Flaming Red

By corset-rebellion-follower

Disclaimer: I don't own HP

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Chapter 1- Lucky Number 11

Eleven years. He had waited eleven long years. She never wrote to him once. And now the letter, unopened, was in his hand. The first I've heard from her in twelve years. But he didn't open the letter. His twin was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder, waiting.

"Go on, mate. It can't be that bad. You know it isn't a howler." He sighed. He knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He ripped the envelope open and took out the sheet of paper. After one more dramatic sigh, he opened the folded parchment. Scrawled in neat script was a short message.

I'm coming to visit the Burrow next week. I'm bringing someone with me.

That was all.

His heart froze. She's bringing someone with her? Like a boyfriend-someone? For the first time in his life, Fred Weasley was worried that he would forever lose the person he loved most. George Weasley snatched the letter out of his hand, scanning over the text. "So… are we going?" he asked quietly, putting the letter down on the kitchen table.

Fred paused. If she's going to do something stupid, like go off and marry someone, then I have to stop it. He nodded. "Yeah. We're going."

George grinned. "Excellent!"

Fred shook his head. "No, no, not excellent! What about this person she's bringing with her? What if it's her boyfriend? Or her fiancé, or her husband?" He shuddered at the thought. "What if she's just coming after all these years to rub in my face that I lost her to someone else and laugh about me with her prat?" he seethed.

George put a hand on his twin's shoulder. "If she really likes him, won't you be happy for her? Isn't that what you told me when she left you? That you wanted her to be happy?" he questioned.

Fred didn't answer. He never thought about when she left. It hurt too much. "But what if he's a big git? She deserves better," he argued.

"And by that you mean she deserves you?"

Fred looked up at his brother. "Aren't twins supposed to support each other?"

"Not when one is pointing out the obvious and the other doesn't want to hear it," George replied. Fred rolled his eyes and tromped off to his room. He needed to think more about this person that Hermione was bringing. Why wouldn't she tell me? Why wouldn't she write to me to at least let me know that she was going to rip my heart to shreds? I can definitely see that—'Dear Fred, just so you know, you mean nothing to me now and I'm going to marry some git! He's not good enough for me, but he's better than you'll ever be.' That would be a real peachy letter. But at least it would have been something. Anything to tell me she didn't completely hate me, that she was still alive and alright. He felt a tear slip down his cheek and he wiped it away quickly, in case that George decided to come in and see if he was alright. Fred continued to think about the mystery person. No, Hermione wouldn't do that to me, not after… that night in her seventh year. The memory came flooding back to him. More tears ran down his cheeks. He had to relive that night.

Fred was walking down the third floor corridor on the right hand side. He knew it was off limits—exactly why he was walking down it. Then he heard something. It was the soft sound of someone crying. He ran to the source. He was surprised to see Hermione Granger sitting on the floor, crying her eyes out. Hermione Granger, the girl who was Head girl and who seemed so strong to everyone.

Now she seemed so weak… so defenseless.

He immediately ran over to her and wrapped his arms around her. She jumped at his touch. "Fred! What are you doing here?" she asked quietly, trying to hold back tears.

"I'm giving you a shoulder to cry on. What's wrong?"

She sniffled. "I really don't want to talk about it." He pulled her tighter into his arms. He gently slipped an arm under her knees and picked her up, using his other arm to support her back as he swiftly walked down the halls of Hogwarts until they got to Gryffindor common room.

Somehow he entered, even without the password. He ran up the stairs to the girls' dormitories as fast as she could before they changed into one big slide. He remembered how he and George used to run up the stairs and slide down when they were in their first year. He quietly sat Hermione down on the bed. All the other seventh year girls were asleep, but he still put a silencing charm on the curtains so Hermione's sobs wouldn't wake them up.

He pulled her up. She stopped sobbing momentarily to look around. "How'd we get here?" she had asked, still sniffling.

"I carried you up here. I thought you might like to cry somewhere familiar instead of a cold hallway," he explained quietly. She sniffled again and nestled into his warmth.

"Thanks. I should have known better than to just run off like that to where I could have gotten in trouble," she scolded herself.

He gently stroked her hair. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I know you had a good reason," he soothed. She snuggled against his chest. He could feel himself blush. She felt so good against his body. He lifted her face up to meet his.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

She smiled. "Yeah. But what I want to know is what you're doing here. You've graduated, remember?" she prompted.

"How about I tell you later?" he offered, their faces getting increasingly closer. She nodded slightly, her cheeks turning a light pink.

Their lips finally met.

Instantly, they were both completely consumed in each other. She slipped her hands up his shirt, feeling his chest. His hands found their way to her back, gently massaging it. She broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his perfect chest. Immediately she ran her hands all over it. He slipped her shirt off, and one by one, clothing was removed and forgotten. They both fell onto Hermione's bed, kissing each other with all the passion they had to offer.

Fred stopped thinking at that moment. It was too difficult for him to experience again. He had only loved her from that moment on. But right after graduation, she disappeared. And she hadn't written to him, spoken to him, acknowledged him until that day. Angry and hot tears spilling down his cheeks, he packed his luggage to prepare for the trip.