brilliant people in this room." He couldn't breathe. His lungs couldn't fill due to the overwhelming pound of his heart.

"Not as brilliant as you, 'Mione." Another blush creeped into view and she blinked rapidly. With the breaking of eye contact, she quickly removed her hand. Straightening her robes, she cleared her throat and gave a nervous laugh.

"Well." She said, no longer whispering. "You've got it now. Just...just keep practicing." She turned and quickly returned to Ginny's side.

"I take back my apology." George said. "That was some of the most romantic tension I have ever seen."

"Shut it." Fred said, but his voice sounded distant. "I am not afraid to jinx you again." George took a step away, but fred didn't notice. Fred didn't notice anything, save for the smell of her that lingered and way way his hand still felt the weight of her grip. What pulled him from his euphoric state though was Ron, standing on the other side of the room, glowering in his direction.