A/N: In response to MidnightEmberMisery's Art of War competition. My rule is below, and my pairing was Hermione/Fred.


He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.

xXx

Hermione Granger was intensely pragmatic. Fred Weasley was rather the opposite. Hermione Granger's entire being was based in logic and fact. Fred Weasley lived in a realm of creativity, where facts existed only to be disproven. Hermione Granger's favourite pastime was reading. Fred Weasley never so much as read directions. Of course, all of this really means nothing, or it would if not for their shared stubbornness, which caused them to clash with each other so terribly frequently.

She could accept, really, that he was a joker. He was fabulous at it. She admired his passion and his ability. And Fred, he could accept that she was an academic sort of person. Her intellect was renowned. He couldn't help but marvel at her dedication and her focus. And yet…

"Could you and your brother not just take your idiotic antics elsewhere?" She shouted, absolutely fed-up, bluntly ignoring the fact that George had taken off as soon as the argument has started.

Fred scowled. She was one of the few people that could really manage to throw off his near-permanent cheer. "I hardly see why that would be necessary."

"Some of us," she hissed, "Actually have to work for a living!"

"And I suppose you're bloody well suggesting that George and I don't?"

She deflated a bit, and he knew she regretted what she'd said. He also knew she'd never admit it. Their rows were near-legendary at this point. They would get on just fine one moment, and the next they'd be screaming at each other for reasons neither of them could recall five minutes later.

"Well, unless you call your tinkering 'work'…" she replied with a disdainful sniff.

"Oh right, because reading is a fulltime job, yes? Pouring over other people's work and never doing a bloody thing yourself—a true accomplishment, you are."

Fire flashed through her eyes and she slammed the volume shut. "I've had more than enough of your mindless drivel."

"Good! You'll be leaving then?" he asked in a pseudo-polite tone.

"Sometimes, Fred Weasley, I hate you."

He nodded absently. "I rather think I sometimes hate you more."

She bit back a smile, and that was that. Just as suddenly as it started, just like always, and neither bothered to question it anymore. He plunked into the seat beside her. "What are you working on anyhow?"

A heavy sigh. "Some piece of rubbish for the protection of House Elves."

"Finally beginning to come around, are you?"

Hermione looked at him seriously. "I think I'm going to quit."

"Wait. What?"

"I hate it, Fred. All of it. This bloody house elf thing, running around the Ministry doing bloody paperwork. I've made a difference, haven't I? I helped save the world from Voldemort. That was something, yeah? I mean, the damned things don't even want my stupid help. Can I be wrong, just this once? Is that alright? Do I suddenly stop being Hermione if I've made a mistake?" There was an edge of desperation he'd never heard in her voice before. Not in the darkness of the war, not in the aftermath of her relationship with Ron, not ever.

He slid his arm around her shoulders, smiling when she rested her head comfortably against him. "Of course you can be wrong. Hell, I think the entire wizarding world would hold a bloody celebration. Can we do a press release? Rita might be up for the challenge."

She laughed weakly, gently punching his arm. "Really though, Fred, I've spent years championing this stupid cause. I went so far as deciding to make a bloody career out of it. Can I just turn around and say, 'Oops! I was wrong!'?"

He grinned. "'Mione, I don't think you're even capable."

"Is that a challenge, Mister Weasley?"

He scoffed. "When's the last time you ever admitted you were wrong about anything?"

She was silent a long time, thinking solidly about something.

"I'm sorry I've said such awful things to you when we fight. I never mean them, really, and I always feel really badly afterwards." She spoke the words to the table in front of them, but they still meant an amazing amount to him.

"Thanks, 'Mione. It—I. Well, I don't mean the things I say either. I don't even know where they come from."

"Why do we even ever fight, Fred?" she mused aloud. "I mean… I've thought about it, and I just—I can't figure it out."

He squeezed her shoulder.

"Because you two idiots are bloody well in love and it drives you both bonkers when you're within five yards of each other," a voice announced from the doorway.

They both spun in their seats to face Ginny, who was looking at them knowingly.

"Yeah. Right." They said sarcastically together, unsure whether she was just having them on.

She laughed wryly. "No, I suppose you might not ever admit it. But how about this: I challenge the two of you to not fight for an entire week, a week in which you both see each other every day."

"And this will prove what, exactly?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

Ginny's grin was mischievous. "We'll see. Suppose you can manage it?"

Neither of them was able to back down from a challenge, which the meddling Ginny knew full-well, and so they agreed, still confused about the point of the endeavour. Perhaps Ginny was just sick of their screaming…