A Moment Like This
Jedi Goat
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: I don't know what got into me, really, I usually don't write romance. But I just had this unshakable itch to write this couple... :D
"Ron, you...you ruined everything!"
Choking back an angry sob, Hermione Granger wheeled away from the shocked faces of her two best friends. She didn't give either Harry or Ron a chance to respond as she hurried up the broad marble staircase, blinking hard to fight off an overwhelming wave of emotion.
I can't believe those boys...how long does it take them to get a clue?
In her blind rush, she had no idea where she was headed; she just knew she had to get away from the booming music and the cheers of her boisterous classmates resounding from the Great Hall before her composure crumpled entirely. Hermione ascended to the third floor before stopping, hard breathing echoing loudly in the sudden still silence.
Alone, she sank down on the cold steps, now allowing her hot tears to spill. "So stupid," she muttered to herself, reaching up and viciously tugging loose the pins that had been holding her thick hair up in a tight knot. As her naturally bushy hair began to fall in untamed cascades, she continued her distracted rant.
"Honestly, he had months...months he could have stepped up and asked me, but no... And that prat has the n-nerve to be jealous!" Hermione's upper lip was trembling now; she scrubbed at her eyes. Her earlier painstaking effort at makeup was beyond salvaging now, but she didn't care; the hurt burned her insides more than any taunt from the Slytherins.
Hermione had to admit to herself that, maybe, she was the jealous one. Since first year, she had harboured a secret crush on her classmate Ron Weasley. In the classroom, it seemed she had everything with her knowledge and books; but Harry and Ron had something else that she couldn't help but admire: bravery, loyalty, a steadfast friendship, and she had strived so hard to be like them. Surely it wasn't selfish to wish, just for once, that Ron could see her as more than a know-it-all, and acknowledge that she was a girl...
"Ugh, that idiot!" she let out in frustration, reaching down to yank loose the white high heels which were beginning to dig painfully into her tender feet. And yet, he didn't even notice she'd worn them for him...! Blind by tears, she threw the first of the shoes down the stairs, hearing it clatter loudly off stone. Vicious now, she flung the other one, a bit harder.
"Oi, Granger, watch where you're throwing that!"
Hermione, eyes wide, jerked up in surprise: she recognized that voice. At the base of the stairs one of the infamous Weasley twins was rubbing his head, holding her shoe in his other hand. "You could take someone's head off, you know?"
"S-sorry," she mumbled, embarrassment creeping up into her face, as she quickly ducked her head.
By her dejected tone, even he could see something was wrong; in the next instant he had settled on the step beside her, hands dangling between his propped knees, cocking his head at her with a slight frown.
"Krum's not that bad, is he, Granger?"
"What?" Hermione blinked at him, distracted, still trying to rub the smudged tear tracks from her cheeks. "Oh – no, it wasn't...wasn't his fault."
"Ah."
There was something in the way that he sat unquestioningly, listening to her when no one else did, that had her abruptly blurting everything to him. Her tears recommenced as she reiterated her argument with Ron over her choice of date, concluding in a wavering tone, "Your brother is such a...such an idiot!"
"Well," the twin said with a twitch of his lips, "that's not the word I'd use, but we'll go with that."
Hermione forced herself to sober, wearily rubbing at her eyes. "I'm sorry, just look at me...I'm such a mess..." Her hair was half-out of its knot, her cheeks stained with tears and mascara.
"Only a little," he said with renewed sincerity. "But just let it out, now, and you'll feel better. Say it with me now: Ron is a great prat."
At that last part, she glanced sharply into his face: he was grinning now, a sort of tentative half-smirk as he prodded her gently, and for some reason Hermione's heart did a sudden flip. Turning quickly away, she shook her head with a short laugh.
"Thanks for listening to me rant."
"Anytime, Granger. You made us all wonder for a while, but it turns out you really are human." He was using his all-too-familiar wry tone again; but this time, instead of reprimanding him, Hermione found herself starting to blush.
"Er," she mumbled, searching for anything to say to avoid meeting his earnest blue stare. "Where's your other half?" She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious now: one Weasley twin was never far from the other, and it almost guaranteed he was up to something.
He seemed unfazed by her accusation, however, leaning back on his elbows next to her. "George? He was dancing with Angelina when I left..." He shrugged. "If you want me to leave, though, I will."
"No," Hermione cut in quickly, stumbling uncertainly when he raised an eyebrow at her. "I – I mean, it's nice to have someone to talk to."
Fred grinned. "I'm touched, Granger, that you'd give me such an honour."
"Stop it," she muttered.
Fred opened his mouth to counter when he suddenly froze: shuffling footsteps echoed down the hall above. The unmistakeable wheezy cackle of Filch drifted over them: "We've caught them now, my sweet! Students out of bounds!"
Hermione's breath caught in horror; she turned to her companion when he pressed a finger to his lips. Hermione bit back an irate retort – she didn't need to be told that – but her thoughts froze in place when a warm hand closed around her own.
"Come on," Fred mouthed, pulling her down the stairs. Hermione complied voicelessly, one hand hitching up her long skirts so she didn't trip. Fred led her down a corridor she didn't recognize in the dark, his stride confident, his steady grip on her hand somehow reassuring. Her mind was buzzing; she knew she was out of her mind to put her fate in the hands of a prankster like him, to blindly follow his lead down the blackened halls.
However, at the same time she couldn't help but notice how well his calloused hand fit against her own soft skin, the slightest chafe of a blister beneath her thumb.
Fred stopped suddenly; their breathing alone echoed in the dark corridor. By the increasing chill in her bare feet, Hermione suspected they were deep in the castle's lower levels; peering around, she noted a gold-trimmed portrait in front of them of a bowl of fruit.
"Where-?" she began, but Fred silenced her.
"Get inside."
Hermione opened her mouth to inquire as to what, exactly, he was talking about; but words failed her. The portrait had suddenly swung outward, a gaping hole where it had been; she peered down the passage worriedly. As she remained rooted to the spot, Fred clambered inside first, offering her a hand up.
The portrait creaked shut behind them, leaving the duo blinking in darkness. A few steps forward and they burst from the passage into a lightened chamber; Hermione carefully stepped down onto cool ceramic floor, blinking around.
Her mouth fell open.
The room was swarming with small creatures, floppy-eared and robed in everything from old tea cosies to pillow cases; the beings scurried about four grand oak tables, some carting dishes and glasses that looked suspiciously like the butterbeer tankards offered at the dance upstairs. They could hear the thumping echo of music through the floor above – the Great Hall was directly over their heads, Hermione noted dazedly.
When her voice returned, Hermione rounded on the grinning redhead beside her. "Fred Weasley, where are we?" she demanded.
"The kitchens," he elaborated, still grinning, his hands hooked in his pockets. "Well? What d'you think, Granger?"
Hermione turned back to the scene before them, chewing on her lip to force back a retort. A house elf scurried nearer, bowing so low his nose brushed the ground.
"Welcome back, Master Weasley," he squeaked out, making Hermione jump in surprise.
"You – you know them?"
"'Course," Fred smirked, adding to the elf, "Hey, there, mind bringing us some butterbeer?"
As the elf beamed and scuttled off, a hand closed on his sleeve. "Fred!" Hermione hissed reproachfully.
"What?" he asked. "You're not still on about that SPEW stuff, are you? Look around," he gestured, "they're out of their minds with happiness to work here."
Hermione's lips moved but no sound came out. She was mulling furiously over her rants on elf rights, but all her rebuttals seemed to shrink in light of his cocky smirk.
"They...they don't have any rights," she weakly rebuked.
"Sure they do, if they ask for them," Fred said flippantly. He gestured for Hermione to follow him to one of the tables where he threw himself down, feet propped up on the opposite bench. Seeing her expression still flickering uncertainly with her conscience's battle, he sobered and leaned forward. "Listen, 'Mione, they were brought here by Dumbledore himself. D'you really see him as the sort to mistreat them?"
Hermione thought about that a moment before letting out a long-suffering sigh, pushing aside his feet in order to sit. "I suppose not," she ceded finally.
"Good, that's what I thought." Fred leaned back again, eyes closed.
"And don't call me that," Hermione said sharply.
"What?"
"My name's Hermione."
"Well, that's what I said, isn't it, 'Mione?" He lazily cracked an eye open to see her looking as if she was debating if it was worth the effort to curse him. Fred's smirk broadened. "You gonna stop me? I think it's kind of cute, actually."
She hesitated. "Really?"
"Really really. But," he raised a finger warningly, "I coined it first. So don't let anyone else use it, hear?"
Hermione shook her head, scattering her curly hair everywhere, with a laugh. She really did have a cute laugh – when she wasn't too uptight over schoolwork. It was a pity, really, she didn't laugh more; Fred smirked slightly as he thought.
"What is it now?" Hermione asked in exasperation, noting his mischievous look as the bubbly house elf returned tottering with two jugs of butterbeer.
"What?" Fred spread his hands, for once his slightly bewildered, innocent look for real. "I didn't say anything!"
Hermione didn't answer him, taking time to thank the house elf (who brightened as much as a Christmas tree) and smiling at him, which Fred couldn't deny made him feel a little jealous.
"Her-mione," he sang out, waving a hand in her face as the elf skipped off. "You in there?"
"Stop it," she said with a mock stern look; Fred snorted into his butterbeer, and she giggled at him.
They chattered over their drinks, mostly of normal things; Hermione couldn't resist her curiosity over the elves' lives at Hogwarts, now that she saw they were indeed in good care. With her queries and earnest auburn stare shining at him, Fred didn't mind very much; he recognized Hermione in her element and merely sat back, smirking slightly, absorbing her excitement.
Finally Fred set down his empty butterbeer with a sigh. The kitchens had gone quiet, even the distant thump of music having died down upstairs; it had to be late, but, glancing at his wrist, he remembered he had forgotten his watch tonight. Glancing across at Hermione, in her regal blue robes, he wondered briefly what Viktor Krum thought of the absence of his partner; but that thought didn't linger very long.
"We should head back to the dormitory, shouldn't we," Hermione murmured, fingering the rim of her glass. "It must be past midnight..."
"Yeah," Fred said distractedly. He rose, after a moment's hesitation decisively reaching for Hermione's hand.
Her eyes widened in surprise at his advance, but she said nothing, instead falling into step with him as they left the kitchens together (Hermione only stopping to thank their elf server on the way to the door, who bowed).
The castle was silent and deep in shadow when they padded past the black and empty Great Hall. As they stepped into a pool of moonlight pouring through the high windows, Fred cleared his throat.
"Well, Granger, I'm sorry your Yule Ball didn't turn out as you expected –"
"No, don't apologize," Hermione cut him off swiftly. Then, thankful her blush couldn't be seen in the dark, she mumbled, "I actually enjoyed myself a lot more than I thought...thank you..."
For once in his life, Fred was lost for words. They walked on in silence for a moment.
"Well, it was my pleasure, 'Mione. If you ever need someone to talk to again," he grinned slightly, "I'd like to do it again sometime."
"Me, too," she echoed quietly.
They had both stopped short at the base of the stairs, looking at one another, each wondering what to say now.
"Erm," Hermione began.
"Well-"
Their thoughts were cut short to a clip of heels marching toward them. Fred blinked in the sudden burst of light from a wand, instinctively taking a step in front of Hermione to shield her. Through the spots in his vision he recognized, with a distant sinking feeling, a woman in a long emerald nightgown, her hair tied back in a smart gray bun.
"Weasley! Out after curfew again. Or did you not hear the ball's dismissal at midnight?" She frowned at them over her half-moon glasses.
"Professor, I can explain," Fred said weakly.
Professor McGonagall ignored his plea; she overrode him severely, "Detention for your disregard of the rules, both of you. And you should know better, Miss... Miss Granger?" Her voice tapered at the end with barely restrained surprise as she gazed at the girl, her head lowered, barefoot, fingering the edge of her blue gown nervously.
"I – I understand, Professor," Hermione said, her hand unshaken against Fred's. "It won't happen again."
"Professor, it was my fault," Fred cut in, with a quick look in Hermione's direction; she was wide-eyed in surprise. "It was my idea to sneak out – I should have listened to Hermione's advice –"
"That's enough," Professor McGonagall said. "I will see both of you in my office tomorrow evening – Miss Granger, see that you keep him in better line next time." Was it just Fred's imagination, or had her voice softened for a moment with something like amusement?
"Hurry now, back to your common room, both of you."
They didn't need telling twice, and hurried up the stairs, hardly daring glance back until they arrived, panting slightly, in front of the Pink Lady's portrait.
"That wasn't exactly how I planned to ask you out, Granger."
Hermione glanced sharply at Fred, eyebrows raised, catching his wry grin. Hermione shook her head, lips pursed.
"I daresay you owe me one, Fred Weasley, for landing me in detention with you."
"Ah, so sorry to break your perfect record," he said with false sweetness. Thoughtfully tapping his chin, he went on, "Then I suppose I'll have to make it up to you. How does next Hogsmede weekend sound, at the Three Broomsticks?"
In the dim candlelight he caught her shy smile.
"It sounds wonderful."
Then, surprising them both, Hermione quickly stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. Fred's eyes widened, but he didn't move; when she pulled back, blushing profusely, he had no comeback.
"Thank you," Hermione mumbled, eyes downcast, playing with a lock of her hair. "For everything." I think I finally see now...
"Anytime, Granger," he said brightly, saluting mockingly. She giggled.
"Do you want in the common room, or not?" a considerably grumpy portrait of a fat lady in pink snapped, awoken by their conversation.
Fred and Hermione met each other's eye, and both grinned shamelessly.
The End
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