I own nothing but the shoes on the my feet and the dress on my back.
He watched her from afar.
He always watched her from afar.
She was that kind of girl; the girl a boy like him could never approach. He was head over heels for her, and she didn't know he existed.
Then again, maybe she did.
When they'd met as kids, it was easier to simply ignore the other one than engage in awkward conversation when they had nothing in common. It would take years (four to be exact) before they came to see each other as friends. She hadn't even seen it coming. One day, in the common room with her nose stuck in a book, he ambled up and took the seat next to her. Pulling the book out of her hands with the promise to bookmark the page, he explained his love of blondes to her. As he spoke and she listened, her brown eyes caught sight of her own brown locks. They curled and waved and frizzed and were generally unruly, though she never did a thing to remedy the situation.
The words tumbled out of his mouth as he thanked his lucky stars that she would deign to listen to such drivel. He thought for sure that she would turn him into a newt just for taking her book, but she sat quietly. It wasn't until he noticed the way her pulling straight a flyaway curl that he stopped talking about his love of blonde hair.
"Something wrong?" he asked, bringing her back to attention.
Her hand fell from the offensive lock as her eyes cast down. "No, nothing's wrong," she replied meekly. She cleared her throat, hoping her next words would sound stronger, more confident. More like her. "If you'll excuse me, I've got homework to finish."
With that she stood, took her book from his hands, and vanished up the staircase. He watched her go, wondering how stupid he could be to tell her such things. "I like blondes," he muttered to himself, pulling a book off the coffee table before him. "I'm an idiot."
The next morning she arrived early for breakfast; her stomach rumbling from the skipped dinner the night before. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of her was trying to avoid a certain someone with a blonde fetish. As luck (or something entirely opposite of luck) would have it he sat at the end of the table, a bowl of cereal before him and a girl she didn't recognize holding his arm. The blonde's words couldn't be made out from where she stood, but she could tell he wasn't interested in what the girl had to say. With a smile, she realized his eyes were trained on a textbook to his left, while the girl chattered away on his right.
It still hurt though, she decided as she backed out of the grand hall. Forever, she'd be seen in his eyes as a friend; never anything more. It was a fate she had to accept to keep him or reject to lose him. And she wanted to keep him, if only as a friend.
And so they continued on as the years passed. School was over, jobs were secured, friends and family and other loved ones married and had babies. And through it all, the pair remained best friends. They confided in each other daily, telling stories of failed dates and the latest friend to announce an engagement.
He still secretly loved her, and she secretly felt the same way. If it hadn't been for New Year's Eve and a bottle of firewhiskey, her feelings would have stayed bottled inside for the rest of time. The party was loud, the band amplified so the next block could hear the music. As liquor flowed, her inhibitions disappeared and she dragged him off to the quietest place she could find.
"What are you doing?" he asked, a smile on his face as she pulled on his sleeve.
She stopped, her feet slipping into the frozen slush of snow on the ground outside. "I love you, Fred Weasley." Her voice was calm, calculated, as it had been in her schoolgirl days whenever she stated a fact. And this time, the fact was she was in love with her best friend.
Whether it was the booze or his generally happy mood, Fred threw an arm around her shoulders. "Love you too, kid."
Hot tears stung Hermione Granger's eyes as his words sunk in. "Love you too, kid." She could feel her face warm as the loop repeated in her mind. "Love you too, kid." She allowed him to lead her back inside, allowed him to remain blissfully unaware of the repercussions of his words. "Love you too, kid." Once they reached the crowded party, the witch slipped out of her friend's grasp.
"I need a drink," she informed him, but moved away too quickly for him to follow her to the bar. Minutes after ordering a glass of wine, Hermione felt an arm wrap around her waist. She looked up to see Fred, and butterflies filled her stomach. He'd rethought her confession and was coming to tell her that he too shared her feelings.
"One of my ex-girlfriends is here, and she was crazy," Fred explained, not bothering to notice the way she deflated. "Can you just pretend to be my girlfriend for a couple of minutes until she catches on and goes away?"
His pleading blue eyes had Hermione dumbly nodding her head in agreement. She swallowed the last gulp of liquid from her glass as his arm tightened around her waist. She watched the two converse without ever hearing a word that was spoken. The girl was tall (legs for days tall) and thin (hadn't had a meal in a week thin), with long, straight hair. Blonde hair. Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly as the conversation continued.
"Isn't that right, darling?" Fred asked, pulling Hermione from her stupor. She looked up at him inquisitively, but his eyes urged her to agree.
"Oh, yes, sweetheart, that's entirely correct," she said through a forced smile. Her hand found his still on her waist, and allowed her fingernails to dig into the flesh. "If you'll excuse me, I need some fresh air."
She held up the wine glass to demonstrate her excuse before pulling his hand away. Snow continued to fall steadily, coating the ground with its wet slickness. Hermione wished it would envelop her, allow her to be swept away with the drifts. Hot tears stung her brown eyes as she looked back at the party. Part of her wished Fred had followed her outside, wished he'd taken her declaration more seriously. She loved him with all her heart and soul, and he'd never truly know that. With a pop, she Apparated away to the silence and comfort of her small flat.
Fred stood awkwardly before the blonde whose name he couldn't recall. A hand ran through his red locks as he tried to think of a way to get out of the situation. Finally she spoke.
"Shouldn't you maybe go after her?" she asked. "She didn't look well."
He turned his head towards the door, thinking she'd return any second now. With a smile to the blonde, he pushed his way past the couples congregated around the exit. His shoes crunched under the blanket of snow on the sidewalk. Looking left, then right, Fred realized she was gone. She had to have gone home, he realized. His energy focused on Hermione as he Apparated away.
The snow bank two blocks from her apartment building was where he landed. A single light two stories up flickered, acknowledging that she was home. He watched as darkness engulfed the flat before he moved. Quickly, he climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached her door. The knock started out softly and slowly grew harder until finally the door swung open.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, pushing stray hair out of her eyes.
"You left," Fred answered, staring down at his shoes. He heard her sigh impatiently, waiting for his speech to move on so she could go back to bed.
When he didn't say anything further, Hermione sighed again. "That's it? I left? That's all you've got to say? If it is, may I go back to bed?"
Fred ran his fingers nervously through his hair again. "I, well, I wanted to make sure you got home safely."
Pointing to the door, Hermione retorted, "Yes, here I am. Home. Safely. Anything else?"
"Are you mad at me?" he asked. "What did I do?"
A mirthless laugh escaped the witch's lips. "What did you do? Did you pay attention to anything I told you tonight? I told you I love you, and all you could do was throw your arm around my shoulders and all but pat me on the head like a puppy. I told you I love you and you make me pretend to be your girlfriend so you don't have to deal with an ex. You did nothing, Fred, like always." She moved to close the door, but his hand stopped its motion.
"You're my best friend," he told her. "Hermione, I don't know what to say."
"Goodbye, Fred," she quietly said, pushing on the door hard enough to dislodge his hand. She wouldn't break down, wouldn't cry over the man who couldn't love her. Hermione Granger was done.
Days later Fred paced in front of the fireplace, a handful of Floo powder carefully tucked in the palm of his hand.
"You're making me dizzy with all that pacing," George Weasley informed his twin brother. "Throw that in there and talk to her or give up."
Fred stopped. "I screwed up."
George nodded. "Yes, you did. Now fix it or give up." He went back to tinkering with their latest invention, leaving his brother to his own devices.
"Shouldn't you offer a little more than fix it or give up?" Fred inquired, letting some of the loose powder slip through his fingers. "Don't you have any advice or insight?"
Once again the red head looked up. "Tell her I said hi, and that you've been in love with her for the past ten years."
Fred turned to look head-on at his brother. "I'm not looking for your jokes right now. I somehow screwed up things with Hermione, and I'm sincerely asking you for your advice."
The quill in George's hand fluttered to the table as he stood. "That was my advice and insight," he informed his twin before moving back to pick up his belongings and retreating to his room.
Fred groaned and picked up his keys. "I'm going for a walk," he yelled, not sure if George really cared. Outside, snowmen were erected and angels were traced in the white powder by the children of Diagon Alley. A cold, hard snowball hit Fred in the back, but he never bothered to turn around to see who the pitcher was. Instead he continued on, trudging through unshoveled snow until he reached the Leaky Cauldron. He ignored the greetings he received from patrons and Tom, the barkeep. With a deep breath, he passed through the exit that would put him in the heart of muggle London. Two more blocks, he told himself, two more blocks until he'd reach Hermione.
The brunette stood by her mailbox thumbing through bills as Fred approached.
"Hermione, I love you," he declared. The envelopes fell from her hand to the snow.
A smile set on the witch's face. "Love you too, kid," she retorted, picked up the soggy mail, and went indoors. Quickly Fred followed, staying close on Hermione's heels.
"Please, Hermione, just let me explain," Fred pleaded as she continued to her flat in silence. The key slipped into the lock seconds before Hermione opened the door. She turned briefly to look at him, taking in the anguished look that marred his usually jovial face.
With a sigh of exasperation, Hermione allowed him to enter. "Explain," she said calmly as she set the mail on the coffee table before busily moving around to tidy the sitting room.
Fred watched as she fluttered past, fluffing pillows and straightening the edges of the throw blanket that was draped over the love seat. "When you said that night that you loved me, I thought it was the liquor. I didn't think you meant it."
Hermione let the book she had in her hand fall to the floor. Her emotions vacillated between anger and sorrow. "I wasn't drunk," she told him in a low voice.
"I know," he mumbled. His hand reached out for the book she had picked up, and he quickly set it aside. Taking a step nearer, his hand holding hers, Fred closed the small distance between them. He stared down into her brown eyes, full of sadness and longing. Every word she had said to him at that party, she meant, and he knew that now.
"I also don't say things I don't mean," she stated, resisting the urge to stroke his cheek with her free hand.
Fred nodded. "I know that too."
His head lowered, red fringe dipping into his eyes. Hermione gave into the desire to smooth back the soft locks. His lips neared, centimeters from her own, when she pulled back. "What about the blonde?"
Fred smiled, wrapping his other arm around Hermione' waist. "I'm over blondes," he replied. With a smile of her own, Hermione looped her free arm around Fred's neck. She pulled herself closer as he lowered his head to meet her height.
And then he kissed her.