Summary: Being pushed away leaves you rejected. Being rejected burns holes, and you only need one person to give you a remedy.
For Quidditch League Competition and other things. (I'll edit it later, too lazy)
Status: ( ) INCOMPLETE ( ✔️) COMPLETE ( ) DISCONTINUED
Word Count: 2,347
I want to dedicate this to Colleen, aka accioweasely4. She's a huge fan of Fremione. Hope you like this :)
"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."- Buddha
Unless Fred Weasely had absolutely no emotions, he wouldn't be stuck like this.
And now, as Fred was sitting at the old dining table next to her, he never noticed the way she spread the butter on her slice of bread. Carefully, patiently, with concentration. It was paranoid, how aware he was of her presence and her actions. Like a tingling feeling on his spine, like a sixth sense, every time she entered a room or a ten feet radius. His body had reacted so instinctively and so fluently every time her skin had brushed against his.
Her eyes were filled with a light, which was powered by a thirst of knowledge, and had shimmering thick pools of honey that endlessly swirled and glowed. At least to him. Her soft skin had the blatant effect of an electric shock. He didn't know why, honestly, he didn't even have a clue as to why he felt these sort feelings, or why his emotions were treating him in such a wretched manner.
He was Fred, prankster extraordinaire, fun-loving and had the emotional range of a teaspoon. He didn't even give any thought of emotion even when he was with Angelina. But see, that's where he was mistaken. He had said his emotions were something akin to harmless or weak. Or so he thought. But after that vile and somewhat tragic event that had unfortunately turned into a contaminated memory, which he would prefer not to revisit, something had awoken inside. Something had clicked. It would have taken a paragon of self control to not collapse out of frustration.
After the war, Angelina had changed. You could say she had matured or as some would say, she had lost interest. But Fred said otherwise. He had survived the war with her, and that was why he was proud of his relationship. Or so called relationship. It was sudden, there, right in his face. She had told him, and as gently as as possible, mind you. She had called it a break. Yes, a long break. But not a vacation. Oh no, this was like a rejuvenation period for her.
She had left, not only him, but everyone around her to pursue a kind of peace and some clarity in her life. He didn't understand, as a plethora of emotions had run through him: anger, sadness, sorrow. He had asked her whether he could 'tag along' with her on her journey to inner peace, but she was so solemn about this, so consequential, he had immediately understood that this was farewell. Maybe forever.
Well then, it was the lack of motion that had stirred, awakening him inside. He wanted to blame her for making him so vulnerable, like a slave to these entities. But he couldn't; he knew he couldn't. She was wasn't faking it, her reasons were valid, but that only added to his frustration.
So he ended up devoid of emotion which ultimately lead him to a powerful yearning of it. Yes he craved for it. And it had ignited a spark of lust in his chest. It was beautiful and frightening to him.
Hermione had come to stay at the Burrow after the War, since her parents were still in Australia. At the time, he hadn't looked at her in any way other than a sister. But now, he was seriously rethinking his thoughts and contemplating his actions and options.
Ron was with Lavender and Harry was with Ginny. It was all hunky dory with the new couples in the house. Except for him. Thoughts had started to walk through the door of his open mind, and ideas had started to form by themselves and before he knew it, he was eyeing the only single girl in the house out of...he didn't know. It was completely involuntary. But it drove him mad, this unexplainable force which was behind his desperation. And she was completely oblivious to this.
"Fred?" She asked softly.
"Yes, Hermione?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're staring at me,"
"Yes, I am." He suddenly put his head down to his plate, his face slightly red.
She saw his head down, and slightly tilted her head to the side as if to get a better look at him. "Fred, is anything wrong?"
Her voice was comforting; like a ray of warm sunshine that melted the cold and frozen plains of ice.
He was quiet. He didn't dare answer that question, in fear that he'd never stop. There was a silence that had settled itself between them. He didn't like it. It was that silence that gave way for various thoughts that crept into people's minds, ultimately leading them to ridiculous assumptions and conclusions; it gave room for unnecessary things. It was that silence which people made use of to contemplate their actions. It was eerie and deceiving. The sound of silence had never been so loud before.
"Fred?" She asked again. She had put her toast and knife down and was looking to Fred with concern.
"Can we," Fred struggled out. He took a deep breath before resuming,"go for a walk after breakfast?"
He could see the gears in her mind working feverishly. She was thinking about the reason for his question, the ulterior motives, by studying every word. She had also noticed the manner in which he had asked; it was desperate. Which was completely unlike Fred.
"Yes, okay," she said quickly, looking at his expectant expression.
The both of them had finished their breakfast and were getting up to put their dishes inside the sink. Hermione went first and put her dish in the sink, with her back to him. He had a sudden urge to walk up to her and slowly wrap his hands around her small frame. Like he did to Angelina. Because she'd then start to squeal out of a pleasant surprise and laugh. He missed that sound and he wanted it back. But he knew if he did it to Hermione, the response would be different.
He walked up next to her, where Hermione was washing the dishes the muggle way and gently put his plate down. He was next to her, and she didn't even acknowledge it. She didn't even flinch. But here he was, with his all self-control, standing next to her.
He slowly restrained himself and took a step backwards to patiently wait for her. She wiped her hands and looked him.
"Well then, let's go,"
He led the way. He nearly took her hand and gently guided her. But he didn't. He couldn't.
There were the woods outside the Burrow, with all the fallen leaves of August which decorated the ground in a beautiful pattern of yellow and orange. There was a rustle of leaves, the smell of petrichor which was the scent of the Earth and the light drizzle of the rain. The sun was aureate and soft, having the effect of a light tingle on their bare skins.
"So, tell me what's happening, Fred." She stopped walking.
A lot of things that I've never felt before, he wanted to say. Desperation, lust, yearning, helplessness all ran through his mind, body and soul. As Angelina had changed, he had too. She had gone to disconnect herself from love, he had gone to search for it.
"Hermione, have you ever felt like enclosing yourself, separating yourself from other people?" He was referring to Angelina. Of course he was. But she didn't know that.
"Only when I'm studying," she said sheepishly, giving him a small smile. But she saw his expression which was unsmiling and hard. She frowned.
"Fred, are you referring to yourself?"
He shook his head and continued walking into the endless nature kissed scenery, it was like walking into a picture of innumerable trees with fallen leaves. But when she walked next to him, he decided that it wasn't the trees, leaves or the picturesque setting that caught the spectator's eye of the picture. It was Hermione.
"Why won't you tell me anything? I feel like I'm talking to myself!" She protested, which resulted in him cracking a smile.
"Because if I did," he said in a gentle but wary voice,"you wouldn't talk to me again."
"Honestly Fred! You'd think I'd actually do that?" She exclaimed, looking at him with a face which was mixed with confusion and disbelief.
Her words were so reassuring, so prompting that he was compelled to tell her. The crunching of leaves continued as a bird called out to its mate in the distance. Fred's hands were in the pockets of his jacket, residing in warmth and Hermione's were limp, by her side. He was sure they were cold, as they looked more pale.
"Hermione, these past few weeks have been hard," he started cautiously, looking at her eyes suddenly shift from a fallen nest which was rolling in the wind to his face, "for me."
She heard and listened. Her mind was attentive, reacting to the meaning of this statement instinctively. And although he hadn't even begun his story, a rush of empathy had started to course through her.
"I'm listening," she said, making a right to lead into the meadow, where there was a small dairy farm not too far.
He followed her. "Angelina left me. She left me like this. In this confused, frustrated and messed up state just when I was at my peak, my happiest. The highest that I was, just after the War."
His voice was cracked, but it was confident nonetheless. His head was high, but his spirit was crumbling to the ground. His heart was beating fast, but he felt like all the blood had disappeared as he saw his hands go white.
"I thought she had gone on a vacation. That's what.." Hermione trailed off, her eyes studying his crestfallen expression. Her voice was now that of one which had realised a hidden truth, uncovering a mystery, "that's what you had told me. But you, you had-"
"Lied, yes" Fred interrupted. He broke eye contact with her and now concentrated on the Dairy farm ahead.
She was quiet. She didn't know what to say. What could she say? She couldn't tell him: tough luck and head up, now, could she?
"I'm sorry Fred." It came out as a whisper of empathy. But that's all it was. She knew it was all she could offer.
"I'm like your brother, aren't I?"
"Of course you are," she said lightly, trying to brighten the mood and atmosphere.
He winced slightly and put his head down. Common sense had reprimanded him for thinking otherwise. Where've you been, my little friend? He had asked it. His foolishness knew no bounds, jumping at insurmountable objects, trying to attain the unattainable. But see, that is the price of youth, having thoughts which were pleasant to think about, but preposterous to hope for.
They made their way across the field, where there were cattle grazing. They had seen a big shed, and a few small buildings yonder. There wasn't a clear road, and it was as if they were entering another small and quaint town. Or village, as you'd call it. The two of them were oblivious of the kilometers that they had traveled. But no worries, they could always apparate back to the Burrow.
And of course, to every little quaint town, there was a little patch of grass and benches where two or more beings could sit. It was not a park; it had been built for travelers who would pass by, such as them.
Hermione went over to one of the old wooden benches that had been damaged due to the behavior of the weather and promptly sat on it. She gestured to the spot next to her, indicating that he should settle himself there and join her observe the small children that played outside.
"For some time now," he nonchalantly stated, at least more than he felt, "I've been having these odd thoughts and feelings."
"Of what sort, pray tell, dear Fred," she answered teasingly, in all fun. She did not realize the seriousness of his statement. She did not realize the thoughts behind it.
He held his head in his hands, running his long fingers through the vibrant and dark red hair of his. It was a sign of frustration.
"Freddy?"
He swiftly turned his head towards her, to see an eye brow of hers lifted up, as a sign of slight confusion. He was going for the kill now. She still hadn't suspected anything, at least that's what he thought.
"It shouldn't come as a surprise to you that I love you. I've known you for nearly a decade now." She hadn't moved. She was still sitting in the same position, with her eyes towards the East. But he, his whole posture had turned to her, his mind had surrendered itself to her. "And not as a friend loves another, but as a man loves a woman. As one soul yearns for another."
She leaned back, afraid, confused and sick with worry. He knew that he'd shaken the Angel in her. Her expression, her stance, her position and body language said it all to him in the most blatant manner.
"And trust me when I say this, I don't know how these emotions just played out like this, but it has. A-and…" he was stuttering now, but he'd gone into hysterics.
The the cold hands of consequence had just finished its job. She had turned to him and started to say something but he had cut her off. Better to finish what he started without being interrupted so he could get away without facing the end result.
"And, it's being bothering me, like a little a small thorn of a rose which has been pierced into my finger, but it won't come out…unless…I remove it, unless…"
/~\
I leave Hermione's reaction, and the following plot to your will and imagination.
She can be scared and worried, because she can never reciprocate the same feelings, or live up to the demands of a lover, ultimately ending up in her locking her heart and fleeing. Or she can stop thinking with her mind and start with her heart, letting herself learn to love. Which of course, ends the way Fred would want it to.