Author's Notes: I wrote this a while ago and whilst I'm attempting to find time to work on An Ideal Death Eater, I figured that I would put this up for people to read. Please let me know what you think, because I love reviews. If it wasn't for reviewers emailing me, I would have given up on finding time to finish writing AIDE, but people emailed me and so I'm pulling my writing hands out of retirement and giving the rusty old girls a stern talk.
Disclaimer: Totally not mine. As if you couldn't tell. If I was JK, I'd have time to write because I'd have a maid and a nanny.
Fred promised himself that this was the last time he would creep into the Burrow, to watch his family sleep. He'd take a little trip to see them - safe and warm in their beds - and it would be enough; sell himself a dream and he would stop resisting.
The Burrow was still and unnaturally quiet. Fred started to think that it was abandoned, but the smell of bread, baked fresh on the hearthstone, and the amount of dust still floating quietly down changed his mind.
He stepped first into Ginny's room since it was closest. The door creaked and he took an unnecessary breath in anticipation of someone waking. But she still slept.
Fred glanced over at her dressing table. He remembered how many times he and George had snuck into her room to experiment with their gags late into the night . . . right there. They would wear white lab smocks that their father had 'acquired' from some Muggle or another. Ginny was their assistant as they created potions, charms, and gadgets. They tested quite a few of their products on their baby sister as well.
He turned to look at Ginny. Her bed was tucked into the corner of the room and pockets full of shadows kept her from his view. Fred could hear her soft sighs and somnambulant noises as he crept closer. Her breath was warm on his throat, he was leaning down to kiss her forehead . . . he realised that the person lying in bed was not his sister. And when Fred saw the glitter of their eyes in the darkness, he knew that they were awake.
Fred jumped back and scurried to the opposite side of the room as the girl bolted upright in bed and fumbled to turn up the flame on the bedside lamp.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice husky from sleep.
"Don't turn up the lamp. It's only George. I-I was just coming to check up on Ginny," Fred lied quickly.
He realised who she was as soon as she'd spoken. Her body stilled in the darkness and Fred knew she was debating something in her mind, he could almost hear the wheels turning.
"You're not George," Hermione said confidently and turned up the flame with a quick twist of her hand.
Fred covered his eyes from the light and turned away from her. "Of course I'm George. Who else could I be?"
Hermione was quiet for a few heartbeats before she said: "George isn't as pale or thin as you are, and his hair is much shorter." She paused as if gathering courage to speak again. "Fred?"
He didn't say anything to confirm or deny this. Her delicate scent ignited his nostrils and it took every ounce of his willpower not to touch her. Hermione continued to talk, almost to herself.
"I knew they were hiding something from us. Ron didn't know what happened to you anymore than the rest of us did. We were only told that you had—" She swallowed thickly. "They told us that you died on business in Romania. But you're not dead. You're right here."
Fred let his head fall forward as he turned to face her. He knew that she could barely see him from across the room since the light was dim. Hermione narrowed her eyes and she studied him. Then she nodded as if in confirmation.
"I knew that you were either a werewolf or a vampire. Either way, you'd been bitten by something Dark and your family wanted to keep your 'death' quiet."
Fred repressed a chuckle. She always was the clever one, their Hermione. But she twisted her lips and puckered her brow as he watched her.
"It's just not right."
Fred blinked. "Not right? Hermione, in case you hadn't noticed, vampires aren't known for being cuddlesome. You should be terrified of me."
Hermione let out an unexpected snicker and the lines of her body relaxed under the duvet. "Cuddlesome? I don't think that you were very cuddlesome when you were alive, Fred. It was something more like: 'let's see how many different shades of purple Professor Umbridge can turn when I create a swamp on the second floor'. But you're still you, and I'd be your supper by now if that's what you wanted from me. It's not your fault that some Dark creature bit you, is it?"
"Erm, not exactly." Fred shuffled his feet. It was as if the previous two years hadn't happened and he was freshly gone from Hogwarts, waving stupidly at her as she stepped off the train from school, hoping that she'd notice someone who didn't have messy black hair and bright green eyes.
Tucking a firework in her cat's basket for the ride home.
The pressure on his veins loosened and he sat in a chair liberally strewn with Ginny's stuffed animals and spare poufs. It seemed that Hermione hadn't changed much aside from the physical. She was still the girl who felt it her duty to remind he and George that they were no longer children and that they should act accordingly. The same Hermione they loved to tease and chuck crumpled scraps of parchment at as she sat oh-so-primly in front of the fire revising for her O.W.L's.
Fred watched her from under lowered lashes. The light flush of sleep was still on her skin and he could smell the blood pumping just under the surface, even from five feet away. It reminded Fred of the time when he and George hexed her porridge so that it turned her face bright blue when she ate it.
The thought brought a long-forgotten smile to his lips.
"I just wanted to see my family again. One last time."
Hermione knitted her brows. "One last time? Where are you going?"
Fred looked away. Hermione reminded him a bit of George, now. He was always direct and penetrating in his questions. He was the more intellectual of the two. George would have known what to do in this situation. George could have come up with a way to avoid all of this, or to hold him back before he did something foolish, like attempt to help someone who didn't need saving; someone who turned out to be a vampire. But George didn't have a twin anymore.
And Fred was lost.
"I'm being Called, Hermione. I've resisted it for over a year, but I don't think that I can do it anymore."
Her soft brown eyes widened in surprise and she clutched the quilt tight around her chest. "I'm surprised that you've been able to resist at all. If we hadn't placed Professor Lupin in a cage, he would be in the Dark Lord's army right now." She paused and tilted her head to the side. "How are you doing it?"
Fred twisted his lips into a frown. He was living in a cage. "I think about my family. And George. And laughter. And I try to pretend, just for a little while, that I'm not hated and feared and loathed by everyone I knew. I walk into Muggle pubs where no one knows me and I make them laugh. I try to forget that I have to drink blood to survive."
He could hear Hermione's heart beating rapidly against her ribs and he had to admire the fact that she hadn't run screaming from the room yet. She was trying.
"Is it terribly hard?" Hermione whispered. Her eyes were tender, but at the same time glinting with a hunger for knowledge that he'd seen in his twin's eyes. "Being a vampire, I mean?" she added.
Fred nodded and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her naivety. "The most difficult part is how everyone reacts to you. I was always used to people being a bit wary of us because we liked to prank and play jokes. But we knew that they still loved us. Now people are more than wary, they're afraid. And they don't love us."
"You said us," she pointed out quietly.
"Did I?" He frowned. It had been a long time since Fred had thought of he and George together, like one person with two bodies. Perhaps it was this house and its memories that were affecting him so much. "Sorry," he said. "I haven't done that for a while. It's a twin thing, I suppose. We've always been completely different, but also the same. It's odd to explain, really."
"Mmmn." Hermione nodded.
"You're not frightened of me?" he asked, spreading his hands. "I mean, I am a deadly creature of the night here.
She came out of whatever thoughts she'd been immersed in with a laugh. "Of you? I don't think that I could be scared of you, Fred. But if I was . . ." Hermione reached under her pillow and pulled out a wooden stake. "I have this if I need it."
Fred quickly sat back as Hermione casually brandished the weapon. "Cripes, woman! Put that away before you hurt yourself." Fred paused. "Or me. I'm not going to bite you, you know."
A smirk graced her face and Hermione set the stake beside her on the bed. "I know. But one can never be too cautious. Mr Weasley insists that we keep a few weapons under our pillows in case something happens and we can't reach our wands."
"Has anything happened?"
Hermione shook her head and her hair moved to reveal how thin and interesting her neck was, the collarbones jutting out just below.
"Nothing yet. But we're all waiting for it. You-Know-Who is getting stronger every day and I'm not sure if we can hold him off. Everyone thinks that Harry will perform some miracle and save the day."
She frowned and twisted a finger in her frizzy brown hair. "I'm not so sure, though. Harry's strong, and he's brave, and he's a remarkable wizard. But he's— well, he's Harry. We're only seventeen years old. The most we should be worrying about is getting high marks on our N.E.W.T's and leaving Hogwarts with honours." She picked dejectedly at a thread on her nightdress. "Instead we're hiding out at the Burrow just trying to stay alive."
"You said we," Fred mocked in a sing-song tone, trying to lighten the despair that clung to the room like a tenacious fog.
A deep flush rose on her cheeks and Fred turned away from the sudden blast of heat and longing. He'd found a sort of peace before this. Before he'd come here seeking . . . what exactly was it that he was looking for?
"I suppose that I've been friends with Harry for so long that his battles are my battles and he and Ron and I are all like one unit. We're invincible when we're together."
"Yeah," Fred remarked, his throat tightening. "I know how that feels."
Hermione gazed at him with tears in her eyes and touched the top of his knee. Fred's skin jumped at the contact but he didn't move.
"I'm sorry, Fred. Of all the people I know, you deserve this the least. You always made us so happy, and when I'd been working too hard, you managed to make me laugh. Not even Harry or Ron could do that sometimes, but you always did." Her lips quivered. "Even if you had to be a prat to do it." She squeezed her eyes shut painfully before they burst wide open again. "Wait a moment! We helped Professor Lupin when he was Called, why can't we help you?"
Fred stared at her hand. His worn trousers were bunched between her ink-stained fingers as she squeezed his knee in excitement. It had been almost two years since a human had touched him willingly and her fingers burnt him. Even in the Muggle bars they kept their distance. And Hermione was so sweet and good, but he had done so many horrible things in the past two years. Things she couldn't begin to imagine. Just to survive. She shouldn't be touching him. He didn't deserve her touch.
"Fred?" Hermione called to him. He'd been silent for too long. The old Fred was never quiet. She couldn't know this Fred.
"I don't think that you can help me, Hermione. And they won't. I already asked."
"Already—" She drew back and looked into his eyes. If he had a soul left, she would be stealing it from him right now. Hermione lifted her hand to touch his face, but pulled it back before her skin could graze his. "Who did you ask to help you?"
"Mum a-and Dad." Fred squirmed in his seat as if he were being cross-examined. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"I just want to help," she said quietly.
"I'm not a house-elf, Hermione!" Fred snapped. "You can't just knit some socks for me and I'm free. I'm a vampire and there's no cure for it."
Fred sighed and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. Hermione recoiled from him, her eyes wet and open.
"I'm sorry," he apologised. "I just don't think that you understand this at all."
"You're right," Hermione conceded hotly, her breathing shallow. "But that doesn't mean that I can't try."
Fred studied her for a moment. If someone had told him at Hogwarts that he would one day have a deep and meaningful conversation with Hermione Granger about the finer points of being a vampire, he would have laughed and stuffed a Canary Cream down their throat. But here he was. And she wasn't afraid, even though she should be. No, she was trying to help. Perhaps it was only because her scientific mind brooked no squeamishness when it came to new knowledge, but she touched him without disgust when his own parents threw handfuls of rice at him and barred the doors.
The rice was just a stupid superstition anyway.
Fred suddenly wanted to see Hermione laugh again. He wanted to gather the dark rings from under her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks and shatter them completely.
He leant forward and furrowed his brow as if he was about to impart some ageless wisdom. Hermione waited patiently for him to say something, her lips parted and her teeth gleaming. Then Fred cracked a grin and crossed his eyes.
"You're such a pretty, tender thing," he cackled at her like a Hag. Fred crooked a finger and waved it around. "You really shouldn't talk to strange young vampires. They could bite!"
Fred reared forward and snapped playfully at the air in front of her face. Hermione was so startled that she squeaked and fell backward on her bed. He laughed as she attempted to extricate herself from the duvet she was tangled in with a sour expression.
"That wasn't funny, Fred," Hermione said, spitting out a feather from her pillow.
"Lighten up, Hermione! You can't be serious all the time."
She levelled a look at him and plucked a few more feathers from her hair. Then her lips pulled back from her straight, white teeth, the edges curled toward her dancing eyes.
"I suppose you're right." Hermione tilted her head to the side. "I've missed you, Fred."
Fred smiled so widely that he felt as if his face would crack. He had come here tonight to say a silent farewell to his family, but instead he found Hermione Granger.
And he hadn't missed her at all, until that moment.
Fred didn't know why he came back the next night.
A storm was gathering on the horizon and he could smell the dust stirred up from the garden below. He waited until all the lights were extinguished and snoring drifted down from the upper levels before he crept inside. Something told him that she would still be there in Ginny's room. Fred wondered where Ginny was, but it didn't seem as important as seeing Hermione. Or perhaps he didn't want to know.
Hermione accepted him. Hermione was intelligent, and thoughtful, and kind, and . . . she just was. Perhaps Hermione was what could keep him from joining You-Know-Who's army.
He wasn't in love though.
That would be ridiculous. Yes, he'd known Hermione since she was a swotty ten year-old onboard the Hogwarts' Express, but that didn't mean he knew her.
Fred was acquainted with Hermione in the sense that he had seen she was clever and sympathetic, that she easily kept the secrets worth keeping, and couldn't fly a broom to save her life. But he didn't know what her middle name was, or what her favourite book was, or even if she took cream in her tea. No, he wasn't in love.
He was grateful.
Fred didn't smell fear when he spoke to her. She didn't cringe away from touching him. Hermione filled a void in Fred that he'd felt since the moment his twin had turned away from him.
She knew what it was like to be the smaller part of a whole. But Hermione also understood how it felt to be ostracised. It really was an interesting combination.
Fred tapped on Ginny's window and waited for Hermione to come and unlatch it. She did soon enough and the cool evening air refreshed her stuffy room.
"Come in before it rains," Hermione said simply before turning away to set down her lamp. The fact that she felt comfortable enough around him to turn away spoke volumes.
"You shouldn't do that, Hermione," Fred said softly. If she was this naïve, she didn't stand a chance against the Dark Lord's army or the horrors it contained.
"Do what? Let you in? If you had wanted to hurt me, you'd have done already." Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head up so she could study him better. "Or are you afraid that you could hurt me?"
Fred swiped at his hair negligently. "I'm afraid for you. And for me. I could lose control at anytime, that's true. But if you don't stop trusting people, you're going to get killed."
Hermione scoffed and shook her head. "I'm not usually this trusting. But I know that you're Fre—"
He grabbed her suddenly by the arms, his fingers digging into her blazing flesh, and he winced. "You don't understand. I'm not Fred. I haven't been Fred since I woke up in a shroud planted six feet under the ground. I look like Fred. I remember Fred. But I'm not him."
Now he smelt fear.
Hermione struggled in his grasp, but he held firm. Fred didn't want her to fear him, but she needed to be afraid, at least a little bit. She had to understand. Her mistake could mean death for everyone around her. For his family.
"Stop it, Fred. I understand what you mean. And you're right, I should be more cautious. But you're scaring me. Let go."
"Hermione. You left your wand on the bed. Even if you had it right now, you wouldn't be able to defend yourself. I'm stronger than you and you can't move your arms. I could do anything to you right now and you wouldn't even be able to scream."
She stared at him for a moment, her brown eyes wide and petrified. Then Hermione opened her mouth and Fred swooped down to steal her breath. He slanted his lips over hers and sucked the hot, moist air from her lungs to fill his own dead ones. It made him feel alive inside for just a moment.
Hermione's eyes popped as she struggled limply in his grasp. Her cheeks glowed with a tempting fire against his and she burned. When her lashes started to flutter and beat frantically against his skin, Fred blew the now-cold breath into her mouth and stepped back. She tottered for a moment before deciding to lean against the windowpane. It had finally started to rain and the shadows of the water against the glass cast lacy patterns on her face.
"W-why on earth—"
Fred cut her off by placing a finger over her lips. "I just wanted to show you, Hermione. There are some things that you need to be afraid of . . . and I'm one of them."
She rested her head against the glass and observed him from the shadows, her gaze two points of light he couldn't look away from. "But I know that you're Fred. I can see it in your eyes."
Hermione reached up and ran her smooth fingers over his cheeks and caressed the hollow under one eye. "Yes, it's in your eyes. You may be different, but you're still him. I don't know how you can say that you're not."
His lips still stung from where he'd pressed them against her mouth and he skimmed them briefly with the back of his thumb. Fred shook his head. He doubted that she would ever understand and he was loath to convince her. The selfish part of him didn't want Hermione to be afraid of him. His fingers grazed her arm.
"Hermione, I don't want you to be frightened; especially of me. But you need to be. It isn't safe in these times for your trust. You can put yourself or someone else in danger by trusting me."
She closed her eyes fully, her lashes dark, feathery shadows against creamy skin. "I'm sick to death of being scared all the time. I want to trust someone."
Hermione snapped her eyes open and drew him close with the light contact of her fingertips on his upper arms. He towered over her and her bones were delicate and small. Fred could easily have broken away - broken her - but he didn't.
Even though her touch warmed his skin so intensely that it hurt, he allowed Hermione to pull his mouth to hers. Her small, soft tongue parted his lips and he let her take the lead, pushing against his teeth. It was only when she scraped her tongue over his incisors that he broke away and stepped back.
"Hermione, stop." Fred pushed against her shoulders.
She stood there, looking up at him out of huge, reflective eyes and he groaned.
Hermione was a sweet he'd never tasted until tonight.
Fred wasn't sure how he managed to let go of Hermione that night, or how his legs worked well enough to climb back out of the window and lope away.
She accepted him. Frightened, yes. But even still, she drew him close and kissed him with her tear-wet lips. Hermione touched him as no one had done since he had died. And Fred felt a small part of him die all over again when he realised that he couldn't allow himself to stay near her anymore. It was too dangerous.
Sitting in the uppermost branches of an ancient oak tree, Fred sighed and allowed the wind to sway him back and forth.
"You're a fool, man," he muttered. "Caring about what happens to her, or any of them. It's only you for the rest of your miserable eternity."
Rain tapped his face and hands, warm drops on his skin. Fred hid his hands in his coat pockets and hunched up further against the tree.
He would follow the Call and join the Dark Lord's army. Perhaps he would be one of the lucky few to retain his mind when he did, instead of becoming a senseless beast. Perhaps he could save them, save her, when the time came.
Hunger.
The hair in his hand was coarse and blood-coloured. It didn't taste like blood, though. He'd already licked the man's neck. All of the little red hairs on his skin prickled up. Fear. The man opened his mouth wide and waved his hands from side to side in a familiar warding manner.
He mocked him; opened his mouth wide, too, and sank his teeth deep into . . .
Dust sparkling down golden shafts of sunlight. Warmth. Fresh-baked bread and innocent days spent with someone who wore his face!Fred squeezed his eyes shut and let the man he was holding drop. He didn't want to look down and see bloodfrecklestornthroat his brother sprawled on the ground like that.
Fred fell to his knees in the mud and dug around for a moment until he found George's wand. Could he still use this now that he was changed? Fred saw that his fingernails were long, curved, and crusted with dirt. His hair hung limply over his eyes, grey with the dust of the grave. He couldn't possibly look human anymore.
A shout from nearby caught his attention. Fred raised his eyes in time to see Ron's head fall to the ground about three feet away. It bounced and rolled until the still-blinking eyes were tilted toward the sky.
He turned back to George. Fred's gaze lingered on the open gash on his throat and it was the bitterest of medicines. Thanks, George. You always held me back when I was about to make an ass of m'self, eh?
Fred took in the scene around him. George and Ron were here. Bill was probably that bloke over there duelling Bellatrix Lestrange. There were dragons wheeling through the sky above them. Fred reckoned that Charlie was up there somewhere. That prat Percy was back-to-back with none other than Lucius Malfoy, both of them black-robed and casting hexes at anything that moved. Ginny was nowhere to be found and neither were his parents.
Harry was close by, though, facing down Voldemort with grim determination in his eyes. Fred turned his attention to Voldemort and felt the hatred bubble in his brain. It lit his feet to action and Fred ran toward the two wizards, coming up behind Voldemort. Fred didn't think about it, he just plunged his hand through the twisted wizard's back and pulled out everything inside.
His hand was red. Sticky with blood and gore.
As Voldemort fell, Fred could see Harry on the other side. His face was puzzled, battle lust still shone on his lip and forehead. Harry's chest heaved and his mouth opened almost enough to speak, but he didn't.
Fred held his hand up in front of him and realised how unearthly, how ghoulish he must seem right now.
Something fluttered behind Harry's robes. A pale, dimpled hand was grasping in the dirt behind him. But Harry had turned to Voldemort and was finishing him off. Damn but the bastard kept going, even after having his insides become his outsides.
Hermione moaned something and . . . it was Hermione. Fred crept closer, ignoring the manic gleam in Harry's eyes as he burned Voldemort to a crisp.
Ashes whirled on the ground and covered Hermione's hair, caught in her lashes. Fred knelt down and rubbed some off of her cheek. She didn't burn him. His fingers didn't catch in her fire.
It took a moment for Fred to notice the wetness of blood against her utilitarian black robes. Oh, but the smell was of death. It wasn't sweet. It didn't cling to his nose in a way he could savour, but stank bitter as bile.
Fred slid his arm under her knees and behind her back, lifting her easily. Hermione groaned, her white lips slack and breath fading. He started walking back toward the graveyard, then. Fred could feel her life fluttering in her chest as she struggled to stay. But she couldn't stay anymore than he could.
"Hermione!" Harry shouted.
Fred heard hasty footsteps squishing through the mud and Harry grabbed his arm. "Who are you? Where are you taking her?"
Fred bared his teeth and kept walking. But something made him stop and turn back. Harry was sobbing.
"Don't take her, too. Please. What do I have left if you take her, too?"
He was on his knees in the mud, the wind howling her curses around them. Fred looked at the battle behind them, slowly fading as dawn touched the mist and sent the shadows scurrying.
"You have enough, Harry," Fred whispered, his voice rust on sandpaper. He shifted Hermione's weight in his arms.
"You've no idea how much."
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