Sometimes, I don't know what to make of you, Hermione Jean Granger. You're either the most brilliant witch of the time, and the densest person I know. That, or you were too occupied with your own feelings, but I guess it doesn't matter much anymore… well it does, but… gah. I'm not really making my point here, am I? Carrying on.

Seeing you with Ron has got to be the hardest thing to go through every single day. It hurts more because… well, he's my brother after all. I know you didn't see me more than just comic relief back when we were in Hogwarts. A nuisance, someone desperately buying for your attention which, you sometimes gave when we – and by we, I mean George and myself – did something incredibly outrageous.

Sometimes, outrageous didn't even work anymore – you knew it was just so I'd get your attention. You were always the smart one, like I said, the most brilliant witch of our time. You always saw right through me and my tricks. Hell, you could even tell George and I apart – not even our own mum could do that. Heh. I remember, during your fourth year when you told George and I not to use that aging potion, and how Dumbledore would know if we did. You were right about that.

On the same year however, you were off about one thing. You said that you knew I liked Angelina Johnson – and only had eyes for her, and you gave that justification by saying that 'you could see the way I looked at her'. Wrong. I can't even begin to tell you how wrong you are… well, were.

And the point of this extremely… cheesy and long narrative is to tell you that I love you, Hermione. Not Alicia, not Katie, not Angelina, and not every girl you tried to play matchmaker for me with. You. Hermione Jean Granger – the brains of the 'golden' trio which, always got into some sort of mess despite her love for following the rules. Hermione Jean Granger who helped save my sorry arse back when Snape found George and I 'prettifying' his office. You, Hermione – the same one who used to have bushy hair and large teeth, but grew in to something incredibly beautiful.

I just thought you should know – because I can't stand the thought of knowing that there might be no tomorrow, and that this war might get one or… both of us killed, and I can't bare the thought of losing you without you knowing what I felt. It's incredibly selfish, call it what you will, but you know, if anything does happen, I'd want to leave the world with no regrets, yeah? I'd like to think that if there really is a life after death, at least I wouldn't go and look back and see only the bull I did wrong.

That's all. I'm not expecting a declaration of love back from you, I know that's far fetched and I'd probably get myself hexed if I so much as wrote that even though I'm not expecting, I'm still hoping – though, if you really don't feel anything for me, it's fine. I just hope this doesn't ruin anything between us, and I just want you to know I'm the same Fred whose pranks you used to mock three years ago – saying that they were childish and predictable, and sure as hell, the same one whose shoulder you cried on when Won-Won was dating Lav-Lav. However, IF I do get a declaration of love, then Hermione, I… if I may be so bold, want you to marry me after this mess is over.

That sounded desperate, and pretty much pathetic, but I'll always be here for you, Hermione. Always.

Frederick Gideon Weasley – who, you know very well as Fred.

(And I still can't believe I used my whole name.)

Hermione read the letter again and tucked it back into the envelope. It had been a week since the war ended and Fred passed on. She sighed, as she turned to her bedside drawer, put back his letter in, and eyed on a letter which was still sealed – as it had never been sent.

She always thought he'd be one of the people who survived the war, no matter what. Fred was as good a fighter as he was a prankster. Sometimes, she wondered if there was anything she could've done at the time to save him. A time-turner would be everything she needed – if she found her answer. She pulled back the envelope which contained his letter, again – as she could never quite put it down, and pulled out the other letter. It had his name on the back.

She always wondered where her 'Gryffindor Courage' went when she tried sending this one little letter. It couldn't have been so hard, right? Letting the person you love know that you loved them back. But no, she couldn't do it. She was too scared.

She regrets even being scared, though. Fred had died before she even let him know what she felt for him. He might've thought she was with Ron, but of course she enjoyed Ron's company – if she didn't, why would they even be best friends?

She turned to the sealed letter again. She got up from her bed, and whispered, "Accio, shoes."

She sighed, lazily put her shoes on, and stood up. She looked around the room for a while - she took Fred and George's old room; George didn't want anything to do with it anymore, because, according to him, it brought back too many memories. The room itself was scarlet and had Gryffindor banners all over the place, messy, but not really - and how that happened Hermione will never know or dare to find out - when she noticed a wizard picture of Fred, laughing. She missed seeing that. When Fred laughed, it made her feel safe. Like everything was OK. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't bringing him back. Nothing, could bring him back.

She pushed the thought out of her head, and walked out the door. She quietly went down the stairs, however, if anyone was there, she simply ignored that they even existed, and went out the front door of the Burrow, which, right now, was the place she called 'home'. She looked back for a second, then started moving. Somewhere in a forest near the Burrow was a clearing. And in that same clearing, someone she wanted to see.

Who unfortunately, she never will again. At least, not in this life time.

After getting passed thick branches, and getting scared here and there of the mysterious sounds in the forest, Hermione finally made it to the clearing where Fred was. Fred's grave, but still Fred... in a way. She really didn't know what to make of it any more. Whenever she was here, she could somehow feel his presence. It made her feel warm inside, made her feel at peace - and even though it was just a feeling, she wasn't about to let that feeling go for the world. She crouched down, cold fingers on his gravestone which said,

Here lies Frederick Gideon Weasley

April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998

Son, brother, friend, and lover. Joker before everything else.
We do hope you continue merry-making in heaven, brother.

George had thought of that. Hermione smiled at the memory. To Hermione, the loss of Fred still seemed unreal - that he was just away on vacation and wasn't coming back in a long time, or it was just another one of his silly pranks which, somehow, wasn't so funny anymore. Hermione didn't think anymore, tears just fell from her eyes and unto the gravestone, any sense of propriety now forgotten. She struggled to pull herself back together, and to just sit there, enjoying whatever is left of his presence, but that didn't come so easily. After a while, she took a deep breath and exhaled - then proceeded to open the letter she previously didn't send. She smiled, and touched the part of the slab where Fred's name was, trying not to get too emotional.

"You know, it was pretty mean of you," she said, "Giving me a letter like that and leaving me."

She smiled. "I... I wonder, sometimes. Well, not really. I regret it - not sending this to you, it would've made you sorry for even thinking of leaving, Fred." She said, gesturing to the unopened envelope on her hands. She chuckled mirthlessly. She carefully tore the flap open, not minding the wax that sealed the letter, smiled down at the slab again, and read,

Fred Weasley, know that I am not for declarations of love, or am I for running into your arms and telling you that I've loved you from the start. I'm not that kind of girl. But guess what, I think I'll break that rule for now. Yes, Frederick Gideon Weasley, I love you. Not exactly from the start, but close enough. When it started? I don't know. I guess it was during my second year when you planted that dungbomb in Malfoy's bag and kicked his sorry arse to kingdom come to get back at him for calling me a mudblood - even though it got you in trouble with Snape. I never got to thank you for that either, and for that, I am disgusted with myself.

For the record, I've always noticed you. The things you did, the things you said. I might act unfazed, or, might act like I didn't care anymore, but I always have noticed you. And George, really, but mostly you. Your definition of outrageous, darling, is an understatement to most of the people in this world, and of course, will never go unnoticed. Even if it may seem like it. C'mon Fred, it isn't as if you don't know me that well.

I'm sorry, again, if he - and by he I mean Malfoy - called you a blood traitor and insulted your social status on my account. I really am. You don't deserve that. You of all people. You brought smiles to the faces of everyone around you. Well, everyone you liked - if we're being honest. Anyway. The point of this short, and random babble is to tell you that, no Fred, I'm not as thick as you think I am. I knew. They didn't call me the brightest witch of the age for nothing. However, I wasn't sure if I were just a passing fancy, or if it were really love. You know me, the feeling of security comes before everything else.

I love you, and I'd love to take up that offer marrying you after this mess is over. I hope you won't change your mind about this, though. ;)

Love,

Hermione Jean Granger. Almost Weasley.

"You're a git, Fred." Hermione said, after reading. "For leaving me. For leaving us."

She laughed mirthlessly, then stopped abruptly. She ran her hand through the slab again, letting a tear fall on it. "I love you, you know that?"

It was getting late, and Hermione realized it'd probably be best if she went back to the Burrow already, to avoid getting an earful from Mrs. Weasley. Reluctantly, she stood up and turned her heel, and once getting to the opening of the clearing, took one last look at the grave.