The Fourth Time

The invitation arrived early one morning by owl. The bird landed on the kitchen table just as Hermione sat down with a mug of tea and a bowl of cereal. It was the Ministry's annual ball to celebrate the end of the war and the dark times that accompanied them. She had attended the first ball with Ron; the only time he'd ever asked. This would be her second, and Hermione had a sinking feeling that she would be going stag.

The bathroom door opened, a small fog of steam spilling out along with a wet headed Fred. "Shower's free," he told her. "Not sure I left you any hot water though."

"That's okay. I didn't save you any breakfast," she replied cheekily, leaving her half-eaten bowl of cereal on the table. Fred took the chair she vacated and lifted the spoon to his mouth; a small trickle of milk escaping the corner of his lips.

He picked up the invitation, reading it over. "We going?" he asked, waving the notice in the air.

Hermione shrugged and placed her mug in the sink. "Think we have a choice?" she wondered.

"It is sort of in our honor. After all, we are war heroes, and this is a celebration of the war."

"Guess we're going then," she conceded.

The bathroom door was almost closed when she heard Fred call out, "So it's a date then, Miss Granger?"

"Not on your life," she called back, locking the door.

The next week, Hermione and Fred stood outside of the Ministry of Magic. The ball was being held in the spacious atrium. Slowly, the made their way inside taking in the soft blues and whites and golds of the decorations. The atrium was crowded as they made their way through, looking for familiar faces. The first one Hermione spotted was Ron.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Fred observed as she paled. He looked towards the direction Hermione's eyes went, landing on his younger brother whose hands were slowly exploring Lavender Brown's backside. Hermione moved away from his side and made her way to the bar. She downed the first shot of firewhiskey placed before her before ordering another.

"I didn't expect him to never move on," she stated when Fred came to stand beside her. She downed the second shot. "I just didn't expect it to be with her." A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and Hermione made sure to have one in her hand. Fred reached for it, but she held it away from him.

"Planning on getting drunk tonight?" he inquired.

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe."

She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Fred alone at the bar when George sidled up beside him. The twins remained quiet as Fred tried to find Hermione amongst the gaggle of guests.

"She okay?" George asked, noticing the less than thrilled expression on Fred's face.

"No idea," Fred replied, avoiding his brother's attempts at eye contact. He didn't need to look at George to know he was smirking devilishly at him. "Don't say it."

"You like her."

"That's the thing you aren't supposed to say." Fred grabbed a champagne flute as another waiter passed by. He downed the bubbly, sweet liquid in one gulp and sighed. "I do like her. We're friends, that's all."

George shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that. You've fallen for the girl."

"I think she's still hung up on Ron," Fred muttered. He set the empty glass on the bar and walked away.

It was hours before Fred's and Hermione's paths crossed again. Her cheeks were flushed and the glass in her hand continued to tilt more and more as she walked closer to him. "Hi Freddie," she greeted him, her words slurring as a trickle of champagne spilled from her glass onto her dress robes. She paid it no attention as she threw her arms around his neck. Fred unwound her arms and took the flute out of her hand. "Dance with me?" Her arms tightened around his neck as she began to sway along with the orchestra.

"I think it's time to go home," he said quietly. A pout pulled down the sides of her mouth before she opened it to protest. "You smell like a pub right now. We're going home." He took hold of her arm and began to walk toward the exit.

Jerking her arm out of his grip, Hermione stomped her high-heeled foot. "You are not the boss of me. I can stay if I want to, and I want to." Her eyes became glassy, whether from the alcohol or because she seemed to be on the verge of tears. Fred relented and stepped closer to her, pulling her in for a hug. "It wasn't supposed to be this hard."

"What wasn't?" he murmured, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

"Seeing Ron with someone else," she told him, her voice muffled against his finest robes. She lifted her head, her chin resting on his chest, and looked deeply into Fred's eyes. "I don't love him. Not anymore. I can't remember when it was that I last loved Ron."

His hand traced a smooth line up and down her blue silk-covered back. "Let's go home." Hermione nodded and allowed Fred to lead her away from the party to the Apparition point around the block. They landed together, arms around one another, in the middle of the living room. Slowly, the drew apart. "Need some help getting to bed?"

"No," she replied quietly. She began walking towards her room, stumbling occasionally over her heels. Fred moved up behind her and placed an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, I'm going the same way anyhow." She offered him a grateful smile and moved again. Fred opened her bedroom door and led her to her bed where she plopped down ungracefully. He crouched down in front of her and slipped off her right shoe, and then the left. When he completed his task, he moved up onto his knees, eye level with Hermione as she slouched forward to watch him. Before he realized it, Hermione's lips were on his. Her lips tasted sweet, like champagne and vanilla lip gloss.

"Fred, was this a date?" she murmured against his lips before sucking his lower lip into her mouth.

Fred pulled away and sighed. He placed his hands on her upper arms and helped her to lay down. "No, Hermione, it wasn't."