title: Almost (But Not Quite)
a/n: this story is rather cliché, i know, but it couldn't be helped. i haven't written with these two for a while, for i lost that glow, and was losing interest, but i'm back now, because i've found my love for fremione again!
from fourth year to the battle of hogwarts, chapter lengths will vary, and there will be eight chapters in total, including an epilogue. the ending is unclear, but i guarantee a happy ending, okay? no tears! none at all!
summary: Six times Harry thought he knew—and the one time he did. —fred/hermione, in the eyes of harry potter (or in fred's case, scarface).
it starts like this
Harry knows a lot of things.
He knows a lot of things, and if you asked him to, he'd be able to list all those great things—he'd go off like clockwork, with facts, and figures, and all things Voldemort. He'd be able to tell you about the Dursleys, too—he'd go to the depths of details, about Dudley's pig tail, and Petunia's too-long neck, and Vernon's lovely moustache. In fact, he'd be able to write a novel about it, and why people would want to read it he did not know, but in all, he knows a lot of things.
He's pretty sure on a lot of things, too. Maybe he isn't as bright as Hermione, but he's not as dimwitted as Ron, and he does understand most of what's given to him. Stressing the point again, he isn't as smart as Hermione, but he gets the many facets of life, although maybe in a less confusing way. Whatever it is, in all, he's pretty sure of a lot of things.
On the contrary, he's not quite sure about his best friend, and whether or not she is involved with Fred.
Okay, he's definitely skipping to conclusions, definitely unnecessary—he shouldn't be thinking about this at all, really, because he's got Voldemort, and Sirius, and Quidditch he has to concentrate on, and yet it's all he can actually think about. It's taken over his mind, and he doesn't even know how.
It's not like his mind gets occupied by unwanted thoughts of Ron, and that okay-looking maid from The Three Broomsticks, but that's a whole new story.
Anyway, back to conclusions—why the world "involved" even sprung too mind is beyond explaining, and yet why why why is he wondering about a certain relationship? Hermione's fourteen, fifteen in a couple of weeks, and Fred's sixteen, and they are way too young to be thinking...
Who is he kidding?
Maybe he's just a little scared of the idea of Fred and Hermione being together. After all, they are like chalk, and cheese. Like Mars, and Venus.
He's straying. So, conclusions. Yes, he hasn't seen a kiss, or even a remote hug, but they're talking. In the tent at the Quidditch World Cup, and they're sitting together. Close, but not too close to classify them as embracing, but closer than where they'd usually stand. Harry's pretty sure that in his four years of knowing Hermione, and one half of the infamous set of twins, he hasn't seen them in conversation. Or sitting together, inches away from...
Stop it, Harry!
Now, Harry's not rude enough to eavesdrop, but he's slightly (and emphasis on the slightly) intrigued to why, and what, and how. So he leans in, and listens.
He's telling her about Quidditch, and the Holyhead Harpies, and how beaters were the best freaking postion—
And Hermione (and he knows, for a fact, that she hates anything remotely linked to that dreadful "flying rugby" sport) is actually nodding her head, laughing in some places, and looking interested.
This is most unlike Hermione.
Now he's seen them like that, Harry has to wonder if it really is Fred, or George, or an illusion. (Most definitely the last, please.)
And then he hears her.
"Fred, you're such an idiot," Hermione says, giggling. And here's another fact Harry is pretty sure of—Hermione Jean Granger does not giggle. She forbids that motion in the Common Room, and she complains about how Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil's giggles wracks on her nerves, because they're so high-pitched, and girly. And Harry's pretty sure this "giggle" that has currently been emitted from Hermione's mouth is both high-pitched, and girly, and this throws him into a whole new pit of questions, and, cough, conclusions.
"And don't you just love it," Fred smirks, and there is that giggle.
Harry decides not to hear any more, and walks away.
The next time Harry notices Fred and Hermione in a position similar to what happened in the tent is almost two whole entire months later.
Fourth year has him in for a whole new joyride of shocks, and surprises—for one thing, the Triwizard Tournament is around the bend (literally), and about a hundred students are fighting to be involved with this probable death trap (literally), and a goblet shooting blue fire is the supposed judge (literally).
And Fred and George have just informed them that they're going to use an ageing potion (literally).
Harry's unsure on whether to attend this "grand" show, so he stays in the Common Room, waiting for a fire to suddenly burst into a face.
He's waiting, and there are a few footsteps heading towards him—or, more like, the room. Harry panics, and crouches behind the armchair, trying his best not to be seen. And then, he watches again.
"You're not seriously worried about me, are you?"
It's Fred.
Not this again.
"You're incredibly stupid to think something like this will work," the other person replies—and it's Hermione. (Once again, no! Why! Time for more conclusions, and time for more... unwanted concepts, and theories. Whichever.) "It's not, Fred, so wake up."
"Well, you're incredibly mean," Fred replies.
"No, I'm being incredibly reasonable," Hermione says, and she rolls her eyes. Harry can't see exactly, but it's a typical Hermione Granger move, and she's probably crossing her arms, with some look on her face screaming "I'm not impressed".
"Give us the speech when we're polishing our glory, Hermione," Fred grins, and takes a step towards her (and Harry's heart almost stops, because they are very close, and another step, and they will quite possibly... ahem). "C'mon, they're already waiting for us."
As they leave, Harry shakes his head, hoping to shake off the thoughts, too.
And then he leaves to join them.
He's fairly certain it's nothing more than a simple acquaintance. When they're all together, with George, and Ron, and some other people, they exchange no words, and no looks, and they might as well be strangers sliding past each other at a train station. Either that, and Harry completely misinterpreted whatever it was, or they're just amazing actors.
Harry doesn't question.
It's the upcoming days to the Yule Ball when he notices something going on again.
This goblet of blue fire had actually turned red, and shot out Harry's name (much to Fred and George's dismay, even after suffering from white-beard-itis), and he'd tackled a slightly deadly dragon (mind you, he'd nailed it), and now, what the most difficult thing on his list is, is finding a date for this... Yule Ball thingy.
He's already been humiliated in front of a girl. Cho left him blushing heavier than when Fred called Hermione a—
Harry needs to stop that.
Anyway, he asked Cho, she rejected him (in the nicest possible, all in the process of looking physically flawless), and he was left more embarrassed than "embarrassed" could be. So he settles on the whole girl-asking-famous-boy thing. It is a thing, right?
A second year asks him, but she's about half his height, and a second year, so it's customary to refuse, right? It's illegal, it has to be.
Then, much to his shock, a fifth-year asks him, not only to the Ball, but out, as in dating. She's about three times his height, and looks like she could crush him with a simple flick of her fingers. Harry politely refuses, again, and her look is so murderous he runs away.
His last resort is... well, um... Hermione.
But she has a date, apparently.
Ron laughs at her, and Harry almost feels bad, and hopes, somewhere deep within the cold part of his soul, that she's lying. Hermione is pretty, and he knows that, but she isn't pretty enough to be... okay, he'll stop there.
Harry and Ron are left dateless, and depressed.
"It can't be that hard," Ron tells him as they walk up to the Common Room.
"Ron, it's been almost a month," Harry sighs. "And do we have a date? No."
"I could ask Fleur again," Ron remarks.
Harry snorts. "Try competing with Roger Davies. You were humiliated once, is that not enough?"
Ron rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but we have this connection—I know it. I feel it—"
"Girl trouble?" The twins walk up to them, and Harry notices Hermione's interests perk up, and she walks up to where they are situated, holding a book in her hand. She waves at Harry, and then at Ron, and then looks at the twins (Fred in particular, or at least, he's pretty sure it's Fred).
"No! We have dates, don't we Harry?" says Ron.
"Ronnie," Fred says, frowning. "George and I are smarter than you give credit for."
Beside them, Hermione snorts, "That's likely."
"Who are you going with, then?" asks Ron.
"Ange—" Fred pauses, and looks to his right, where Angelina Johnson is sitting with Alicia Spinnet by the fireplace. "Good point, owe you one." He looks at Hermione, for even just a millisecond, and then back to the two girls. "Hey, Ange! Ange? Angelina?"
Angelina turns around, somewhat irritably, and mutters, "What?"
"Wanna be my date for the ball?" he asks sheepishly.
(Harry notices a half-second flinch appear on Hermione's face, but he ignores that.)
"O-okay then," Angelina replies, a bit of a grin on her face.
George bursts into laughter, and Fred winks at Ron—"Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."
"Yeah, well, Hermione doesn't have a date, either," Ron huffs.
Hermione's look is of pure disgust, and she indignantly stamps her foot. "Yes, Ronald, I do. Just because you're without a date, doesn't mean I'm not."
(Harry notices a half-second flinch appear on Fred's face, but he ignores that, too.)
Parvati Patil is on his arm at the Ball, but he's looking at Cho. It's of bad habit, but she's so beautiful, it can't really be helped. The Champions walk down their special lane, and he looks out to see Ron and Padma (who seem to be refusing to speak to each other), and Fred and Angelina, hands entwined. He looks out to see Hermione, but with no such luck.
Then, he looks at Krum, and his date, in a beautiful pale blue dress. It's only when they both turn around does he realise who it is.
Hermione.
He can't help looking at her, and he knows for sure that no one else can, either. He sees Ron, with his jaw dropped ten miles down, and other girls green with envy—even Draco Malfoy isn't screaming "MUDBLOOD! MUDBLOOD!", and he even sees George eye her, in his place with Katie.
Hermione's looking at Fred.
And Fred's looking at Hermione.
But this, he also shakes off, because he can't let himself go to this again.
a/n: fetus-y fremione. not much, only looks, and occasional flirting, but, you know, in most fremione fics, the whole drama starts in fifth year, so nope. they're not together yet. anyway, i hope you enjoyed, and i'd love to hear some feedback :)