Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, and in truth, I only own the interpretation of a certain narrator and some characters and perhaps bits and pieces of the nonexistent plot. Be warned, this is a story that is angst-ridden. Fred is alive, and well, someone else isn't.

Life was cruel to Fred Weasley. No, that sounded much too dramatic. Perhaps it would be better to say that life simply enjoyed tussling him around a bit, enjoyed playing karma-induced pranks on him. (He knew he shouldn't have told Ron to eat that jam that had made his nose ten-times larger. A single person could only achieve so much greatness before the fates took note and began to even the score).

Or maybe, it wasn't at all that life had a pseudo-vendetta against him. Maybe life simply enjoyed playing with the expected order. Because really, in what right world would twin brothers be separated by death? In what right world, would a surviving twin be expected to continue? In what right world, would life resurge back to normality after one of the bloodiest, most gruesome wars in wizarding history? In what right world, would the youngest brother get the girl? And what was perhaps most cruel of all, in what right world, would a man be expected to see the woman he loved touted right before his eyes and he couldn't even speak a word of it?

Life had played many jokes on Fred Weasley's life, and as he sat in an empty joke shop, he wondered how it ever came to be this way. He wondered if only he had done this instead of that, or if he'd have only-

"Fred?"

Peeking through the front door, Hermione Granger looked at him, eyes wide and searching. And if he would have had even a smidgen of preparation, he was sure that he would've been able to seem perfectly composed, perfectly careless and heedless. As it was, he managed to brighten his demeanor with a bright smile. If it was a little dim round the eyes, Fred figured that it wouldn't be too noticeable.

"The Lovely Hermione," he crowed, "Whose wit is more deadly than a thousand suns! With what could I, the Great Fred Weasley, do for you today?"

A little smile played around the edges of her lips, like it always did. Her brow crinkled, and her eyes twinkled. All that did was make his heart ache.

"Frederick," she reprimanded lightly, but he heard the smile in her voice. That was enough. It always had to be enough. "I just came to drop off the potions book you lent me. You were right. It was a very enlightening piece." She held the tome in front of her before stepping through the door.

"What you mean to say is that you haven't come to secretly rendezvous with me?" Fred put a hand to his heart with a light frown. "My dearest Hermione, how you wound me!"

This time she snorted before handing him the tome. She settled in the chair across from him in a huff, and it took only a few moments before her smile melted into a look of concern. "How are you, Fred?"

With a dramatic sigh, Fred raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "As well as I can be, considering that my paramour obstinately refuses to rendezvous with me." He sent a charming wink at her and a convincing laugh.

That only got a warm press of lips and softening eyes. "Fred, are you alright?"

He swallowed the ache in his throat. Still he kept the smile pasted to his mouth. He imagined that it was perhaps the only thing that was keeping him sane. Silence stretched before him, and it was so vast that Hermione only seemed to get farther and farther away and blurrier by the second. It was only when Hermione offered him a handkerchief that he realized that he was crying. And it was only after he felt the brush of her cloak against his skin that Fred realized that Hermione was beside him, embracing him as he broke into tears. All he could do after that was hold her closer against him and surround himself in the feeling of her warmth, in the scent of her hair, in the sound of her calm breathes.

Life was cruel to Fred Weasley. No, that was too dramatic for a jokester. Perhaps it would be better to say that life simply enjoyed tussling him around a bit. Maybe, it would be fairer and less dramatic and more in-character to say that life enjoyed to upset the expected and that life enjoyed to prank the world at large. But it would be more truthful to admit, even if only to himself, that there were two people that Fred Weasley loved and could never have. The first was his brother, and the second was the woman in his arms.

Perhaps it would also be more truthful to say that he could hardly stand to look at Ronald, and perhaps, he should say to his family how he simultaneously loved and hated the joke shop. How he couldn't stand to suffocate in this place with the things that he and his brother thought of together. How he couldn't stand to let it go, even as it killed him, because this was the embodiment of their brotherhood. And perhaps, he should say how time had slowed down to the point of tedium and the slightest things, a light too dim, a room too hot, a buzz too loud, was enough to send him to a rage. Perhaps, he should tell them all how the last five years have been the worst form of purgatory. Perhaps, Fred Weasley should tell Hermione Granger that he loves her and aches for her smile and her wit and her intelligence, and he can hardly understand how she stands to be with Ronald, of all people. He is the man, no, the little rat is yet a boy, least deserving of her-

Even as he thinks this, he feels his stomach tied itself to knots. Of course, Fred never spoke any of these words, these thoughts, these sins, but he thought them all the same. Every uncharitable thought only served to stoke the fires of his own self-reproach: These thoughts were hardly appropriate. These weren't the thoughts he should have towards his brother, towards his brother's wife, towards his family, and the list went on and on, endlessly.

Not that that mattered. What did matter, was the fact that Hermione was married to his brother and would soon be carrying his spawn if Hermione's longing looks to Harry and Ginny's children were any indication. What did matter, was that it had been five years and though he knew that it was time to move on, Fred could hardly go a few days without owling Hermione or reliving his memories of George. What did matter was that, in any case, these were hardly the thoughts of a joker, and even if they were spoken, Hermione wouldn't believe it. The part of the grief and the joke shop and the disbelief at the world's continuance, that she would, but none of the rest.

So he only clutched her closer and hoped and prayed that these scant moments would never be taken from him. He hoped that they were enough, and as he held her, he found that hope sprung eternal in his chest.

"Thank you, Hermione," he whispered against her hair when the tears stopped and all that was left was an eerie stillness of the joke shop and her steady heartbeat beneath his ear. Inside him, he felt the words rise to his mouth. But these weren't words that were ever meant to be spoken, and with a bitter swallow, he sighed.

Original Posting Date: September 17, 2017

Prompt: N/A

Word Count: 1260

Note: This was an experiment, because the Fred/Hermione ship wasn't my thing until I read a fic by therenyoupay. Lovely story. You guys should take a look, and though, I don't think it'll become my "otp", I did want to write what I think of it, my interpretation. I hope you like it! Tell me what you think! This is ONLY a ONE-SHOT. ;)
***I have the dreadful habit of writing for fandoms I know nothing about. Let it be known: I have never actually read the Harry Potter Books or seen the films.