Commitaphobia
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Harry Potter, and I own nothing.
Summary: Hermione breaks up with her current boyfriend – again. It actually seems to be a bad habit of hers. However, when Fred and she go on a "secret mission," hilarity and romance ensue.
Chapter 1: Hermione Hayes
Author's Note: First of all, thank you for taking the time to read this. However, I do not write review-thanks at the end of every one of my chapters. They simply take up space. Completely unnecessary. However, this is not to say I am not grateful for reviews. I feed off them. They do make me want to write. Next-ly, there is brief mention of another character – Chris Hayes – but he is not a main character and is only occasionally referred to. He is simply setting up the plot. So no worries about that.Now, with that being said, on with the story.
May 12th – in my dormroom – 12:00 noon
A quick update on my current love life is all I have time for: I absolutely am in love with the most adorable boy – Chris Hayes. He kissed me! Finally! It was... I don't know; it was wonderful! More on that subject later. I've got to go eat lunch with Chris. He's waiting for me! We're walking to the hall together.
Hermione Granger
P.S. 108 percent on my transfiguration test! Quite good, if I do say so myself.
May 25th – on the carriage ride to Hogsmeade – 10:00 am
I love Chris Hayes. No time to write about him now, though. He's taking me out to eat in Hogsmeade!
Hermione Granger
May 27th – in front of the fire – 11:31 pm
I just now finished my homework. I'm so busy lately! What between Chris and schoolwork and my soon-to-be internship at the Ministry of Magic. Anyways, I'm tired so I'm going to bed.
Hermione Granger Hayes
P.S. Have I mentioned I absolutely love Chris?
May 30th – on the train going to the Weasleys – 1:29 pm
My parents are going on a cruise, and they decided to let me stay at Ron's all summer. I'm so sad! When I go to Ron's house I'll rarely (if ever) be able to see Chris! What will I do without him? I know Mrs. Weasley would welcome him into the Burrow with open arms anytime, but I don't want to impose on her. Oh! I have to go! Chris wants to talk to me!
June 1st - at the Burrow – midnight
I'm trying as hard as I can to write quietly and quickly (too late for the rest of the household), but I have so much to say. So many confusing thoughts running through my head! I can hardly move my quill fast enough.
Well, I don't know how to say this, so I'll come straight out with it. I broke up with Chris.
Oh God, just looking at it in writing makes me feel sick. I don't know why I did it. Ok, well I do, but it's not a real reason. I think it's my past disease come back to haunt me.
Yes, that disease. The one that forces me out of every relationship I've ever had. The one that makes me crush people's hearts under my feet. The one that causes me just as much aggravation as the next person. The one that's too constant to be acceptable. I can't help it. It's like it controls my body, the words and actions just pushing their way up and out of my muscles.
Starting from the beginning? Yes, that sounds like a good idea.
Like I said in my last entry, Chris did want to talk to me on the train ride home. He led me out of the compartment I was sharing with Ron and Harry, and he brought me into an empty one. At first I was ecstatic – I love being with Chris.
However, he simply gently took my hand in his and looked into my eyes. Did I mention he has really pretty eyes? They're an odd sort of mix between grey and blue – kind of like cold silver with a light frost – entrancing in an odd sort of way, and they'll sort of suck you in so that you want to just stay where you're standing forever and – oh my God I cannot believe I am writing about my ex-boyfriend's eyes right now!
Anyways... After just staying like that for a second, with my hand in his, he leaned forward and gave me a small kiss on the lips. Nothing big or wet or incredibly passionate, but it was very romantic all the same.
After our lips were separate again, he said the three words. Yes, THE three words. For me, the most dreaded words I could possible ever hear. "I love you."
I can only imagine my face – blanched, scared, and horrified all at once. Of course, I attempted at once to cover it up. I smiled and nodded weakly at him. Not knowing what else to do, I said, "Why thank you, you are very kind."
Can you say not the answer he was looking for! He gave me this tight-lipped smile and then a small nod before leaving the compartment.
Ok, ok, so what's the big deal, you may ask. What is wrong with this boy saying that he loves me when I write it all the time in my diary? I asked myself the same thing. So I made a list of things that were wrong:
1. He was too serious about it. Maybe he should've made the "three little words" into a song? (Must try sometime).
2. There were no roses. How can you say that to a girl without having any roses around?
3. It was anticlimactic. No intense making out. No sudden burning desire of passion. No knee-weakening, sky-opening kiss. What's up with that?
4. When he took my hands he held them too tightly. Seriously, I'm lucky I didn't have to get them amputated completely off for lack of circulation.
5. When I write, "I love Chris," in my diary, I really mean: I am heavily infatuated with Chris. Whereas when he said, "I love you," it sounded like he really meant: I love you.
Ummm... I can't think of anymore. Oh! I know! How about the one real, true-blue reason?
6. I can't handle commitment, and some sort of weird spasm controls my body as I break up with guys after they become too serious. Hmm... shall we call it commitaphobia? I think so.
Ugh, someone's awake and moving around downstairs. What's someone (besides me) doing up at one in the morning? I'll write more tomorrow.
Hermione Granger
June 2nd – Ginny's and my room – 1:00 pm
I just woke up. Yes, and it's 1:00 in the afternoon! I don't know what I was thinking! Waking up this late makes me feel like I've wasted the day when there's new homework to tackle, books to memorize, and parents to write. I must have forgotten to set my alarm last night after going downstairs to get a snack.
Which brings me to my next topic: last night, after I finished writing in this lovely book, I went downstairs to get a snack, forgetting that I had previously heard someone walking around down there.
As I was expecting to be alone, you could imagine my shock when I saw one of the twins (at the time I couldn't tell which – it was dark) pulling down a chocolate frog packet from a shelf. I must've jumped about a foot in the air.
"Fr- Geo- Freorge!" I hissed, not realizing how ridiculous I must've sounded. But hey, I was tired. "What are you doing down here?"
Moonlight poured in through the bay window located behind the chair "Freorge" was standing in. He straightened quickly, and then visibly relaxed when he realized it was me. "Why, my lovely Hermione, I am quite frankly hurt. Have you not learned to tell me and my dear twin apart, yet?"
To be honest, I began seething. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, and I was not in the mood. I told him so, and then told him that I knew perfectly well he was Fred. Years back, I learned that George has more of a structured face then Fred. Since my third year, I don't think I've mistaken them once.
Fred jumped back, looking hurt. "I'm George!" he said indignantly.
I squinted at him in the darkness. I had been almost one hundred percent positive that it was Fred, but I shrugged. What did it really matter?
I moved to get a cup out of the cabinets in order to get myself a glass of milk, but Fred/George moved into my way.
A bit confused, and still annoyed, I said, "Excuse me," very pointedly and tried to move past him. However, once again, he moved into my path, and I bumped into him. I looked at him questioningly.
"Not until you say sorry for confusing me with Fred," he said, grinning mischievously.
"I'm s – " then I stopped and looked carefully at the twin. I was almost completely sure that this boy was Fred, not George as he claimed. What the hell, I decided to go out on a limb. "You're not George," I said firmly. "You are definitely Fred."
Without missing a beat, the twin looked at me funny and said, "What? I'm George..."
I was at a loss. I didn't know how to prove that I was right. (For I am almost always right). That is – until I remembered something Mrs. Weasley had told me a long time ago. Fred is ticklish, George isn't.
This time I'm sure I was the one grinning mischievously. I took a single step closer than I already was so that my nose almost bumped his chest. Fred (for I was sure it was him) looked down at me, confused. My hands suddenly darted out and I began tickling him like mad, which wasn't hard because his chest was quite bare.
With a loud shriek, Fred grabbed his sides, but I didn't let up. I continued to tickle him like crazy, and I found myself smiling for the first time in the last day as he sank to floor trying to protect his stomach.
Kind of odd if you ask me. I've never smiled this much right after a break-up – not that I've had that many break-ups in my life. Counting the last one... I've had three (Viktor, Harry, and now Chris).
Anyways, after about ten seconds of torturing him with my tickling, Fred managed to gasp out through bursts of laughter and giggles (yes, Fred giggled), "I give up! I give up! You win! I'm Fred!"
Because I'm such a fair sport, I stopped, and Fred, hugging his knees to his chest, sat there gasping for air with a huge smile on his face. I grinned at him and offered my hand to help him up. He accepted it, and I remember that his hand was huge! It like engulfed mine. Quidditch player's hands. And, while I'm already off on a tangent, I also noticed he had very nice Quidditch player's abs when I was tickling him senseless. (Not that I would ever tell him or anyone else for that matter. I mean, Ginny would find it just gross, and at the moment she's the only one I could talk about that with).
Anyways, back on subject (I get so easily distracted sometimes!). After I had helped Fred up, he asked, "Who told you that I was ticklish?"
"Your mum," I said. Then I added, "But she didn't tell me you squeal like a girl."
Fred attempted to look hurt. "I'm appalled that you would say such things!" but he grinned good naturedly and got down two cups from the cabinet he had been blocking before. I moved to take one, but he shooed me away and began to pour two glasses of milk.
Fred handed me one and set out a plate of cookies. "So," Fred said once he was positioned at the table across from me, "what brings you here so early in the morning?"
I automatically glanced at my watch and realized with a start that it was 1:15 in the morning. Crazy!
"Well I was just coming down for a snack is all," I said, "but I really should – " ...be getting to bed is what I was going to say, but Fred cut me off.
"What a coincidence!" he said jovially. "Me too!"
"Umm..." was my clever response. Why was he staring at me so intently?
"Well, as a snack, why don't you have a cookie," he said loudly, indicating the plate in front of us.
"Um, ok..." I said, unsure of why he was pushing me to eat. I was about to put it in my mouth when I saw a small glint appear in Fred's eyes. I immediately put the cookie down.
"What did you do to it?" I asked, standing up.
"Who me?" he asked, looking around as if I could possible be talking to someone else.
"No," I said sarcastically, "I was talking to my imaginary friend."
Fred shook his head. "Fine, I admit it. There might be something in the cookies, but you have to promise to still leave them here for people in the morning if I tell you what it is."
This took some debating. You see, if I were to leave these cookies here, I could be partner to some serious chaos that will ensue. However, I couldn't help but begin to imagine Ron's face as he bit into a cookie and he sprouted a tail (or something along those lines). Ok, maybe this wasn't such a hard decision. "Fine."
"Whoever eats them will grow a second head and five more legs."
My stomach sank in horror. What had I just done? There was no way I could leave these to the rest of the household!
"Just kidding!" Fred exclaimed, reaching forward and flicking my forehead by using his thumb and index finger. "They just make whoever eats them have multi colored hair for a day or two. They're our new test product right now. The chocolate chips in them are actually a mix of dyes and – " here's where Fred lost me. He began talking about potions and formulas and 2:1 ratios of certain ingredients. At the time it was semi-interesting, but now I can't remember it to save my life. Who ever knew Fred was so smart? (That sounds awfully mean, but it's true!)
Fred ended his five-minute lecture with, "It's quite simple, really."
I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. I mean, I didn't know what to say! Fred... smart. It just doesn't seem to go together!
"What?" Fred asked, presumably in response to the look I was giving him.
I decided to go with the truth. "I just never knew you were so smart." When I saw him about to open his mouth in his defense, I jumped in. "I mean, I knew you must have been somewhat intelligent in order to do all those pranks – and creative. I just meant I didn't know you were book smart."
Fred grinned. "I'm full of surprises," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
I laughed and couldn't help but push his shoulder playfully. But when I did I saw my watch. 2:00 in the morning! What was I thinking? Staying up that late?
Anyways, that was my adventurous rendezvous last night with Fred. Odd, isn't it? I've never thought of me and Fred as friends, but that's sort of what we are now, I guess.
And I don't know why I never thought of him like that. Wait, yes I do. He's immature. And loud and obnoxious. And he was constantly plaguing me when I was prefect. It was impossible to control him. That's precisely why we were never friends. Maybe having his own business for a while has changed him a little?
Who knows?
Who cares, really?
Hermione Granger
June 5th – hiding from the house in a closet – 5:00 pm
OH MY GOD!
OOOOOH.
MY.
GOD.
I am in shock. I am at a loss for words. And in case you don't understand, that never happens. I am horrified. I am so confused. I am appalled. I am agog with the previous happenings. I am struck speechless. I am dreading to write this. I am stunned. I am dumbfounded. I am pissed. I am overwhelmed with anger. I am livid. I am going to hit something. I am going to cry. I am furious. I am positively potent with anger. I am going to kill Ron!
I can't write right now. Later, I promise. Right now, I'm going to hunt down that red-headed, cheating, lying bastard and curse him 'til his eyes roll back in his head and he can't move a single muscle.
Hermione Granger