Title: Five Times Fred and Hermione Were Almost More Than Friends
Rating: FRT.
Word count: 3,474.
Warnings: Character death. Spoilers for DH.
Summary: There was a line between being friends and being more than that, and although Hermione and Fred walked that line, they never completely crossed it.
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of JK Rowling. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.
Author's Notes: Starts at Prisoner of Azkaban all the way through the last book, with spoilers. Read at your own risk, although I think that quite the majority have read the book by now.
Five Times Fred and Hermione Were Almost More Than Friends
one.
Hermione was walking on the road to Hogsmeade by herself, rubbing her gloved hands together in an effort to make them warmer. Snow was falling, the Christmas holidays fast approaching, and she'd yet to do any shopping for her friends. She usually did those things on time—she was rather practical, and liked to do things before they caught up with her. But there was something preoccupying her lately, something about Lupin, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. She tightened her scarf and was about to start walking quicker towards the village when someone called out to her.
"Hermione!" said the voice. It sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. "Hermione, wait up, will you?"
She stopped and turned to face the approaching student. No wonder the voice was familiar, she thought wryly; Fred Weasley was jogging toward her at a steady pace, and he waved as he drew nearer. He grinned when he got next to her, but Hermione immediately started walking again.
"Oh, Hermione, don't be that way, I just wanted to walk with you." Fred grabbed her arm to stop her steady descent into the village, and Hermione rounded on him.
"You know, Fred, you've been extremely terrible to me the past few years. Just because I want to stick to the rules doesn't mean George and yourself have to bother me at every turn." She looked hurt, Fred noticed, and he wondered why. He would never understand the opposite sex, least of all Hermione, whom he regarded as a different sort altogether.
"We were just trying to be funny," he mumbled.
"Well, you weren't," she snapped. She pulled her arm out of his grasp and moved to walk away.
"Wait!" he cried. She looked at him strangely and he tried to backpedal quickly. He wouldn't want her to think that he was anxious for her company. For, in fact, of late he actually had been. He had found himself wanting to be around her for extended periods of time, wanting to know her—It wasn't good.
"What I mean is…Why aren't Harry and Ron with you? I know Harry's not supposed to be in the village, really, but I figured he'd find a way in somehow, and everyone knows Ron fancies you, and—"
Hermione studied Fred keenly. There was something off about him, she thought. He was not making his usual jokes at her expense, he was actually trying to talk to her, and that was strange in and of itself. But, Hermione remembered, the important thing is nothing is ever in and of itself.
"Ron and Harry are staying behind at the castle. I have some Christmas shopping to do, and they didn't want to come."
Fred noted that she sounded somewhat disappointed that her best mates didn't come with her to the village; he wasn't surprised, though, blokes weren't known for their expertise or patience for shopping, and Ron came in extreme short supply in both. He put his arm around her amicably and said, "Don't worry about it, Hermione. George didn't want to come to Hogsmeade today either. So here I am, all by my lonesome. It's quite terrible, actually."
His expression looked so pained that Hermione actually nearly believed him; she frowned though, and said, "No doubt planning your next trick with Lee Jordan."
"Now, Hermione, I don't know how you could think such a thing of my twin and I! We are fine youg gentlemen, capable only of the best behavior one could ask of wizards our age." He was a fine actor, Hermione thought, and his face so innocent that he could convince most anyone that he had done no wrong.
"I think," said Fred nonchalantly, "that because of the slight and general hurt you have sent my way, you should treat me to a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, and quite possibly buy me sweets, because I feel close to tears."
Despite herself, Hermione laughed, and Fred grinned at his accomplishment. He hardly ever made Hermione laugh, he realized, he or his twin; and she looked so pretty when she smiled— As the laugh faded, she noticed the way Fred was looking at her, as if looking at her right here on the road to Hogsmeade was the only place he'd like to be, and she looked away from him. She didn't know what to do, even less when she heard his next statement.
"You have snow in your hair. It's quite lovely, you know." His hand brushed her hair, presumably to get ride of snowflakes, and Hermione pulled away as if scalded.
She ignored the hurt look on his face, and made excuses as she very nearly ran into the village, to run away from feelings that she was pretty sure she shouldn't be feeling for Ron's older brother.
two.
Fred supposed he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't jealous of Viktor Krum. He had it all, really. At seventeen, he was a professional Quidditch player, the world's best Seeker, a clever wizard, and wanted by nearly every woman who laid her eyes on him. Of course, that was nothing compared to the fact that Hermione Granger, who usually focused more on her studies than she did on boys, found him worthy of her.
"There's no comparing to Viktor Krum, Hermione. I should know," he muttered.
Hermione cut in front of him, looked at him sternly, and said, "Fred Weasley, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
He frowned at the look on her face. It wasn't as if she defended him on a daily basis; not, at least, that he had heard of. They had never gotten on well, the twins and Hermione. Always clashing over rules and regulations, the pranks, the jokes. They weren't anything alike, Fred and Hermione. He had come to regret it quite a lot in the past year or so, when he had started to notice her more.
"Fred, are you listening?"
It was then that he realized that while he was thinking of his lack of a proper friendship with her, Hermione had said quite a bit that he hadn't heard. "No, sorry, I was thinking. Could you say it again?"
"All I said was that you're a brilliant wizard. You do rather clever magic, you know, with what you're making for the joke shop. You must be rather good at Charms to succeed. You're smart, Fred, and funny. You're a lot braver than anyone gives you credit for. Viktor may be a great Quidditch player, but I doubt he's half the man you are. Now snap out of it."
He leaned against the column they were near, considering her words. He almost smiled, but he tried to keep the elated feeling that had arisen from Hermione's words inside. "You know," he said, reaching a hand out to rest it against Hermione's cheek, "I didn't know you felt that way about me."
She covered his hand with her own as she replied, "Well, make sure not to tell anyone. I wouldn't want anyone to know I'd gone soft for the Weasley twins or anything."
He grinned at fragments of what she said ("gone soft", "Weasley twins") and even though he knew that anything between them was an impossibility, friendship or otherwise, he still was glad that they had these rare moments where it felt otherwise.
three.
However horrible it seemed, thought Fred, the DA had been officially disbanded; Cho's friend had betrayed them, and had gotten horrible little marks across her face to prove it. Quite brilliant of Hermione to enchant the parchment, really. He would have never thought of it. The detention tonight with Umbridge (ugly, mad old toad) had been nothing short of hell. His hand still burned from the quill, still bled, and he was sure there was going to be a scar. No one had given the hag the satisfaction of crying out, but as soon as they left the room several of the younger ones and started to whimper.
Umbridge should be locked away, he thought bitterly as he walked.
It ws then that Fred noticed Hermione stopped by the side of the hall, holding her hand and grimacing. And, he was pretty sure she was crying. If he was angry before, it was nothing to what he felt now. He had never seen Hermione cry, never, and he felt quite strongly that she never should, except what people seemed to call "happy tears". He walked up to her cautiously and whispered her name.
She started at his approach, but when she realized who it was, she relaxed. If it was Ron, she would've hexed his bits off for trying to comfort her; she couldn't take his bothering her right now. Fred, though, he was different, had been for quite a while. "It hurts," she mumbled.
"'Course it does, luv, she wouldn't have done it if it didn't. She's mad, Umbridge is. Let me see it," he said gently, and took her hand in his own. He examined the wound, and held back a gasp at the words ingrained there. I must not forget my place. He spoke if only to stop himself from jumping back into Umbridge's office and doing some rash, something he knew would most likely get himself thrown in Azkaban and would not please Hermione in the least.
"The bleeding will stop in bit, mine's stopped already, see? And the pain, well, it'll stop soon. And if not, I'm sure we can get something from Madam Pomfrey."
Hermione shook her head. "I have something back in the common room for the pain, I made it for Harry and then for Lee when they got their detentions. It works rather well. When we get back, I'll make some more and share it with the rest of you."
Fred paused and then said, "You know, there's something I have to do first. George and I have something to work out, but I'll be back in the common room before long. Make sure to save some of that stuff for me though, my hand hurts something fierce."
"I will," she murmured as she turned and walked away. She had a nice profile, he thought. But, he had forgotten something he was going to tell her, what was it?
Oh! He called after her. "Hermione!"
She turned to face him, and he grinned mischievously. "The enchanted parchment you made for the DA? Totally wicked. Well done."
She smiled brilliantly at him, waved, and continued on her way to the Gryffindor common room. She thought about Fred the whole way, and how unlike it was of him to compliment her; on the whole, though, she rather liked it.
four.
"It's quite brilliant magic, really," said Hermione, looking at the Patented Daydream Charms. She had always admired the twins for their determination and the way they always knew what they were going to do. They were quite adept at making friends—their easygoing nature, no doubt, or simply their humor. In fact, although she was best mates with Ron, she had always preferred the twins over the other Weasley children. They were, she thought, generally more likeable and easier to get along with, although she had never been proper friends with either of them, although there were moments with Fred when she thought that maybe—
"Then, Hermione, you can have one for free," he said, handing one out to her.
She blushed, and as the color overtook her cheeks, she knew that he had overheard her. It didn't matter that much really, considering that she had told him before that she thought him a clever wizard, brave and true. Viktor, she had said, could never be half the man that Fred was. She meant it as much now as she did then, she thought.
She reached out for the box, but when she attempted to pull it to her, Fred wouldn't let go. She looked at him quizically. "When you use it," he said at length, "do tell me what you dreamt of."
Mrs. Weasley called out to the group she had brought to Diagon Alley that they were to depart immediately back to the Burrow. She wondered what had prompted this sudden reasoning, but Ron was calling for her, and she snatched the box from Fred's hand and started towards to door. She turned back, saw he was still standing there, and called, "I will. I'll tell you, I promise."
He nodded, an expression of gratitude and repressed hope on his face, and waved her onwards toward the door. Hermione wondered what he was hoping for as she went back to the Burrow, and vowed that as soon as she was back she would tell the others she wasn't feeling well and use the Daydream Charm. She herself wondered what she would dream of, wondered what she would end up having to tell Fred. She would have to keep her promise, she knew that; she would never break a promise, especially if it was made to Fred Weasley.
She dreamt of Fred, his hands and his mouth, the weight of his body above hers pressing her into a bed she had never seen or felt before. She dreamt of her name whispered with such reverence that she felt like a god, of sweet nothings that belonged in a romance novel, of hands clutched into sheets and of cries that shattered the silence.
Hermione borrowed Hedwig the next day, telling Harry that Fred had asked her to do some research for him and that she had reluctantly agreed and she was writing him the results. In a way, she thought, it wasn't far from the truth.
Fred,
You asked me what I dreamt of, and the answer is simply you.
—Hermione
They didn't get to see each other again until the summer, when Hermione again returned to the Burrow for the holidays. It became a delicate dance of avoidance that lasted for nearly a month, until George decided that it had to end; he did, after all, know his twin better than anyone, and even though when he thought of Fred and Hermione it was still hard to believe, he knew that Fred was miserable, and that was enough to prompt a meeting between the two.
Fred thought it seemed like a duel; neither of them said anything for a few moments, and he finally broke the silence by saying, "So, shall it be ten paces and then we turn?"
She looked at him oddly (it seemed that she did that rather a lot) and shook her head. "No, we should just say what we mean to say, I think."
He nodded. "Right, then. You said…" he paused, and began again. "You said that you dreamt of me."
"I did. But Fred, let's not fool ourselves. It was a daydream, it was magic, nothing more. Us, it's nothing. You have to know that."
Fred considered her for a moment and said, "Do you really believe that?"
She opened her mouth to say something, but at that precise moment Ginny burst into the room saying something about Dean Thomas, and needing to talk to her upstairs; as she took Hermione by the hand, she spoke to Fred. "It's not like you and Hermione talk about anything important anyway, right?"
"No," he said. "No, I suppose not."
His eyes followed Hermione out of the room and he thought that once, perhaps, that she nearly looked back.
five.
Hermione steadied herself against the sink in the bathroom that the Room of Requirement had provided. She needed some time, time that they didn't have; the war was now, the final battle approaching, and all she needed was a little time to collect herself. To prepare her mind for what was to come. They were so young, she thought, all of them, each and every one of the people out in the room—of course, there would be the older Order members but the students, the others, they were all so young. We shouldn't have to fight this war. We should be holding hands, pursuing romance and laughing at every turn. Where did that life go?
"Are you alright, Hermione?"
She turned, startled, at the sound of the voice so familiar to her that she sometimes felt that she could hear it clearly even if he was not around. Even though some of the tension visibly lifted when she looked at him, she still narrowed her eyes at his appearance.
"Fred Weasley, this is a girl's bathroom."
"I know, yeah. I like it better. Much cleaner, you see. Blokes can be right messy in the bathroom, for some reason. It's quite nasty."
She laughed despite herself, not freely but a slightly strangled noise that made Fred go closer to her and rub circles reassuringly on her back. He had always thought she was a mite less stong than she let on to others; she needed support, just like everyone else.
"It's a pity that we should have lived to have these times be ours," he said, trying for calm but a quaver in his voice betrayed him. He was just as scared as anyone else. Of losing George, or anyone else in his family; of losing friends, or of dying himself. Of something happening to Hermione. Of losing this war, and what would happen afterwards if that indeed came to pass. It was a terrible thought indeed.
"I wouldn't wish it on anyone else though," Hermione whispered, and leaned against Fred. How she needed him right now—
His arm found its way around her shoulders, and he gave her a one-armed squeeze. He daren't tell her it would be okay, because no one could say that. It was impossible to know, and Fred didn't want to give her false assurances. He just wanted her to know that he was there, that he had always been. He moved in front of her, and tilted her chin up so that she was looking up at him. Sometimes he resented being so tall.
On a whim (although, perhaps, he should know better) he leant down to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he moved closer, and his lips were mere centimeters from hers when Tonks made her way into the bathroom hurriedly. The pair broke apart quickly, each looking decidedly awkward.
"Oh!" said Tonks. "I'm quite sorry. I just…"
"No, don't, we were just…" Hermione trailed off. She and Fred were just about to kiss, weren't they? They were. It was so damned inconvenient. "What is it, Tonks?"
"It's starting."
The battle. She'd nearly forgotten there was a war going on, here in a tiny bathroom with Fred. She reached on the counter for her wand, for Bellatrix's wand, and tried not to think of anything but what was to come. Although, somehow, she couldn't help but think of Fred and the way he had looked as he leant towards her. He moved ahead of her to follow Tonks as she left the room, but just as he reached the door he turned back and looked at her steadily.
"When this is over…if we both make it out okay, that is, we should talk about this. Us." He sounded incredibly vulnerable in that moment, and Hermione couldn't help but treasure him for it.
She nodded. "I'd like that Fred, I would. Very much."
He moved to come back towards her, but then someone outside the room called for him and he looked at her apologetically before walking away. She couldn't help but think that the look between them had spoken more of promises than any words could have. She would fight, and face death; important things, to be sure, but she would make it out undamaged to face the next day with something to look forward to.
Although Hermione was skilled, and did not weary of her task to win the war, the moment she saw Fred lying amidst a crowd of Weasleys—dead, never to make another joke, never to smile or make promises or talk with her again—she did not feel the same. And she realized, fully and perhaps for the first time, that she had fallen for him a long time ago. She would not answer Ron when he asked her what was wrong, when he could not stop the tears that fell as she huddled in a corner, her knees pulled to her chest. She could not answer, could not confess that she was in love with his dead brother.
She had said that she would not wish these times on anyone else, but Hermione found herself wishing that instead of Fred, it was George that had fallen, and though she knew it was terrible of her, she could not shake herself of this thought.
FIN.