Hey :)
I've been writing this piece for over a year now and its been clogging up my filing system, so I figured I may as well get rid of it whilst I was on a role. So here. Its quite... emotional? I don't know if that's the right word. Its angsty in parts anyway, but its a feel good thing too. Its a post!war AU in which Fred lives, which we all like to pretend is an actual thing, right?
As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think.
Deexx
It was a cold winter's evening just after Christmas, and she was on leave as she'd been deemed unfit to work. She was curled up on her sofa in front of the large coal fire, her body hunched inwards, book leaning on her bent knees. She wasn't reading though, she'd given up on the novel hours ago and now stared into the hot yellow flames, the heat haze relaxing her muscles and soothing her troubled mind. The tears still rolled down her face occasionally however, silently reminding her that no matter how hard she tried, this type of wound would never heal properly.
After Ron, there had been other men, and she had long since blown out the torch she held for her cheating ex-boyfriend. Ron was probably having a lovely New Year drinking egg-nog with his new woman of the week. None had really taken his place though, no one had really done it for her. That was of course, until she had met Callum. He'd been sweet, gentle, kind and trustworthy. Their relationship had been nice, safe, nurturing. She enjoyed sleeping with him, having someone to talk to, someone's hand to hold. But she hadn't fallen in love with him.
She had just gotten to a point where she realised that she was never going to fall for him, when she had found out that she was pregnant.
It was this that wound her up in this predicament, so tired and worn out after such a confusing, painful and exhausting year. Five months into the pregnancy she had miscarried, and soon after been dumped by Callum who claimed he just couldn't deal with how much it had affected her. Mostly she was in pain because she was lonely. She had gone to the mandatory Christmas dinner with the Weasleys but by the end of the night, after one too many glasses of wine, she'd returned to her empty flat and resumed crying into the dead silence that should, by now, be filled with the sound of gurgling and wailing from the baby that was never born.
She flinched as her floo connection rumbled and green flames danced brilliantly in the fireplace. Fred Weasley stepped out onto the throw rug.
"Oh Granger, this is a new low, even for you," he sighed sarcastically, despite the underlying sentiment. She wiped her face furiously, glaring at him.
"Fuck off Fred," she snapped, her voice slightly slurred even though she had pretty much sobered up by now.
"You wound me princess, I was merely observing how wrong it is that a beautiful woman such as yourself should be left drunk and alone in an empty flat on New Years Eve," he said playfully, holding his hand to his heart. She ignored him, sighing when Crookshanks climbed up the back of the sofa and began licking her face, getting rid of the tears she had missed.
"I supposed it's a tall order to ask you to leave me alone," she grumbled as Fred plonked himself down next to her and flicked his legs up on her coffee table.
"Hermione, if you wanted me to leave, you'd have made me do so already," he replied with a smug smirk. She had to admit, he was right.
"So come on then Princess, why are you not having hot, mad sex with some poor unsuspecting man tonight?" he asked boldly and she rolled her eyes.
"Because no one wants a washed up, binge drinking book worm to see the New Year in," she stated bitterly "and if you call me princess again, I'll kick you in the teeth"
"Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself Granger, it doesn't suit you," he tutted and she raised her eyebrows in offence.
"Excuse me, I've been through a pile of stinking shit and piss this year, I'm allowed to feel sorry for myself, I'm miserable," she defended, becoming even more irritated when he smirked, sitting up straighter and looking right at her.
"And why are you miserable?" he asked.
"Because! I'm the cleverest witch of my age!" she blurted "I worked my ass off for twenty nine years, I'm one of the top ranking ministry officials in the country, my employment is worth four million galleons a year and I have absolutely fuck all to show for it," she barked with a sad expression creasing her brow as though she was about to start crying again.
"So take some time off then! I'm going to Rome next week on a conference call and my publicist dropped out. Take her place. I'll even let you write the auto-queue as I'm answering the questions," he proposed, still grinning.
"Why can't George go with you?" she inquired warily, actually considering it. She did have a whole month off work now, full pay. And a fortnight in Rome with one of her favourite people wasn't going to kill her.
"Angie's due date is next week and she wouldn't let him miss the birth," he said with a shrug and Hermione sighed again, chuckling when he dramatically dropped down on his knees in front of her, putting on a ridiculously pleading face, clutching her hands.
"Fine, but that doesn't change the fact that this is still a shitty New Years," she said.
His grin softened and he leaned up, taking her face in his hands and slowly bringing her closer. She liked hanging out with Fred who she recently actually spent most of her free time with; it was comfortable, easy, enjoyable. It made her feel light, carefree. Plus everyone had sort of developed a bit of an attachment to him since the war – very few things in her life had been more traumatic than spending those following weeks sitting by his bedside whilst he'd been comatose.
"I bet you five galleons I can change that Princess," he whispered playfully against her lips as he kissed her gently and Big Ben struck midnight.
"You're ridiculous," she breathed out, closing her eyes when he broke away but kept their faces close.
"All part of the charm Granger, all part of the charm."
She rubbed her forehead sleepily as she woke up, observing that her hair had taken on the form of a birds nest on top of her head. She wasn't surprised to find the other side of her bed empty, it was the way she had woken up mostly every day for eleven years – it was part of the reason why she missed Callum so much. She did, however, know that Fred had fallen asleep on the sofa half-way through the morning three o'clock showing of Serendipity with his lanky legs draped over her lap. Yawning, she had dis-tangled herself from her friend's body and retreated to bed.
She listened lazily with her hand splayed out between the top of her rib cage, her thumb absently stroking the bare skin there as the heater in her flat turned on and Fred gave a loud snore from the living room. She rolled her eyes with a small smile, prying the thin sheet from her heated body and clambering ungracefully from her king-sized four poster, stumbling across the varnished floor boards into her en-suit, switching the shower on, hugging the upper half of her body as she allowed the water to bring feeling to her nerve endings.
She thought back to Fred's proposition from the previous night, gasping and momentarily clasping her hand to her mouth when she remembered that she was going to Rome on Monday. Holy shit, it was Saturday and she had nothing sorted, nothing prepared. She had to look up the role of publicist to make sure she wasn't going to fuck up, she had to pack and book the hotel and square it with the head of her department. She doubted the old codger that usually employed her would kick up much of a fuss however, he'd actually been trying to get her to have some time off for weeks – honestly, everyone had been bugging her about it. This might be the perfect opportunity to shut them up.
"You want pancakes Granger?" Fred's voice called from the lounge and she swallowed her seconds panic, letting out a calming breath and drawing one in.
"Stop mooching in my cupboards!" she growled "but yes, just one. And put the kettle on!" she called back, realising just how hungry she was as her tummy gave a loud rumble and her heart gave a heavy jolt. Mostly she could forget that her stomach was even there, but now and again it made its stupid humany noises that meant she was reminded of it all over again. She decided to shut the water off and dressed quickly in skinny jeans and a hoodie, battling her hair down into a long fish-tale plat over her right shoulder as it was being completely insufferable today.
"Breakfast is ready book-worm," Fred yelled louder than necessary and she rolled her eyes, pulling on some warm socks and trudging through her front room into the kitchen, dropping down unenthusiastically into a seat at the table "never were a morning person, were you Granger?" he grinned and she groaned, glaring murderously at him as he put the plate featuring a single pancake in front of her, sitting down opposite her with his own breakfast; six pancakes and a huge cup of coffee.
"You're such a pig," she grimaced, scrunching her eyebrows at the amount he had on his plate.
"I'm a growing young man," he retorted, handing her a cup of tea; skimmed milk, no sugar, just the way she'd always taken it.
"You're thirty one!" she scoffed, tearing a piece of pancake apart and popping it in her mouth, sipping her drink.
"Thirty is the new twenty!" he defended, pouting at her as he ate. Despite the ridiculous amount of food in front of him, he had always eaten with a lot more etiquette than Ron. Fred and George had, surprisingly actually, always had the most class and grace out of all their siblings. Of course, Percy attempted to be collected and respectable, but mostly he just looked like he had a stick stuck up his ass.
"You just keep telling yourself that Darling," she smirked before allowing him to eat in silence whilst she wondered into a daydream that didn't actually feature anything. She had been zoning out a lot lately. She was only brought back into reality when Fred pulled her cup and finished pancake from the table and dropped them into the sink he'd already filled with water and washing up liquid.
"Thank you," she managed to say as she blinked herself back into proper train of thought.
"No problem Princess," he replied with a small shrug of his shoulders.
"What exactly does the job of publicist entail then?" she asked with a frown, facing her body towards him and crossing one leg over the other "and for fuck sake, stop calling me princess"
"Not a lot really. You're just sort of there to make sure I don't say or do anything stupid," he answered simply, setting the plates and cups down on the drying board and drying his hands with the tea-towel "and it's not a patronising nickname Granger, I think you're genuinely the equivalent of a princess"
"Well that should be fun," she said distastefully, huffing "and damn right I am, I deserve to be treated like a princess after the year I've had," she added. He looked at her reproachfully for a moment before slowly smiling again, shaking his head at her.
"I will get you to be happy by the end of this week, I swear," he promised, narrowing his eyes at her. She blushed and looked down, shaking her own head "I have to go now though Princess. Unfortunately, I have a lot of paperwork and packing to do, and I still need to book a hotel room," he said with a sad puppy dog expression on his face. She nodded, standing up and following him out of the kitchen to the front door.
"You want me to book two single rooms, or a double?"
"Fred, you're practically one of my brothers, just book a double room, we're not blushing teenagers anymore," she sighed, pushing him out the front door when he pretended to try and steal a sloppy kiss off her "get lost, Neanderthal, you've got work to do," she scolded, hugging her torso again as she watched him walk backward down the street.
"I'll call you tomorrow morning," he shouted deliberately loudly down the pavement and she bit her tongue to stop herself from yelling at him, shooing him away before closing the door. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
"Oh man, I thought you were supposed to be clever," Harry gasped through his laughing fit, sitting back on his chair, clapping his hands and wiping his eyes, clutching his abdomen. She glared at him, arching her body and huffing.
"Well I think it will do me good to get out of England," she stated proudly and Harry coughed himself back to normal, shaking his head with a few final chuckles.
"Hermione, I know it will. But – oh man, you're going to Rome to babysit Fred Weasley; you gotta admit, that is pretty dumb-"
"I resent that statement Harry Potter. Fred is a thirty one year old man, he does not need babysitting," she replied, still looking offended and sounding unsure of her own words.
"The last time he went to Rome by himself, he ended up in every wizarding newspaper all around the world because he got drunk on Firewhiskey and danced the Gangnam Style naked on top of the Colosseum," Harry said, nearly breaking out into giggles again at the memory. Hermione blushed, having to bite down hard on her own lip to prevent herself from laughing or smiling because holy hell, she had a lifetime of Fred doing ridiculous things like that, and even though the rest of the world freaked out way more, she would never not secretly find it all hilarious. So she believed in manners... well, she used to at least, and she enjoyed intelligent conversations with mature adults, but Fred was bloody hilarious sometimes, even if she would never admit it out loud to anyone.
"Oh so what if I have to make sure he behaves himself; he's paying me for it and I'm getting out of here for a little while. I need to breathe Harry, I feel a bit trapped lately," she said in a more serious voice, composing herself and discarding the image of a naked Fred doing Gangnam Style on top of an ancient Roman amphitheatre.
"As long as you know what you're getting yourself into Hermione, be wary okay; Fred's one of the loveliest people we know, but he has a tendency to take things too far now and again..." Harry replied, frown knitting his brow as he sat back in his chair, chewing the inside of his mouth in concern.
"He's not going to Rome for the fun of it Harry; if he does well with this conference call, he'll be attracting at least three more million into the company. And if there's anything Fred takes seriously, it's their business," she asseverated firmly, a lot more certainty in her voice now.
"And you," Harry added fast with a small smirk. She was taken aback for a second.
"What?" she snapped, swallowing uncomfortably.
"He takes you seriously," Harry repeated, his smirk growing larger as he sat forward yet again, looking her straight in the eyes "he gets worried about you. He takes you and your 'situation', very seriously."
Hermione could feel herself blushing again under the scrutiny, instinctively pulling her legs up to her stomach in the armchair as she did at any mention of her 'situation' and licking her lips, shaking her head.
"Don't be ridiculous Harry, now Ginny's got you and the kids, he can't torment his little sister as much. I'm a free target, the only reason he's always hanging around me is because I'm her replacement," she bristled, drawing in a deep breath and making her body even smaller.
"You can't honestly believe that. Merlin Hermione, I never knew you could be this dense," Harry exclaimed exasperatedly, rolling his eyes before frowning again at her body language, slowly moving to crouch in front of her. Gently, he took her arms and pulled them away from her knees, smiling at her in reassurance "your therapist is obviously not giving you the right advice because this here," he gestured to the way she was sat "this is unhealthy. You're closing yourself in, it's increasing the release of Cortisol, you know that's a-"
"Stress hormone, yes I know," she said quietly, flinching only a little when he pulled her legs out from her stomach and set them on the ground.
"So if you're doing this to protect yourself, if you're doing the whole 'covering up the stomach' defence mechanism thing, you're only making yourself worse," he informed softly, careful not to make her irritated.
"I have more packing to do," she said, taking her eyes off Harry's before the sad look in them triggered tears. He stood up with her, looking tired at the way she brushed away the subject again, but nodded once in acceptance, wrapping his arms around her tightly, closing his eyes when she buried her face in his shoulder.
"Did you tell Ron that you're going away for a few weeks with his older brother?" Harry asked, his voice muffled by her hair. He felt her grin against his collar bone and tutted.
"I did. He's sulking," she chuckled as she broke away, pressing a kiss to Harry's cheek and moving to take some floo powder.
"Of course he his. I'll be avoiding him for the next couple of days then. I do not want to listen to that particular rant," he remarked. She scoffed, shaking her head as she stepped into the fireplace.
"Oh you're going to have to, you're his best friend, you know that means you are basically his living, breathing diary," she smiled that big, adoring Hermione smile where she tilted her head to the side and dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. He glared at her, despite the warm feeling in his chest at the look on her face. It was a rare sight nowadays, to see her smiling like that; so even though she was teasing him, he appreciated the beautiful expression nonetheless.
"Bugger off woman," he huffed, waving her away. She grinned one last time, blowing him a sarcastic kiss before disappearing into bright blue flames.
"God I hate international apparation," Hermione grumbled the moment they popped up in the wizarding apparation deck for the transportation of magical folk in Rome. He rolled his eyes at her, shrugging off his blazer and hanging it over the suitcase he had brought with him.
"Stop whining Granger; enjoy the fact that we're no longer subject to weather conditions that insist on freezing our buttocks off every time we leave our apartments," he urged, gesturing for her to follow him out into the main building. It was disguised by several enchantments so that the Muggles saw nothing but an old ruin; much like Hogwarts. In reality, the place was more like an airport specifically for magical kind complete with convenience stores, a large toilet facility and a junk food restaurant. Although, the moment they stepped out into the main complex they were confronted with at least fifty photographers. Hermione recognised a few of them from the prophet and witch weekly, and some from the tabloids, but the rest of them looked a lot more freelance.
She suddenly felt panicked. It had been a good couple of months since she'd had to deal with publicity, she hadn't been out in public much apart from the occasional outdoors trip to work. Harry had managed to run damage control for the most part of her miscarriage, but news had inevitably leaked through Callum's social circle and now it seemed she was experiencing what she had been putting off for over nine weeks. She was bombarded by condolences that meant nothing and people with cameras blurting out questions about how she was doing after the 'tragedy' and if the rumours about her alcoholism were true.
"Shit," Fred cursed under his breath, moving instinctively closer to her, taking on a defensive demeanour, putting out a hand to try and block some of the camera flashes. She managed to gather herself after the first couple of seconds though, and did what she always did when this type of thing happened. She put her best normal face on and ducked her eyes, walking as fast and neutrally as she could, following Fred through the throng until they got to the exit where the photographers were stopped by security. She'd need to call a few people later on to make sure there were no more rumours being spread.
"Sorry about that Princess, I forgot about the whole fame thing for some reason. I should probably have called ahead and got a couple of extra staff in here to make sure we didn't get too much of this shit," he apologised as they stepped out into the burning hot sun. The contrast of weather was lovely on her skin where goosebumps normally raised hairs. Now, there was a warmth on her arms and face, a comforting reflex in her eyes as she squinted against the light in order to see around her.
"Aha, here we go, there's our car," he grinned, much more happy and bouncy now there were no cameras on them. She frowned, mouth dropping open when a black shiny Camero pulled up in front of them on the pavement.
"What the hell?" she said, eyes wide on the sleek paintwork.
"Granger, it is not my fault if you do not take full advantage of your incredible wealth on a daily basis. I never thought I'd see the day when I'm the one spending more money than you," he grinned, raising an eyebrow at her. She shot him a scolding look but allowed him to hold the door open for her nonetheless.
"And then, if you'll believe it, he manages to talk his way out of being arrested, just a towel covering his crotch and that poor terrified woman hiding behind the Auror for dear life," Tom grinned as Hermione laughed genuinely, shaking her head, still chuckling as she took a sip of her wine.
"That was one time man," Fred pouted, brow furrowed, mouth slighting a smirk. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head some more and darting her tongue out to wet her lips. She sighed, wiping the tears of mirth from her face and tucking a curl behind her ear. She hadn't meant to be dragged out to a bar with Fred and his friend Tom who lived permanently in Rome, but he had threatened to release a press statement saying that she had taken up porn for a living on the side, so of course, that was how she had ended up sat on the balcony of some bar/restaurant with the sun at her back, and Fred and Tom sat on opposite sides of her at their table.
"So c'mon Hermione, you've got to have some crazy stories to tell, fess up," Tom gestured, swigging his pint and adjusting himself so he was more comfortable in his seat. Fred nibbled his bottom lip and smirked again, looking sideways at her with knowing eyes. She felt herself go hot, gulping discreetly and taking in a deep breath, unable to help the guilty smile pressing her mouth together.
"I'm a good girl Tommy," she said, feigning obvious innocence "I behave myself, unlike some people," she replied, smiling even wider when Fred let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head at her.
"That's bullshit, you've been on a night out with me a few times. I still remember your twenty first birthday. You reinvented the cell block tango in the middle of the pub with the Patil twins, Lavender, Ginny and Angie; you were completely trashed," he recalled. She blushed furiously but couldn't help nodding, sighing and smiling.
"There's more," Tom deduced, leaning in a little closer "there's crazier," he curled the left side of his mouth evilly and narrowed his eyes. She raised her eyebrows, sitting back nonchalantly and shrugging.
"So what? I'm twenty nine, of course I've done stupid things on ridiculous nights out. The only difference between me and you is that I don't build my ego off of them," she grinned when he had the decency to look affronted before he gave up and slumped back in his seat for a moment.
"Sorry mate, I think that's all you're getting out of her tonight," Fred said, still keeping his eyes on her with a lazily amused expression.
Now she really looked, Fred was actually very attractive. In a less conventional way. He was tall, slim but toned after years of Quidditch, and his skin was pale, covered in freckles. His nose was slightly too long for his face, but it wasn't too obvious, his teeth were straight and well looked after, his lips soft and curved after all the smiling he'd done throughout his life. His eyes were a pretty, unique amber and although they held the same slightly haunted look that everyone else's did after the war, they still sparkled with gentle mirth and a constant, boyish thirst for adventure and laughter. It wasn't like she'd never noticed that Fred was charmingly handsome of course; but the guy was a player, and she doubted that she was the only woman he had dubbed 'Princess'. Still, it appeared that she was rather partial to the Weasley men, and she had never really been sure why.
"All I'm getting out of her, fine, but what can I get out of you-"
"Sorry man," Fred interrupted with a dramatically sad expression "if she doesn't want me to reveal all her secrets, then I can't, I'm bound by bro code," he sighed. Hermione rolled her eyes again and smiled, nodding at him in thanks, shooting a smug look at Tom.
"See, bro code," she grinned, getting a strange satisfaction out of the look of disappointment on the guy's face.
"Whatever," he huffed, beginning to stand up. Hermione frowned up at him.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Sorry sweetheart, I've got an appointment with someone who owes me a lot of money in about half an hour, I'll have to love you and leave you," he said, dropping the puppy act and bending down to press a kiss against her cheekbone. She smiled again, watching as Fred stood up and embraced his friend.
"I'll see you later man, don't be a stranger," he told Tom, tapping his face affectionately before shooing him.
"He seemed lovely," she remarked as she drank the rest of her wine.
"He is," Fred replied in a slightly more serious tone as he sat down and straightened the fitted blazer he had on as part of a very expensive looking suit "but he's a slippery bastard. We all are when it comes to business. He's got a wife you know, and two kids," he said, sending the nearest waiter to get them more drinks after he tipped her.
"No way," she scoffed, eyes widening when he nodded in reinforcement of his claim "but he was flirting outrageously with me. I thought I'd have to kick him in the balls by the end of the night or something," she exclaimed. He flopped his shoulders.
"Well, if you've got enough money, it doesn't matter who you love or what you go home too, if you want something, you normally get it. In his case, its women," Fred explained simply. She had seen the movies, the typical suited business men with charming smiles and guns in their pockets, clicking their fingers for every tiny little whim they had.
"But you're not like that," she stated, tilting her head to the side slightly to look at him.
"I had a different upbringing Princess, I always had it drilled into me that I should never do anything that I would kill a guy for doing to my little sister. Plus, my mother has a lot to do with it," he said with a fond smile "she kind of epitomes the entire female race for me," he finished. Hermione nodded once more, understanding completely; her father had been a fantastic man when he was alive, she knew men just like that, men who deserved to be treated with respect, appreciation, trust. Men like Fred. Even if he was a bit of a whore sometimes.
"You sleep with a lot of women though," she evened it out.
"Not that many," he defended "but when I do happen to end up sleeping with a woman, I don't do it because I think she's disposable, I do it because I think she's attractive and funny and smart or resilient and passionate or kind and gentle; I have a rule, I don't sleep with anyone who I can't have an engaging and intelligent conversation with"
Hermione thought about it, and realised that whenever Fred talked about his conquests or one night stands, he could always remember their name, what they talked about, a joke that she told and he laughed at. Whenever he sat down at a booth opposite her in the pub she frequented whilst she was getting her paper work done over a beer, he could always describe his night with a women and how they parted on good terms.
"Fair enough," she said "but I want dinner first"
He almost choked on the beer the waiter had just handed him, coughing and spluttering as he chuckled, shaking his head at her.
"We'll see how you do babysitting me tomorrow and maybe I'll take you to dinner," he countered "maybe"
"You okay?" Fred asked her as she sat down in front of him on their hotel sofa. He frowned at her vacant expression, and closed the book he'd been reading, sitting forward "what's wrong?"
"I visited my friend..." she replied, her own little pensive frown forming between her brows, mouth hanging ever so slightly open. She blinked a few times and swallowed.
"Right," he said, still confused "isn't that a good thing?"
"Y-yeah, I suppose so," she nodded, blinking three more times in a row before finally meeting his eyes "she told me that she had an abortion last month"
Fred's eyes widened for a moment, and he struggled to process the information, and match it to the expression on her face, and her situation.
"Oh," he said a moment later, sighing slightly and edging forward a little more, taking her hands in his and stroking her knuckles with his thumb "bit not good?"
"No, no, no, nothing particularly... bad. I mean, I - I didn't know how to feel about it. I mean, I had a child, and it died. So, I suppose I should be angry that she willingly aborted her baby, when I had to lose mine. But then... I - think I realised that it wasn't even a baby. It was a gathering of cells, and all that happened, was that she took a pill that broke down those cells because she didn't want them in her body," Hermione rationalised, trying to put her thoughts into words, and on the most part, being successful.
"Well, yeah, but your baby died love, and she just casually got rid of hers by choice-"
"But it wasn't a baby!" Hermione said suddenly "she didn't get rid of a baby. She didn't even get rid of a foetus! And - well, I suppose... I suppose my point is, I can't sit here and defend myself and this depression thing by saying that everyone's problems are individual, and then dictate my friend's choices and human rights to her based on my situation, something that she couldn't have prevented and had nothing to do with. She didn't miscarry, I did, and I can't be angry with her for making choices about her own life and body, just because specific things happened in mine that contradict that, it wouldn't be fair - why are you looking at me like that?" she broke off, squirming a little under Fred's watch, although she didn't take her hands away. He was staring at her with a small, fond smile on his lips and a softened look in his amber eyes. It made her a little self-conscious. After all the time she'd spent in isolation the past couple of months, curled up with her wine and tears, that she wasn't used to being looked at, let alone talked to.
"Like what? Can't I be proud of my friend for being emotionally intelligent and compassionate?"
"Yes, but – oh merlin, I need a drink," she sighed, flustered and irritated and drained. Being in Greece was supposed to be therapeutic, not exhausting and nauseating. Although, it had been a long day, and the rest of the week other than this had been lovely. Fred chuckled slightly, letting go of her newly tanned hands and nodding, asking a nearby waiter for two glasses of white wine and a plate of cheesy chips. Hermione could have sworn that man could read her mind sometimes.
Hermione thought she was hallucinating when they re-appeared in the British apparation centre after their week in Rome, and Ron was stood near the gates with his hands in his pockets, an apprehensive expression on his freckled features. When she'd blinked a few times and confirmed that her best friend was in fact stood about twenty yards away, her chest soared with affection and excitement, and she couldn't resist running straight to him and throwing her arms around him.
He made a noise of surprise when her body slammed into his, but chuckled as he recovered, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly and burying his face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling at the skin there with his nose, inhaling her. She closed her eyes, a hand going to bunch in the hair at the back of his head, the grin almost breaking her face. He spun them slightly in happiness and she laughed, tears in her eyes as she pulled back ever so slightly to take his face in her hands so she could get a proper look at him, his hands remaining on her waist.
"You're all tanned and freckly!" she commented, poking at the brown dots all over his cheekbones. He squirmed a little, despite the large smile on his thinner lips as she took him in.
Ron travelled a lot. Every few months he was in a different corner of the world relaxing on a different beach or snowboarding on a different mountain or in the bed of another beautiful woman. She didn't blame him for taking the free as the wind route – academia had never been one of his strong points, and although she didn't doubt that he'd take a desk job one day, she was happy for him now that he got to explore like he'd always deserved to.
The only issue was, they hardly ever got to see him. She wrote to him every once in a while, and she always got a long, scribbly, enthusiastic letter back telling her about the trip of the month, but at this point, she hadn't actually seen him properly in over a year, and whilst they hadn't been together romantically in a very long time, she still missed him like crazy. He was still one of the most precious people in her life.
He'd come back to Britain briefly when she'd lost the baby, spent some time sitting in the hospital by her bedside telling her funny stories and eating all of the food that she usually left; but she'd been a bit of a zombie back then, consumed by her grief and exhaustion, and he'd gone back to Africa by the time she'd been discharged.
"So are you," he pointed out, gesturing with his head to her bare, bronzed arms. She nodded excitedly.
"We went to Rome for the week. It was beautiful Ron, I swear, the food is amazing. You have to go there next-"
"Woah there Granger, chill," Fred cut her off as he reached them, suitcases in hand. He grinned widely at Ron, embracing him tightly and tapping his cheek affectionately when he broke away "looking good baby bro," he commented "Indonesia did you some good"
"You bet it did," he replied, obviously having gotten over his strop about Hermione spending the week in a foreign country with his womanising older brother, and in a fantastic mood "but you guys look shattered. You wanna go get some dinner so you can sit down and take a breather?" he offered. Hermione nodded eagerly, just realising how hungry she was now and Fred made a dramatically grateful face, grabbing Ron's face again and kissing him hard on the lips. Ron grimaced and wiped his mouth hard whilst Fred grabbed him around the neck and dragged him out through customs in a headlock, Hermione following after them tutting and rolling her eyes.
Harry smirked at the TV, leaning forward on his chair, sitting with the remote in his lap. The conference call was going well, Fred was answering all the questions with his usual level of charm, contained to appropriateness by Hermione. On the surface, it looked like things were normal and that Fred was perfectly relaxed, but every now and again, when Harry looked down the screen, Hermione's foot, clad in designer stilettoes, would slam down on Fred's if she thought he was going to say something stupid.
The press had slurped up the two of them spending time together in the sun abroad, and Harry couldn't help reading the story beneath the front page spread of photos depicting Hermione and Fred in various states of action on the streets of Rome. Honestly, these people had nothing better to do than hide behind bushes and take pictures of Hermione and Fred eating and drinking coffee or visiting the landmarks. Of course, there were the more restrained papers that wrote calmly about Fred having employed Hermione as his publicist for the week, but others like Witch Weekly who thrived off of scandal and rumours, had to turn the whole thing into a gossipy romance.
Hermione would not be stupid enough to get into a relationship at the moment – as much as she pretended otherwise, she was barely holding herself together; there was no chance that she'd be able to function in a lasting romantic relationship without things getting painful and messy. Plus, her history with Weasley men wasn't fantastic. As much as she and Ron got along now, that had most certainly not been the case in the aftermath of their break up. She had slept with Charlie at some point as well, but that had been a mutually pleasing one off, and Harry was the only one she'd told about it.
So, Hermione wouldn't be dumb enough to start dating Fred Weasley just six months after experiencing a majorly traumatic life event, but Harry had to admit, if she would be safe being with anyone in that way of late, it would be with Fred.
Harry hadn't been lying when he said that Hermione was one of the only things that Fred took seriously. It was no secret that the jokester twin was extremely fond of her, although for some reason, Harry had been the only one that noticed. Ginny hadn't picked up on it at all until he'd mentioned it discreetly to her during the family Christmas get together. James was ridiculously vocal and intelligent for a two year old as well, and Harry had repetitively had to take the babbling child away from Hermione at dinner before the little squirt carried on the sentence "Mi Mi loves Freddie". Children were intuitive, what could you do?
Either way, watching the replay of the conference call on Hewett's wizarding news channel, Hermione looked more animated than she'd been all year. Rome had obviously done her the world of good, despite the fact that she was far from recovered.
"Why do you watch that shit?" Malfoy asked with his eyebrows raised as he plonked himself down in the armchair beside Harry "it's the wizarding equivalent of FOX news. They just bullshit everything because it makes their ratings go up"
"I just wanted to check up on how Rome went, they're meeting Ron at the airport today so she's probably turned her phone off"
"You're too involved in other people's lives Potter- oomph," Malfoy made a noncommittal noise of surprise and irritation as James' chubby little hands grabbed at his leg in an attempt to climb up into his lap. Malfoy tutted, reaching forward and pulling the toddler up, settling him in against his chest. Harry still had to do a double take sometimes. One of the weirdest things about his life at the moment was watching his son snuggling into Draco Malfoy in one of Ginny's Ikea armchairs, and trivial things like that becoming oddballs in his world were a lot better than dark lords and war.
"James, have you finished helping mummy with the washing up?" Harry asked in a mildly stern voice.
"Yeah," James replied in a tired voice blinking at his father with half-lidded green eyes "she said I gets a lolly tomorrow when I has my sleep"
And the matter was seemingly finished, as James snuggled further into his godfather and let his little eyes close softly, not even trying to fight the fatigue in his tiny body. Draco smirked gently, sinking into the armchair a little more, pressing a kiss to the toddler's scalp as Harry rolled his eyes and switched the channel over to a wizarding game show featuring floating bingo balls.
Sometime later, Ginny came in and settled in Harry's lap, burying her face in his collar bone, her heart beat steadying as she watched Draco and James sleeping in the chair to the left of them.
"I think we made a good choice making him a godfather as well as Ron you know," she said quietly, looking at her husband. He nodded, his sleepy smile stretching over his tired face.
"We made a fucking weird choice," he replied "but yeah," he agreed "it was a good one"
"Scary, isn't it?" Harry's voice came from behind him as he glanced up, taking the coffee the younger man handed to him, and quirking both of his eyebrows in agreement as he took a seat beside him.
"Terrifying," he replied "how do you do it?"
"How do I sit here, or how do I continue to be her friend?" Harry asked, a slight frown between his tense brow. Fred shrugged with a deep, broken sigh.
"Both I suppose"
"It's Hermione," Harry replied simply "whatever happens, it's impossible to walk away from her"
There was a depth of truth in those words that sat heavily and profoundly in Fred's gut and constricted tightly in his chest. He'd never expected the curly haired bookworm to mean so much to him. Sure, when they were growing up, they'd been friends and he'd tolerated her incessant nagging and disapproval for Ron's sake, because she was special to his little brother. But Harry's answer was a realisation for Fred, that somewhere along the way, this ridiculous woman had become indescribably important to him. And that was why watching her now – laid in the hospital bed wrapped in a disgustingly white night gown, skin pale and almost translucent, velvet eyelids shut and rimmed red from tears, fingers thin and spindly where they rested on her stomach – he felt so much pain and sadness.
"When will she wake up?" Fred asked feebly with a subaqueous, shaky breath.
"When they lower the dosage of her meds. She's in a chemically induced coma at the moment – she was out for a long time when I found her, and her brain was starved of oxygen for at least thirty seconds before I resuscitated her. I'd say possibly a week at the least. You should go home Fred," Harry said solidly, but quietly, a look of firm understanding in his green eyes "I'm used to this now, I can stay with her"
"Harry," he shook his head, sitting up slightly straighter "you have my sister and your kid to think about now," he spoke, wetting his chapped lips with his tongue "I have literally no responsibilities for the next three days. I'm not going anywhere"
There was a silence then, for a while. The only thing that could be heard was their breathing, and the bleeping of Hermione's heart monitor, letting them know that for the moment, she was still alive.
"You love her," Harry said then, not a question really. More of a statement. He met Fred's helpless eyes again and smiled gently, the small expression looking as though it would break his young face.
"I-" Fred struggled for a moment, sitting with his back hunched over, arms resting on his open legs, hands between them holding the coffee cup loosely in his hands "I need her" he said finally "she's one of my oldest mates," he managed "I can't lose her"
"Yeah," Harry nodded again, a sad, resigned expression in his bespectacled features "I know the feeling"
The summer passed in a blur of hospital visits and therapy meetings. The heat was suffocating, but Hermione was grateful for it, it distracted her. It meant that the awkward silences between her and the person babysitting her could be filled with discussions of the weather. After all, British people loved nothing more than complaining about the climate.
She was on a cocktail of anti-anxiety pills and SSRIs to get her through the sleepy nights and lazy days, and ate almost robotically as her friend of the week brought a giant bag of groceries around for her every time that she couldn't leave the house to go shopping.
Depression, for her, was like trying to grip onto a morphable staircase. To begin with, its was a dark, pointy, steep stair case with a golden star at the top of it. But when she took her first step, the stairs became all colourful and rounded and less daunting and the star shined bright. As she kept taking steps towards the golden star, she felt stronger and the stair case got softer and easier to climb. But then sometimes, there were bad days, and the stair case got slightly grey and pointy so she tripped down a few steps and the journey looked a lot more difficult and the star looked a lot further away and less shiny and she felt like all her work was for nothing. That was what she felt like now.
But the thing that got her out of bed in the morning, besides one of her friends dragging her out, was the knowledge that when you she got her balance again, she'd be tired and she'd go through a long period of sluggishly dragging herself up sharp, pointed, dark steps because it was all she could do to keep her head above water. It was the knowledge that the stair case would get slippy and flat and she would feel like she was pulling herself up a slide rather than up steps. It was the knowledge that through all of that, slowly, the stair case would get more defined again. That she would be able to breathe properly and that it would be softer and more colourful and she would feel like she could really start to reach that star. Eventually, she would get to the top feeling energised and fulfilled and better, and she would take the star and give it a big hug.
It was the knowledge that after that, every now and again, the same process would happen over and over - the star she was holding onto would lose a bit of it's shine and she would lose her footing and fall down a few steps. It was the knowledge that sometimes, she would even end up back at the bottom trying to make her way to the top all over again, but it was also the knowledge that eventually, once the numbness faded, it would be worth it. It would all be worth it. It had to be, otherwise... well, otherwise what was the goddamn point?
"Fred stop faffing about will you? The car is outside and we should be out of the door by now," Hermione ranted as she came briskly walking into the living room from her bedroom, distractedly putting her earrings in as she went, stepping into red stilettos near the sofa and beginning to rummage through her purse to check that she had everything she needed for the evening.
He wasn't paying attention though. His mind had gone momentarily blank because stood in front of him, nagging him and rushing about, was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Hermione Granger didn't half brush up well.
She'd tamed her hair into a mass of soft, shiny brunette tendrils that fell intricately in thick, rich tones of varying browns down her slender spine. She was wearing a slim fit, floor length, boat neck, red silk, backless ball gown; simple, elegant, and perfectly shaped to her body. Her lips were painted in red lipstick, the soft dusting of compact powder accentuating her cheekbones without covering up the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
The woman stood in front of him did not match up to the adorably frumpy little bookworm he had grown up with, and instead appeared the picture of notably sexy maturity and class. He had to cough himself out of the small trance he'd slipped into when he realised that he'd been staring too long, and swallowed, nonchalantly putting a hand in the pocket of his tailored trousers, casually trying to hide his surprise. Although, he wasn't that surprised – Hermione was gorgeous most of the time. It was just much more obvious right now.
When she was sure she had everything, she looked up at him, briefly smiling at him before looking back down, clasping her purse shut, and moving so she was stood in full view, grinning.
"What do you think?" she asked, biting her lip awkwardly, unawares as to how incredibly appealing the little gesture was "it's not too much?"
He had to gather himself again for a moment, blinking a few times before allowing a grin to creep up his own lips, taking a few steps forward so he could brush a wayward curl from her forehead.
"Hermione," he said, looking her straight in the eyes "you look perfect"
Her eyes widened for a moment, along with her suddenly embarrassed smile, a charming blush travelling gently up the creamy skin of her neck and defined collar bones.
"Thank you," she said, still biting her lip, reaching out momentarily to brush the lapel of his black blazer with the tips of her manicured fingers "you don't scrub up so bad yourself," she replied, and he quirked one eyebrow at her suggestively. She rolled her eyes at him, sliding her hand down his arm and taking his hand, lifting it above their heads and turning her back to him, pulling him along. He did wonder for a moment, if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
Well, he chuckled as they closed the door behind them and she locked up, slapping his ass to get him to move down the steps towards their shiny black Camero taxi waiting for them by the curb, he had all night to ponder on it.
"Princess," he said quietly near her ear "stop fiddling. You look amazing," he assured her as her fingers nervously played with her ruby earrings near her hair. He smirked discreetly as her fingers paused in their ministrations and her breath hitched a little.
They were in a room full of around three hundred chattering witches and wizards. Some were reporters with special access, but the rest were split between ministry officials, important war veterans, and what the muggles called 'A listers'. It was a charity benefit for a mental health organisation aiding ill magical folk, and the entirety of the golden trio and their friends had been told that whilst the invite was optional, they didn't really have much choice in the matter of attending. Fred and George were here because their business meant that they had to keep up appearances wherever possible.
Thank goodness for small blessings though, as the number of large circular tables set around the full stretch of the enormous ball room were seated appropriately. Fred and Hermione had been placed with Harry, Ginny, George, Angie, Luna, and Neville.
Although the event was mainly for publicity and there were still cameras present everywhere, Fred was rather enjoying himself. The conversation was good, the food wasn't half bad, and everyone looked stunning. It was irritating, but easy to ignore the stench of arrogance and elitist corporate routes when you were surrounded by the people you loved to keep you sane.
As the night settled in, and people became more comfortable, Fred had draped his blazer over the back of his seat, relaxed backwards, and moved closer to Hermione, who was clearly still trying to fight off a panic attack. It was the first time she'd been part of a major public event since her miscarriage, and she was quite tense and on-edge. She played a good part of course, and chatted easily and animatedly with her friends, laughing occasionally and smiling widely. Nonetheless, Fred had read her subtle body language, realised that she needed the closer proximity of someone she trusted, and had shuffled in close beside her, an arm resting on the back of her chair, little more than twelve inches space between them.
If he was being honest as well though, he couldn't help gravitating towards her. He wasn't in the best of moods himself when the event had first kicked off, but being closer to her and watching her visibly melt into the situation was making him feel increasingly better about the whole thing.
"I know," she sighed back once she'd gathered her wits "I'm being irrational"
"Yes," he said "you are, but it's completely natural and understandable"
She simply nodded with a small smile, sipping some more of her martini and sitting back a little so that her shoulder blades rested against where his arm was loosely strewn across the back of her seat.
"Thank you," she said softly, looking at him properly "for coming with me that is. I didn't want to turn up alone and apart from everybody here," she gestured with her head to their friends sat around the table with them "you're one of the only people I trust right now"
He immediately felt a little guilty for being so attracted to her at that moment. She was still very vulnerable, and he felt it almost wrong that he should want to kiss her so badly every time her mouth twitched in that small amused smirk when George continuously made bad puns every couple of seconds, revelling in the collective groans of Harry, Angie and Nev.
"No problem Princess," he said gently, pressing a small kiss to her bare shoulder and promptly joining in with a conversation on muggle sports currently being had with Harry trying to explain the off-side rule in football to a bemused Neville.
As the night grew later, the food was put onto a long buffet table stretching the whole length of the room on the left, and the tables were moved to the sides to create a dancefloor. A band to the north side of the room sat on a magically elevated stage and played a mixture of music from jazz, to slow. Hermione slowly relaxed, and eventually lost all tension in her body. She relaxed so much in fact, that he spotted the glamour charm on her wrists fading slightly, and silently renewed it for her, successfully avoiding the press getting any shots of them and writing a bunch of rubbish that could make her relapse yet again.
"Oh," Ginny grinned as a slow beat started up and flowed through the room like warm smoke "I love this song!" she patted Harry's hand, nuzzling his nose when he huffed, pouting "come on, pleeeeasse?" she pleaded like an excited puppy. Harry rolled his eyes, huffing again when she squealed and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, letting him take her by the hand and lead her onto the dance floor. This was actually one that Fred recognised, and he frowned as a small, nostalgic smile curled Hermione's mouth. Okay, there would be no exceptions to this now.
"C'mon," Fred said, getting up. Hermione's expression immediately dropped as he held out a hand to her.
"No, Fred – what? Oh god," she fussed as he took her by the waist and pulled her from her seat softly, following after his sister and her husband. He pulled her to him straight away, taking one of her hands and placing the other in the small of her back. Her cheeks flushed red and she looked around a little frantically at the rest of the room, terrified that everyone would suddenly be watching her, waiting for her to slip up, waiting for the next scandal to torture her with. Instead, he moved slowly, turning her away from the rest of the seated crowd and dancing more amongst the other couples, closer to the music.
"Hermione," he breathed against her ear "relax," he spoke. He heard the breath hitch in her throat, her breath tickling his collar bone before she drew in a deep one, and swallowed, forcing her body to repose and almost melt against him. She sighed softly and pressed her cheek against his, her chin resting on his shoulder. He couldn't help smiling to himself, his eyes flickering for a moment as he was lost in the feel of her body against his and the bare skin of her back against his hand – it was simply splendid, there was not really any other word for it.
"Someday," he felt himself singing along quietly in a low voice "when I'm awfully low," he sang, feeling her smile and let out a small breathy laugh against him "when the world is cold, I will feel a glow, just thinking of you, and the way you look, tonight"
She ducked her chin now, pressing her forehead to his shoulder, breathing in slowly and profoundly as they turned and moved their feet at a slightly drowsy pace.
"With each word, your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart. And that laugh, that wrinkles your nose, touches my foolish heart. Lovely, never, never change. Keep that breathless charm, won't you please, arrange it, cause I – I love you, just the way you look tonight"
There was something changing now, Hermione could feel it. There was something so very, almost unbearably warm and intimate about this, something so exquisite and tender – it felt as though she was under some sort of gentle haze. It was safe and terrifying at the same time. Passionate and refined. Gradual and burning. Beautiful and scary. And it filled her chest with a joy that could ignite her bones, or send her straight off to sleep. Oh shit. Holy motherfucking shit. She had fallen head over heels in love with Fred Weasley.
Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, the song ended. Breaking away from Fred felt sad and disorientating. Like leaving the cinema after a really good film and having to adjust to normal, mundane reality again, or waking up after a really satisfying nap and feeling sad because the good dream didn't get an ending.
"I-" she struggled for a moment "I need to get some air," she spoke, her voice slightly croaky as he frowned at her, one eyebrow raised "I don't feel very well," she added, faking an unconvincing smile and patting his hands between her own in a foolish attempt at reassurance before she got her purse and went straight for the fire escape.
When she got outside, it was raining. It was the misty, cool, quiet kind of rain that resonated stillness and a depth that spoke on a frequency that was sort of unidentifiable. The kind of rain that brushed over skin and clung to wayward hair in little transparent dots with the wind. The cold hit her face, making her close her eyelids and breath the air she so needed to stop herself from panicking and passing out.
How on earth could she have missed it? The signs were all there. She'd been seeking out his company, going for coffee with him on Sundays, popping into the office at Wizard Wheezes when she was 'in the neighbourhood'. She'd even gone to goddamn Rome with him. She had allowed him to touch her after her relapse in the summer, to take her home from the hospital and nurse her back to health and to make her tea and prop up her pillows. She had allowed him onto her sofa to watch bad television with her and she had asked him to come to this event with her, feeling safe with him, and also slightly invincible. Oh god. Oh Merlin this was not good. She was unstable. Horribly, ridiculously, horrendously, fuck up level unstable. She was a self-harmer for christ sake! She was absolutely in no state to be in a relationship!
Yet, the last few months with Fred seemed a lot like a relationship when she really thought about it, and they did quite well together.
But she couldn't put him through it. She couldn't ask him to commit to someone as broken and damaged as she was. It wasn't fair, he was still young and handsome. He could still get married and have children and grow old with someone who wouldn't drag him down with them. That's what she did, she was a ticking time bomb and every time she exploded she left a wake of rubble and oblivion in her wake.
"Granger?" Fred's concerned voice came from behind her near the doors she'd come through, and it was then that she realised she'd been crying, hot tears rolling down her cheeks, mixing with the wind and the rain cooling her face, blowing the cobwebs away.
"Sorry," she spoke, her voice unsteady as she refused to turn around, sniffing, unsure whether she had the strength to make eye contact with him at that point in time "I just came over a bit faint, that's all"
"I have that effect on people," he teased, and god she wanted him. She wanted him so badly because he made her laugh and he knew her coffee order and that she only ate greek yoghurt from the newsagents around the block and that her favourite alcoholic drink was whiskey and that her mother was bipolar which scared her because she may have passed it onto her too, and that everything happened so much in her head that sometimes she couldn't think and she just needed air.
"Fred," she said a little more solidly, the bones in her body feeling light and ethereal, the blood in her veins loose and thin. She was drained and tired and there was an ache in her chest where her old battered heart resided and all she wanted to do was walk. She wanted to walk for miles and miles and feel the wind on her face and the rain on her eyelids and she wanted to feel peace. She turned around weakly, tears still dripping down her face, unable to beat around the bush any longer; it was clear what was going on, and there was no way it could continue "I can't do this to you," she said, trying to be strong despite the way her voice faltered and the lump rose in her throat and the tears stung bitterly in her eyes "I can't make you do this"
His eyes registered what she was acknowledging for a minute and she took him in with her eyes, the tears blurring her sight slightly. He'd pulled his blazer back over his shoulders although his bowtie was still undone, the first couple of buttons of his shirt open and slightly creased. His hair was ruffled from a night of conversation and dancing, and his freckled cheeks were flush with colour. His eyes however, his amber eyes were uncertain and scared, and if she wasn't mistaken, slightly angry. That was good. It would make it easier if he hated her.
"Do what Hermione?" he asked, stepping forward, jaw clenched slightly "because I can't tell what it is that you're 'doing to me' that is so fucking bad"
His syllables were irritated and slightly harsh and she had to repress a wince. She wanted to kiss him, but she wanted to run away but she also wanted to yell at him and punch him for what he was making her feel.
"I can't let you do this to yourself," she corrected "I can't let you be with me, I'm damaged goods-"
"Don't be so fucking ridiculous," he drawled, shaking his head "look around you Hermione, everyone is fucked up. Everyone is broken. We fought in a war when we were teenagers. Did you think that you're somehow tainting me by letting this happen? Because I'm already damaged Hermione," he said "I've been damaged like this since I was twenty years old"
She shook her head, pursing her lips together and taking more steps backwards as he took a few more towards her.
"No," she insisted sharply "no, I'm worse. You don't understand Fred, I'll kill myself by the time I'm forty, and if I don't I'll fuck up in some other way"
"Hermione," he said softly, looking at her now with tears in his own eyes, the wind brushing through his fiery red hair, ruffling his suit "you had another life inside of you," he spoke and oh god she suddenly felt nauseous, her stomach doing somersaults and reminding her of its existence "and it died," he continued and she began sobbing slightly, biting down hard on her bottom lip "I can't even begin to understand what that must have been like. There's no way that I could ever even comprehend what it's like for a person to lose a child. But it doesn't make you poisonous"
"You have the rest of your life ahead of you!" she half-shouted, tears dripping hot and fast down her face, ruining her make up "you can get married and have a family and retire. I can't give you that Fred, I can't give you children and I can't give you stability-"
"Oh my god," he snapped, walking straight up to her now as she stood frozen in place, wide eyed and stunned "do you know me at all, Hermione Granger?" he growled "you are supposed to be the smartest fucking witch of your age, but you can't figure out something as simple as this?"
She just stared at him, breath shaky and a little visible in the September evening air, skin beginning to get cold as her feet ached in the high heels strapped to her feet.
"I'm Fred," he said exasperatedly "your Fred Weasley. I don't want stability and children and retirement! I want you, dammit! I want you and your ridiculous mass of crazy curly hair, I want your stupid beautiful brown eyes, I want your terrible baggy t-shirts and your obsession with fried eggs. I want your self-righteous, bossy, know-it-all attitude and I want your feminist rants and I want your three in the morning life revaluations and your bad Saturday night television and I want your disgusting fat free yoghurts and I want your passion and your drive and intelligence and kindness. I want your smelly morning breath and I want your stubborn defiance. I want you, Hermione Granger and if I want to be with the woman I'm in love with then that is exactly what I will fucking do- mhpppppppppph-"
He made a noise as she grabbed him and kissed him, their lips locking together messily, teeth and tongue meeting fast. For a couple of seconds he couldn't do anything because it hadn't registered with him, but when it did, he threw himself into it with fervour.
As far as kisses went, it wasn't the neatest. She was still crying and it was so sudden, they couldn't get the angle right straight away. But eventually, his arms slid around her waist and pulled her to him tight, her own arms snaking around his neck, her hands bunching maddeningly in the back of his hair and tugging lightly, causing him to involuntarily moan into her mouth. And he still couldn't get over the fact that it was Hermione Granger. His kid brother's best friend; bookworm, rule follower, grouchy old Hermione. And he was so ridiculously in love with her that it was almost laughable. He didn't think he'd ever quite experienced something so amazing.
She broke away first, slightly breathless as she pressed their foreheads together and kept her eyes closed, allowing her body to process the new development.
"Not that I'm complaining," he breathed "but now I have red lipstick all over my mouth"
She couldn't stop herself from laughing, her chest still rising and falling a little too fast as she deliberately pecked his lips once more, shaking her head exasperatedly and pulling him in for a hug, burying her face in his blazer and losing herself in the relief that his arms around her body allowed.
"I'm serious though Hermione," he said quietly, hand stroking up and down the curve of her spine, sending shivers along it and raising the hairs on her arms delightfully "don't pass this up. We might be a half decent match for each other, and I'm not going anywhere. I can handle a little messy"
"Can – can I…walk?" she asked, softly pulling away from him "I just… I need to walk. For a while. And then I need to think," she continued, wetting her kissed lips and leaning down, sliding the stilettos from her feet and stepping down a couple of inches to her normal height. He looked at her for a moment, concern settling in his eyes as he observed her up and down, gauging her mental state.
"Are you sure I should be leaving you alone right now-"
"Yes," she cut across him again "I'm sorry – actually," she corrected herself "no, I'm not sorry. I need some headspace. No offence, but you sort of distract me," she huffed, more playfully irritated now than anything. He smirked at her, dropping one hand back into his pocket and tilting his head to the side, his eyes full of fondness.
"And you're not going to do anything stupid?" he affirmed, squinting one eye and bringing the other hand up to wipe the red smudges from his lips.
"Fred I can walk by myself for a little while, I'm not about to jump off the London eye," she rolled her eyes, although his concern was definitely warranted; the kiss hadn't just wiped out all of her doubts and pain, it had merely blurred it out at the edges. And she really, really did need some time alone to process it properly "I – I promise I will call you in a couple of days," she said more solidly, beginning to step backwards a little more casually now, the cold bumpy concrete beneath her bare feet and the spray of rain on her face grounding and comforting.
"What do you want me to tell them?" he nodded, watching her as her steps back became more purposeful and she began to turn slightly.
"Tell them that I had a panic attack," she replied nonchalantly with an exhausted smile "you wouldn't be lying," and with that, she turned away fully, her bag slung over her left arm bumping her left hip, her five inch heels swinging from the fingers on her right hand. Her curls were knotting a little in the chilly night's wind and her breath echoed and swirled in the air, visible and gentle as she padded away off of the back entrance steps and onto a London back alleyway illuminated by a dark orange streetlamp.
And she walked. She walked all the way along the alley until the houses on her right stopped and the Thames loitered and glistened beside her, its dirty, calm current shining beneath the black sky under the light of the late night cafes and pubs on the other side of the bank. She pattered along the edge, holding her arms out for balance as though she was five years old again. And then she walked to Hyde Park and sat on a bench under a tree, her heels next to her on the wooden seating, her eyes thoughtful and sparkling as they stared up at the full, bright moon. She remained there for an unknown amount of time, although she supposed it can't have been more than a couple of hours, as it was still pitch black when she finally stood and walked away, finding a quiet back street to turn on the spot and disappear from view, the only trace left of her ruminative presence a soft pop and whoosh of air.
"You want my advice on whether you should embark on a romantic journey with my other brother. Not the one you were in love with when you were fifteen, or the one that you had a wild fling with when you were twenty three-"
"Harry!" Hermione glared at him.
"What? She's my wife, we don't keep secrets!" he defended, holding his hands up in surrender and as a result slopping tea all down his old blue t-shirt.
"But the one that you've been slowly falling in love with for the past six months?" Ginny continued her little gathering of information with a frown as she wrapped her hands and the sleeves of her oversized jumper around her mug of coffee and leaned back against the kitchen counter, facing Hermione properly, who was perched on the one opposite her.
"Alright, it's not my fault I'm attracted to the horribly dysfunctional men in your family," Hermione retorted grumpily "maybe I see a kindred spirit in them," she commented blandly and Ginny tutted, rolling her eyes.
"Oh give over, it's the other way around," Harry spoke, patting at the tea on his clothes and putting the cup on the table he was sat at, the unread Daily Prophet open in front of him "the Weasley men fall for you," he continued with his theory "because they know how to recognise a strong, mildly crazy, wicked intelligent woman when they see one"
"Careful," Ginny scolded playfully "you married me, not her"
"Don't give me that look," he tutted "you're not Ronald; you're not the jealous type. Besides, you're just as attracted to Hermione as they are, your girl crush is embarrassing darling," he remarked. Ginny furrowed her brow, wondering whether she should be offended for a moment, before she shrugged, smirking at Hermione and winking.
"Guys c'mon, we're supposed to be talking about me here, not establishing Ginny's blatant bisexuality"
Once again, Ginny shrugged, grinning as Hermione pouted and Harry sighed, sitting back in his chair and surveying his best friend with an expression of tired exasperation.
"Look," he began "we're not your keepers, we can't tell you what you should and shouldn't do. All I know is that you're a depressed PTSD sufferer with a self-harming habit that doesn't mix well with red wine and isolation. That's either going to mean that a relationship with Fred is the best thing for you right now, or the worst. But the way I see it," he continued "is that you're in love. And nothing good ever came from repressing your feelings, all you have to do is read a muggle romance novel to see that"
Hermione slumped her shoulders and blinked a few times, bringing her legs up to tuck underneath her, looking at Ginny now.
"Hermione," Ginny said softly, putting her mug of coffee down and walking to stand in front of her, taking her hands between her own warm ones, rubbing them for a moment to chase the cold away before reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear "you're an idiot," she said simply, ignoring the way Hermione looked both confused and a little offended "seriously, a class A dumbass. But so is Fred. And I love you both. And it's pretty damn clear that you love each other, so shut up contemplating the pros and cons and go to him. You can be idiots together"
This was why Hermione loved Ginny and Harry so much. They never lied to her, they never sugar coated anything, but they were always kind, and always loving and they always offered welcoming arms and a kick up the backside whenever she needed it.
"It's – it's just so scary," she breathed, ducking her head a little. Ginny smiled some more, holding her face in her hands.
"Sweetie," she spoke, pushing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Hermione's forehead "if is not scary, it's not worth it"
"Fine," she blurted as Fred opened the door to her the following week, flustered, flushed from the London, wrapped in an impossible amount of layers, and breathing heavily "fine," she repeated to his startled expression "but you have to know that this is a huge thing for me and that if this goes wrong goddamnit Fred Weasley I am blaming you," she insisted. He stared at her for a moment, blinking a few times before he closed his open mouth and stepped aside, gesturing for her to go in. She huffed frustratedly and brushed passed him, pulling the scarf from her neck as she entered and kicking off her Ugg boots, all with a slightly sharp edge to her movements before she went into his living room, flopping down on the sofa looking both terrified and resigned and also… very happy? How one person could emit so many different emotions at once was beyond him, but he followed her nonetheless, slowly processing the meaning of her visit. He plopped down next to her, their arms and legs touching as they both stared ahead of them for a while.
"So," he said "does this mean that I get to eat all of your food every weekend?" he asked a few minutes later "because you really do have some awesome food"
"Get your own bloody food," she grumbled, sighing and glancing sideways at him for the first time "you still want this?" she asked "because I've spent every minute of the past two weeks thinking about it, so if you don't, fuck the fuck off"
"How eloquent," he remarked blandly "my girlfriend is so incredibly articulate"
She shoved him gently with her shoulder in retaliation before letting out a long breath and leaning her head sideways in the crook of his neck, lacing their hands together on their laps.
"I only decided properly about ten minutes ago so I'm still trying to process"
"Yeah I gathered that," he replied, smiling in amusement.
"This doesn't – this doesn't mean you can fix me," she continued, obviously still a little worked up "I don't need saving"
"We've been over this Princess," he reminded her "about ten times this week, over the phone"
"Shut up," she pouted "I had to be sure. Don't make fun of me"
"I wouldn't dare," he chuckled "like I've said before, I prefer my bollocks firmly attached to my body thank you very much"
"Its okay," she grinned then, a little feeble, but there all the same "I have use for them now"
"Oh Merlin," he commented, feigning an alarmed expression "what the bloody hell have I gotten myself into?"
"Don't push your luck," she poked, sitting up properly again "I came here before I could change my mind"
"You're uh… you're not going to, right? Change your mind?" he inquired awkwardly, scared again. She met his eyes again and that little, warm half-smile graced her chapped lips.
"No," she promised "no turning back now"
"Merlin Hermione you could make it sound a little less like I'm holding a gun to your head"
"Oh don't be stupid," she tutted, bringing his hand up to her mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it "like I said, this is huge for me. But I – I really want to be with you, for some ridiculous, unfathomable reason, so," she said, scooting forward on the sofa a little and turning sideways into him "you should know that I'm in this for the long haul, okay?" she enforced "I love you, so I want to make this work"
"Well," he huffed, rolling his eyes and sitting forward with her, taking her face in his hands "why didn't you just say so?"
And then he captured her mouth with his again, and for the first time in a fortnight she felt like she could breathe properly again. For the first time in a long time, she felt hope warming her blood and billowing like a blanket in her chest before settling around her heart, not washing away the sadness completely, but covering it now, with a fresh layer of newness, of promise, of happiness. For the first time in a long time, she was really, properly happy.