A/N: I am on a Fremione roll today! Set the night before Fred and George's escape from Hogwarts in OotP. Read and review; it would really make me happy. Enjoy!~

Also, I wasn't sure if I should rate this K+ or T, so I went ahead and put T, but if anyone thinks I'm wrong on that, go ahead and let me know.

Nearing Departure

"Tomorrow night?" Hermione asked wistfully, though she already knew the answer would be yes.

"Tomorrow night," Fred confirmed, his voice a mixture of anticipation and sadness.

Hermione smiled at him, though he could see the underlying reluctance to relinquish him.

"Don't be so sad, love. You'll see me first thing summer," he promised, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist and pulling her tightly to his side.

"I'll miss you," she said softly, fighting the tears stinging her eyes and threatening to escape.

"I'll miss you too," he whispered. "I'd bring you with me if you'd agree to go."

She sighed heavily, gazing around the familiar walls of the Gryffindor common room. A vision spun before her eyes. The adrenaline rush of departing, the freedom from Umbridge's totalitarian regime, the possibility of staying with Fred. But no, this was not possible for her. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Fred cut her off.

"I already know you can't, love."

She exhaled heavily. "I couldn't bring myself to leave Harry and Ron in this mess."

Fred nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know. And to be honest, I wouldn't think too highly of you if you did."

"You'll write me?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Every day if you want," Fred smiled, his azure eyes twinkling.

"How about every other day? I can only take so much of you, you know," she teased, grinning. But her face fell quickly.

In the moment of silence, she took his right hand in both of hers. His hands were far larger than hers, roughened and calloused from Quidditch while hers were lithe from years of unceasing writing. She traced her thumbs over the scars marring the back of his hand. 'I must not cause trouble.'

Their eyes met and a memory seemed to flash between them as though on a movie screen. She had waited for him and George, anxiously preparing the painkilling potion she had first made for Harry. It was already several weeks into the school year, and Hermione was brewing the concoction left and right; there was little doubt in her mind that she could make it in her sleep if need be.

It had been nearly eleven thirty at night when the twins had stormed into the common room, finally freed from Umbridge's sadistic detention. George had clutched his right hand in his left, wincing as tears rolled down his freckled face. Fred, always the prouder one, had squeezed his eyes tightly shut, gritting his teeth and trying to keep himself from crying, not wanting his girlfriend to see him reduced to tears. But he had ultimately failed, succumbing to the burning pain in his hand. They had sat together, across from Hermione, who had wordlessly pushed two small bowls of the foul-smelling healing potion across a table to them.

It was that night, in an empty common room over two bowls of healing potion, that the trio's bond had strengthened infinitely. The twins had shed tears of anger and indignation and Hermione had tried to reassure them that in the end, they would make their ways through it all somehow because they had "intelligence and courage and a complete and utter disregard for the rules."

"You'll be alright here?" Fred asked Hermione, shaking her out of her reverie.

She nodded. "I'll be fine. Just promise me something."

"You know I won't be seeing anyone else," Fred swore, drawing an X over his heart and hold his hands up. Hermione laughed.

"I know. Promise you'll make your departure as obnoxious as possible."

"Do you really need confirmation from me on that?" Fred grinned.

"Good point."

"You should get some rest, love," Fred reminded Hermione, much to her disappointment.

She sniffled, finally allowing the tears she had been restraining to trickle down her cheeks. "Okay."

"We won't be apart for long," Fred assured her, grabbing her wrist as she stood up and pulling her back to him.

Their eyes locked, blue on brown, and Hermione moved to stand in front of Fred, for once taller than him. She leaned down, pushing loose tendrils of hair away from her face before resting her hands on her boyfriend's Quidditch-broadened shoulders. Fred's hands took their familiar places on Hermione's hips and their lips met for a glorious minute or five, lips and tongues battling, both ignoring the clash of teeth and the taste of salt lingering from Hermione's tears. They stayed together, stretching their moment out as long as they could in their lip-lock as explosive and dramatic as the fireworks Fred had stocked up for his nearing departure.