Author's Note: This is a contest entry for DobbyRocksSocks's Canon vs. Fanon Competition. The pairing I have chosen is Fred x Hermione haha, and I wanted to write something different than the usual Fremione fluff. . .
Hermione came down the stairs in a short blue dress; her hair was up, which reminded her of her look during the Yule Ball.
The Yule Ball . . . It felt like centuries since her fourth year, but really it had only been a few years ago since that lovely night, dancing and twirling around with no care in the world.
She missed Hogwarts very much – She missed learning how to cast spells; brew potions; transfigure objects; and the dangers of the dark arts and other menacing creatures. Now she was a normal wizard in the normal Wizarding world with a normal day-job and a normal life to lead. Plus, she had a normal sweetheart that she didn't even know that much. But that's a part of dating, isn't it? To get to know more about your partner?
She met him while she was checking out a few books at Obscurus Books. He said that the book she was carrying at the time was his favorite, and they went for a cup of coffee so they could delve into deep conversation over the book. He was charming to Hermione, and she enjoyed knowing that he spent a lot of time reading during his Hogwarts days. She even learned that he was only two years above her! He seemed like a wonderful man, but Hermione still felt discouraged to go and date people.
"You look very lovely tonight, darling," Fred said behind her.
"Thank you, Fred," Hermione said, not turning around.
"Now, I would say to wear that silver necklace you have," he said. "It would look nice with your dress."
"No, thank you, though," Hermione said, laughing a little.
"How are you feeling?" said Fred sympathetically.
"It's like there're butterflies in my stomach," she said uneasily. "I'm so nervous."
"Don't be!" Fred said energetically. "Just be yourself! You are a very charming and beautiful person all on your own!"
"But what if I screw up? What if I say something or do something incredibly stupid and he never talks to me ever again?"
"Then he'll miss out on an incredible girl," Fred said smoothly. "I mean, how many eighteen year-olds do you know that helped bring down Voldemort?" he added.
"Not many," Hermione chuckled. Then, her eyes began to water, and she started trembling on the spot.
"What's wrong, darling?" said Fred in concern.
"Nothing."
"Don't say 'nothing'. I know there's something wrong here. Tell me what's bothering you."
Hermione stayed silent for a moment. She was reaching into herself, clawing for the right words to throw at him. So many thoughts and questions were clouding her mind, and all those questions barely had any answers. She finally turned around to face the painting of Fred Weasley and spoke as tears streamed down her face:
"I miss you so much, Fred! You have no idea how much I miss you . . . Your laugh . . . your pranks . . . your silly excuses to stick around me . . . your corny jokes . . . your troublemaking . . . your hugs – your kisses – your . . . everything. I hear your voice, but it's not the same anymore. You've been so loyal . . . Even as a painting, you still keep me smiling, even if it's for a short time. And here I am, right in front of you, arranging to meet another man even though it's only been a year since the Battle of Hogwarts."
Fred said nothing. He observed the ground, taking in every detail of the hardwood tile. He locked eyes with Hermione, and said, "Well, tell me why you made me into a painting."
"B – Because I miss you," said Hermione weakly.
"And why was Dumbledore turned into a painting?" said Fred smoothly.
"Well, that's quite obvious," said Hermione pointedly. "He was one of the greatest Hogwarts headmasters of all time."
"Yes, there's no doubt about that," said Fred, nodding, "but do you think Hogwarts would forever be in denial, never electing another headmaster, never letting anyone contribute to the school in order to preserve the eternal mourning for Dumbledore? Would Dumbledore allow the school to continue their mourning and never move forward to bigger, better things? Would Dumbledore allow the students and staff to take time out of their days to give their thanks at his grave?"
"N – No –"
"Then what I'm saying is just because someone is no longer living doesn't mean you should completely forget about them," murmured Fred sympathetically. "But that doesn't mean you should tear your own life apart in order to keep their memory alive.
"I know you love me, Hermione. Mum loves me; Dad, George, Ginny, Harry, even Ron believe it or not! I know my death wasn't . . . convenient, but I want to see you happy, and being hung on this wall and staring at a depressed Granger for the entire day only makes me feel miserable as well.
"I want to see you smile when you return home. I want to see you skip on your feet because something nice happened to you. Hermione, I only want to see you happy. That's all I want, and if you can't do that for me, then you might as well take my painting to a shredder, because I don't want to live in a world where my darling never smiles anymore."
Hermione gazed at Fred for what seemed like hours. She couldn't explain how much that hit home for her. She always thought that Fred was elated to be alive once again in some way. He always grinned at her whenever she came downstairs to make her morning coffee . . . He would always say how adorable she looked with bedhead . . . He would always talk and talk if Hermione looked close to crying. But she should have known that that hollow smile she saw each day was fake . . . completely fake.
And how could she blame Fred for not being joyful? Would you like to wake up to the same old house and the same depressed face each and every day? Of course not; though Fred complained about it. He only wished to comfort Hermione.
How could I force Fred into such a life? Hermione thought, her eyes welling up in tears, What have I done to him?
"Y – You never wanted to be a painting, did you?" mumbled Hermione as tears streamed down her cheek.
Fred pondered for a moment. Then, he nodded slowly.
"I . . . I didn't ask for it," Fred said lightly. "But I am not the one to complain. I'm just glad to be with my darling – but, I think my darling has another man on her mind."
Hermione looked at him quizzically. Was Fred actually approving of her leaving him behind?
"But I still love you –"
"I know you do, Hermione," Fred said quickly. "I love you very much, but I would rather see you happy with someone else than be miserable with me."
Hermione wiped the tears away from her eyes, and she looked away from his painting. She didn't want all the memories they had during their Hogwarts years to be a waste. But . . . they were already a waste when Fred died on the grounds that night. . . .
There was a knock on the door, and she walked over to the window and peered outside.
"He's here," she said half-heartedly, though her eyes seemed to brighten.
"Have fun out there," Fred said, winking, "And remember! Don't go too far on the first date!"
Hermione laughed. (He said that on our first date, she thought) "I'll keep that in mind."
She opened the door, and was greeted to a man with roses in his hand.
"Good evening, milady," he said, grinning.
Hermione gasped at the flowers.
"Are these for me?" she asked in astonishment.
"Of course!" he said, and handed the bouquet to her carefully.
Hermione smelled the sweet perfume of the roses, and she glanced toward Fred's painting. He was nodding at her.
"Now," she said to the man, "where are we off to?"
He took her arm, and the door closed behind them as they walked down the driveway.
"Well," he said matter-of-factly, "I was thinking we could try some muggle food. Maybe Chinese, Italian – McDonald's?"
Hermione couldn't help but burst into laughter.
"Why not McDonald's?" she said, shaking her head as she kept giggling.
And back on the wall, Fred Weasley's portrait still hung on the surface. He swore he would be there whenever she needed him . . . but he is not hers anymore. He gave her up in order to keep her smiling and his happy . . . though everything he had said about his wanting to see her go was all a lie . . . He didn't want her to leave him . . . He was nothing but a painting of a man without her . . . If only he stopped her . . . If only he didn't convince her to let go of him. . . He can never let go . . . He is only a painting of Fred Weasley, gifted with basic memories of what had happened in the past . . . He knew he loved her, but he couldn't grasp at the true reason he did. Perhaps it was for the best for her to move on . . . How dare he not even remember the wonderful memories they had shared together?
Fred's portrait shed a tear; he struggled to wipe the tears out of his eyes, but the pain was too much. What bittersweet love. . . .